The Moment
The second that Harry walked away, Neville didn’t like it.
When Trent left a few minutes later to follow Harry, Neville really didn’t like it.
“It’s just you and I,” the boy from Three drawled. He was sitting at one of the tables and tapped his finger on the wooden top. “I’m Theo.”
Neville, who didn’t want any allies past Harry and Trent, sighed.
“Neville,” Neville said with a nod. Neville sat down at another of the tables and thought of picnics back at home with his parents.
They used to go every Sunday. Dad would shut down his shop, Mom would pack a picnic basket. It was an old basket, one from when she was a girl, just a faded thing they would put sandwiches and salads in.
Neville would pick flowers in the field by the fence… his parents would snuggle on the blanket they brought…
Sundays were the best days in Neville’s memory.
“I wonder what day it is?” Neville wondered aloud. He tried to remember what day they had been reaped… a Saturday. Then they spent a week in the Capitol and it had been… four days? Five?
So it was Wednesday or Thursday?
“No idea,” Theo said disinterestedly. Theo’s eyes were locked on the door, but they would flicker to the food on the table Neville sat at every few seconds.
It reminded Neville of the kids back at home, the ones who were always too hungry for food there wasn’t enough of. The kids like Harry, the ones that Neville wished he was wealthy enough to feed three meals a day to.
“We might as well eat,” Neville offered. He took the bread and broke it in three. “I’ll save Trent some.”
“If you want,” Theo said, as if it didn’t matter at all to him.
Neville carefully divided the food they had in thirds, placing Trent’s on another table for when he returned. Neville thought that Harry might have asked Trent to watch him from the tunnels in ceilings, but Neville couldn’t be sure.
It was almost painfully quiet while Neville and Theo ate. Aside from the sounds of chewing, there was only the echoing silence of the arena. When Harry was around, he was always making noise. Trent was just as constantly noisy… somehow, Neville had gotten used to the sounds and felt the loss of them.
“If you won the Hunger Games, what’s the first thing you’d do outside the arena?” Neville asked Theo at random, trying to end the silence.
Theo raised one of his brown eyebrows in sort of a mocking way, but he still answered after he chewed a few of the green grapes.
“I’d shower,” Theo said. He held his hand up and Neville crinkled his nose at the grime and blood beneath his nails.
Not that Neville’s were any better. Hygiene wasn’t very important in the arena, and Theo’s mention of showering reminded Neville of his biggest problem.
“I’d brush my teeth,” Neville told him. Neville’s teeth had felt scuzzy since the night of the first day and it was grossing him out.
For whatever reason, that made Theo laugh.
“Neville Longbottom,” Theo raised a grape, holding it back in a way that made Neville think he was about to throw it, “you’ve just won the seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games. Your enemies and allies are dead, your family will never lack for food again. What are you going to do now?”
“Thanks for asking,” Neville grinned. “I’m going to go brush my teeth for an hour.”
Theo laughed again, just a normal laugh in the most abnormal place to do it, then launched the grape toward Neville. Neville leaned his head back and barely managed to catch the grape in his dirty teeth.
It was easier after that, lighter. They would each make an odd comment between bites, nothing serious. When Neville made a joke about Harry and Blaise being on a date, Theo rolled his eyes.
“Blaise is the most dramatic tribute there ever was,” he told Neville seriously. “A date? Here?!” Theo swung his hand around. “It’s a haunted castle!”
Neville couldn’t agree more. It wasn’t just a haunted castle either, it was an arena.
How did someone go from thinking about killing other teenagers to trying to romance one? It was crazy and kind of sick.
“I had been hoping we’d be in a forest or something,” Neville told Theo. “I wouldn’t have to rely on Harry for food if there were plants.”
“This arena is rigged for tributes with sponsors,” Theo said with another roll of his eyes. Neville started to think it was his main expression.
It did feel rigged, in a way. Neville never expected to be comfortable in an arena, but he would have had more of an advantage if there were any plants to be seen.
The Hunger Games weren’t set up to be fair though, sometimes it was just difficult to see how the odds were stacked. In a castle where the only source of food came from sponsors or the cornucopia? Theirs was stacked in favor of popular or strong tributes.
Neville was neither.
“I dunno if Harry’s the luckiest tribute or unluckiest,” Neville said. It didn’t matter, not with two tributes getting to win, but Neville did feel like Harry was somehow chosen to win the Games before he had even been reaped.
Harry’s godfather was his mentor, the one person in the world most dedicated to Harry surviving. Harry had been handed a flashy romance for sponsors in the interviews. Harry seemed to get more and more sponsors and gifts every time he said something that would get average citizen killed on the spot.
If Neville had a single coin at home, he would have bet it on Harry winning.
“Is there such a thing as a lucky tribute?” Theo asked. Theo’s chin was being held up by his hand and the bored look on his face wasn’t as believable with the light in his brown eyes
“Some are unluckier than others,” Neville pointed out, thinking of Trent. Trent was tiny, soft, innocent. Though, in the very back corner of Neville’s mind where he tried to ignore it, Neville worried that Trent would still win the games.
With Harry’s protection, who would get close enough to kill Trent? Harry liked Trent, Neville didn’t think Harry would kill him. And as much as Neville didn’t want to die, as much as wanted to go home, Neville knew he wouldn’t kill Trent.
The screams of the boy from Ten were enough to hear echoing in Neville’s mind, he wouldn’t add Trent’s tears.
“Statistically, we’re about as unlucky as possible.” Theo shrugged and the side of his mouth curled up in a small grin when Neville looked at him. “Twice as luck as past tributes though.”
“Yeah.” Neville was still in disbelief of the announcement, the change to the rules. “I guess so.”
Or… and Neville couldn’t help thinking it… they were being tricked significantly worse than any other year before. What would be more dramatic than the final two finding out that only one of them could leave after all?
If it was Neville and Harry, like Neville desperately hoped it would be… then Harry would win. Neville wouldn’t kill him and Harry wouldn’t hesitate.
Harry was a survivor against all odds; the gamemakers didn’t need to stack them in his favor. Neville never for a second doubted that Harry would win the 74th Hunger Games.
Neville wasn’t tired at all and he would never trust Theo to not kill him if he closed his eyes, so the two of them started a game to pass the time. Theo figured that with Harry and Blaise having the first date ever held during the Hunger Games that nobody else would be featured anyway, so there was no pressure to be interesting for sponsors.
“Orange,” Theo said, looking at the spiced peaches they had saved for Trent.
Neville had moved to the floor so he could lean his back and head against the wall. He hummed and tried to not overthink it.
“Tag,” Neville said, grinning a bit to himself.
“Neville,” Theo sighed like it was a question that could be answered wrong. “How does orange make you think of tags?”
“Not tags,” Neville corrected him. “Tag, the game?” At Theo’s blank stare, Neville tried to explain. “You know… you touch someone and they’re it? Then they have to chase everyone and tag someone else?”
“How do you win?” Theo asked.
“Uh… you don’t? It’s just for fun?”
And it was fun, Neville and Luna used to play all the time. They would play in the fields and didn’t stop until the sun began to set, turning the sky orange.
Neville hoped someone was taking care of Luna, spending time with her… It wasn’t fair that Luna had been reaped or that Neville had been taken from her. They were best friends, Neville kind of thought that maybe they would be together for the rest of their lives.
Luna loved Neville, Neville knew she did The Games were horrible for Luna to watch on an average year, Neville doubted if she was watching them at all with him on screen.
Dad would watch, he would watch every second. It made Neville want to cry, thinking of his dad waiting to see if he still had a son or not…
“Brown,” Neville blurted, trying to push the thoughts from his head. If Neville’s dad had seen Neville stand by while a boy died, was he disappointed? Would he understand?
If Neville went home, would the people he loved still love him?
“Brown… hm…” Theo tapped his lips and thought about it. “Oh. Chocolate.”
“Chocolate?” Neville actually laughed he was so surprised. “Why chocolate?”
“Why not chocolate?” Theo asked, a splotchy blush crawling up his neck. “It’s brown, isn’t it?”
“I guess,” Neville said. He looked at how defensive Theo was with his eyes narrowed and his arms crossed. “I just thought you’d have something a little more…” Neville flipped his hand at Theo, trying to find a nice word for bloodthirsty.
Was there one?
“Oh, you’re so right,” Theo sneered at him. “I’m from Three so I probably should have said that brown makes me think of the puppies I practice archery on, right? And, no let me guess!” Theo raised his voice over Neville’s stammered apology. “Brown makes you think of the mud your huts are made of, right? Because everyone in Twelve is dirty and poor.”
Point taken.
Theo slumped back against the wall and the look he gave Neville made Neville hold his sword a little tighter.
“Brown makes me think of soil,” Neville said slowly. “My mom runs a greenhouse, so we do a lot of planting. It’s not mud that makes my hut, but… you know… It’s kind of close.”
Neville was trying to apologize, not make a joke, but Theo scoffed and relaxed all the same.
In a month, if Neville were alive, and someone said brown to him… Neville would think about Theo. Theo and his brown eyes that looked like the chocolate he mentioned. Theo who was just a kid, just some kid who didn’t want to die.
“I’m sorry,” Neville offered after a few minutes of silence. “I - uh… I shouldn’t have judged you because of where you were born.”
“Everyone does it,” Theo said flatly, a fact. “I’m a tribute from Three, I must live for the kill and crave blood and death. We’ve lived entire lives before now, but this? This is all people will remember.”
Neville thought about that for a long time.
It was true, wasn’t it? The Hunger Games lasted around six to ten days, plus the seven days of training and showboating beforehand. Altogether, it would be around two weeks of Neville’s life.
Neville had lived fourteen years before then… which was… hm. Neville wasn’t actually great at math. Luna wasn’t either, they kind of goofed off in that class.
“Hey, Theo?” Neville saw Theo’s eyes were closed but he wasn’t asleep. “How many weeks are in fourteen years?”
“Seven hundred and twenty-eight,” Theo answered automatically with his eyes still closed. “You’ve lived for seven hundred and twenty-eight weeks and this is the week people will remember you by for the rest of your life.”
Neither boy had much to say after that bleakly accurate description.
When the cannon blasted, it set Neville off in a mini-panic. Theo sat up just as Neville did and they caught each others gaze from across the room.
Neville’s heart was racing and he felt sick… was it Harry? Was the date a ruse to kill off one of the top competitors? If Harry died while Neville was sitting on his butt, Neville would never forgive himself.
After a few minutes without a second cannon, Neville began to relax. If it had been Harry or Trent, then there would have been a second cannon.
Because if they were together (and Neville was certain they were) then nobody could kill Trent and not have to fight Harry to the death over it. And nobody could kill Harry and not have to kill Trent as well.
Theo didn’t look as relaxed and Neville started to feel badly for him.
“I don’t think Harry was planning to kill Blaise when they left,” Neville said kindly. “There’s still a lot of others here, it’s probably one of them.”
“Probably…” Theo said, not seeming to believe it himself at all. “They’ve been gone a while though, do you think we should go check on them?”
Neville couldn’t think of a reason why they shouldn’t. Really, only Harry and Blaise could pull off something as stupid as a date in the arena. No other pair of tributes would be so confident to say pause on the games and take their time putting on a show.
If a tribute hadn’t just died, Neville might find it kind of funny.
Neville left Trent’s food in the room they left. Either they would return and Trent would be able to eat or some other starving tribute would find it. Either way, it wouldn’t go to waste.
One of the worst parts about the arena being a castle was the constant silence. It made every footstep echo, every whisper carry. If it wasn’t so massive, Neville thought they’d all have died in two days flat.
It was easier to move around with Harry, Neville just followed his lead and they didn’t need to talk about it. With Theo it was different, Neville didn’t trust him and they kept pausing to wave their hands at each other, not even able to agree on so much as the direction they wanted to travel.
“Harry wouldn’t sit in full view!” Neville whispered hotly when Theo tapped his arm and gestured down another dim hallway. They would have more luck in the towers every corner, that seemed like the kind of place where Harry would hide out at.
“Look!” Theo hissed, pointing downward. At first Neville didn’t see anything, just a dirty stone floor. When he squinted, it felt like his stomach dropped down inside of him.
There was blood, a few droplets. It wasn’t smudged or stepped on yet, which meant it had to be fresh.
Neville nodded apologetically and let Theo take the lead as they followed the blood. Neville hoped they weren’t going to find a body - don’t be Harry.
Harry couldn’t have died, he couldn’t. Trent had to be with Harry, he had be. It was easy for Neville to see how Harry wanted to protect Trent and Trent looked up to Harry… as strange as that idea was.
There was another blast of a cannon and Neville couldn’t hold back a quiet whimper.
His entire theory that it couldn’t be Harry or Trent was just blown away by the sound of the second cannon. It had been some time since the first one, maybe an hour? But in an arena where every second counted, that was nothing at all.
Did Neville lose both of his allies? Was the second cannon Harry avenging Trent’s death? Or was it Blaise killing Trent after killing Harry? It might have taken him some time to catch Trent, he was quick and clever with his tunnels.
Should Neville get away from Theo? Was the second death a sign for Theo to kill Neville and take himself that much closer to home? Neville should run, definitely run…
“Neville.”
Neville yelped when Theo tapped his arm again. The sword he held came up defensively and Neville could taste bile in his throat.
“My God, and you called Blaise and Harry dramatic.”
Neville couldn’t make sense of what Theo said while his heart raced in an agonizing pump of blood. Neville tried to breathe and it was too loud, too harsh.
“What?” Neville eventually managed to ask with a great struggle. His view of Theo was skewed by sword he held up in front of himself, but he didn’t think Theo looked very impressed by him.
“Look,” Theo ordered him, pointing just past where they stood. Neville didn’t want to, didn’t want to look away from Theo, but he did it.
There was blood, a lot of blood. Neville had to lower his sword to walk closer so he could inspect it, but he knew one thing was for certain immediately: it wasn’t Harry’s blood.
“It wasn’t Harry,” Neville told Theo confidently. Their sky was purple, Neville’s teeth were dirty, and the first cannon blast hadn’t been Harry’s death.
“How can you possibly know that?” Theo asked, sounding more annoyed than was warranted with him.
“Because someone poured water here, see?” Neville used the tip of the sword to point out where the blood had been watered down and left strange smears. That was Harry, Neville knew it. Harry was the only tribute crazy enough to wash off every dying kid he found, making them clean and recognizable to their family.
Whoever had died there, it wasn’t Harry. And if Harry wasn’t the first death, Neville had to hold on to hope that he wasn’t the second one either.
“What do you think that means then?” Theo asked. Theo was looking upward and Neville slowly looked in the same direction as dread began to fill him once again.
It was a vented tile, shifted out of position.
The cannon blasted again and Neville shuddered, his eyes on that tile.
Harry wasn’t the first death, Neville doubted if he was the second or apparent third.
But that tile told Neville exactly who the first death had been.
“I think that means the games are going to end soon,” Neville said slowly. His throat felt thick and he dropped the sword so he could press a hand to his stomach, the place where a scared little boy had kicked him just the day before.
That was all Trent had been, a scared boy who wanted to go home. It wasn’t fair, none of it was.
If there was a silver lining to the murder of a boy, it was that the games were going to be over really soon. If Neville were home and he had a coin to bet, he’d bet that Harry would win. If he had a second coin, he’d bet that Harry was killing every tribute that was left.
Someone had killed Trent and Harry had been there, of that Neville was sure. Harry found him too let to save him, but in time to clean him. Neville hoped Harry held him, Neville hoped the last thing Trent felt was safe.
Neville hoped that Trent didn’t feel pain and that he had seen Harry, his friend, before he died. Neville hoped that Harry held Trent, comforted him.
And then a savage wave crashed over Neville and he hoped - he prayed - that Harry Potter won the Hunger Games.
Neville had never wanted anyone to win as much as he did Harry and it had nothing to do with Neville’s family then. Neville wanted Harry to win, Harry needed to win and on the night of his victory interview, Neville hoped that Harry killed the President on live television.
Someone had to pay for the lives that were being destroyed every year; Harry was the only tribute in the arena strong enough to collect that payment.
“Let’s go,” Neville said in a hard whisper that masked the heartache he was suffering. “We need to find Harry.”
Neville couldn’t do much, he wasn’t as strong as Harry and he didn’t like blood staining his hands. But Harry would be hurting, Neville was sure of it, and he’d need a friend by his side.
If that was to the end, great. If not, then Neville would cheer for Harry with Trent.
Theo let Neville lead him after that, not that Neville was entirely sure where they were going. They had searched the first floor before and Trent had been found on the second floor so Neville figured it was a safe bet to continue going upward.
“Sh!” Neville grabbed Theo when they were halfway up the stairs to the next floor and he pushed him against the wall.
Where was his…? Neville didn’t groan, but he did feel all the blood in his face drain down to his feet when he realized that he had dropped his sword by where Trent had died. Theo wasn’t much out a partner, he didn’t even remind him to grab it.
Neville couldn’t wait to get back with Harry, help him in whatever ways he could. Just being with someone who would watch his back would be a relief.
Theo held his breath while Neville flattened him against the wall. There were footsteps - loud and heavy - running down the stairs. It wasn’t Harry, probably not Blaise. Neville was guessing it would be one of the boys from Two, they were both heavy enough to make that much noise.
When the tribute passed, Neville had only a brief glance at him. It was the older boy from Eleven, Anderson. Anderson had blood splattering his front and a gun held like a peacekeeper in his arms. He seemed focused on running and missed where Neville and Theo hid in the shadows.
“Since when were assault rifles added to arenas?!” Theo hissed when the coast was clear. Neville shook his head, just as unhappy about that as Theo clearly was.
“Maybe one of the tributes impressed the Gamemakers in the private sessions,” Neville suggested. He doubted it would have been a gift, even on day one the cost of a gun would have been outrageous. Nothing about Anderson from Eleven stood out to Neville, he couldn’t imagine someone had spent that much money to send him such a weapon.
“Let’s switch towers,” Neville said after they could no longer hear Anderson. Anderson had blood on him, a gun in his hands. There might be dead bodies somewhere up that staircase, or a mutt horrible enough to make Anderson flee. Either way, Neville would rather take a different set of stairs up to search the next floor.
Neville also wanted to find his sword, except Theo seemed to purposefully go down the wrong hallway to backtrack.
“Go back if you want,” Theo said when Neville pointed it out to him. “I won’t wait for you.”
Neville hesitated then huffed when he thought he saw a nervous tick in Theo’s hands.
“You think I’m going to kill you?” Neville asked him in disbelief. “I’ve had a million chances!”
“You have had no chances,” Theo immediately snapped at him. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared. “For all I know, this is some plan you and Harry made and the second you have that sword back you’ll drive it through my neck.”
“I would not,” Neville said. “How do I know you just want me defenseless so you can kill me?”
“With this?” Theo pulled his jacket sleeve up and Neville saw the glint of a short blade. “I couldn’t kill a frog with this.”
“Why…” Neville was momentarily struck stupid by that strange declaration. “Why would you want to kill a frog?”
Frogs were cute, Luna liked frogs. She said the bumpy ones were called toads, those were the ones that Neville liked.
“I wouldn’t kill a frog and I’m not killing you!” Theo ripped the blade off his forearm and surprised Neville when he threw it. The knife landed down the hallway from them with a clank that could barely be heard over Theo’s sudden rant.
“Do you think I’ve lived my entire life just waiting for the day when I had to kill people?” Theo yelled. “No! Do you think I want to be in this stupid freaking arena? No! I want to go home, Neville! Everyone does! Nobody here wants to die, they just want their life to be different! YOU ARE SO IGNORANT!”
Theo’s sudden anger made Neville calm down. It was strange to be yelled at by Theo, but Neville looked at him and saw his brown eyes flashing, his hair flopping in his face, and didn’t see someone who was really angry.
Theo was scared, and Neville was too.
“I’m sorry, Theo,” Neville said calmly and kindly. It cost nothing to be a kind person, that was what Mum always said. Kindness had to be worth something in the arena since it was so sparse.
“Why don’t we go find Harry and Blaise and then we’ll go look for more weapons?” Neville said. “Since they had a date, I vote that we get to take a nap. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired.”
Neville’s patient approach worked and Theo’s body seemed to deflate some. He bit his lip and nodded and Neville felt like he’d made a real accomplishment.
It wasn’t whatever Harry was doing, but helping the others keep from having complete meltdowns was a useful skill too. It would… it…
Neville was helping his competitors to stay calm and rational. What was wrong with him? If Theo wanted to throw his weapon and scream until another tribute found him, Neville should let him. He should.
It shouldn’t matter what Neville’s parents would think - surely they’d be happy to have a living son over a polite corpse.
The problem with the Games - one of the many - was that it made everyone be someone they weren’t. Neville wasn’t someone who held a door shut to keep someone from escaping a mutt. Neville didn’t want to change, he told Harry that in one of their training sessions, and he was already beginning to not recognize himself.
“I’m sorry if something I said hurt your feelings,” Neville told Theo when they entered a new tower to ascend. “I don’t think you’re someone who kills frogs.”
Theo sniffed and Neville kept talking, chasing away the silence while he tried to find himself in the arena that tried to change him.
“My best friend Luna loves frogs,” Neville said. “One time she found a really pretty one, it was all green with red eyes. She really likes animals so we tried to find it in a book, it was called a tree frog. I don’t know how it made its way to District Twelve, it’s supposed to like heat and humidity.”
It was cute though, Luna called it Hopper. They had released him at the fence that surrounded their district with hopes it would find a more suitable home.
“Luna is the one you volunteered for?” Theo asked, jerking Neville from his memory of the day Luna had kissed him on the cheek and called him a prince.
“Yeah.” Neville smiled and it was sad, hopeful. “She’s my best friend.”
If Harry was Neville’s first friend, Luna was his best friend. It would be amazing to introduce them one day, Neville thought they might even get along well. Harry was sort of aggressive, Luna was ten times as passive as Neville. It sounded outrageous, but they could probably be the best of —
“ARGH!”
Neville has stepped on the next step up, the small landing midway between the two floors. His foot had no sooner touched the floor than something gave way beneath it and then snapped around his ankle.
In an instant, Neville was lifted high in the air by his ankle, flipping him upside down and smacking him hard against the stone wall. Neville had cried out, more from shock than injury - though stars did burst in his vision from the smack to his head.
“We’ve got one!”
Neville began struggling desperately, trying hard to reach his ankle to try and free himself. He could hear tributes racing downward, moving fast. It was a trap - it was a trap. It was a trap and he was stuck.
“Theo!” Neville fell down and everything felt wrong, bodies weren’t meant to be flipped upside down. Neville’s hair had fallen in his face and he twisted and turned trying to find Theo.
The footsteps were getting closer, they were running loudly and happily, and Theo was gone.
Theo left Neville there to die. Neville was going to die alone and he struggled again to try and bend up to release the rope. Theo left him. To die.
Neville was going to die and all he could think was that Harry was going to lose both of his allies in the same day.
The Games would end by the next nightfall.
“Well, well, well…” Two figures walked out of the shadows and Neville saw identical smiles on nearly identical faces.
The twins from Five - Fred and George.
“Look what we have here.” The twin with the bandage wrapped around his head looked up at Neville and wiggled his eyebrows. “How’s the weather up there?”
“Let me go, please.” Neville wasn’t above begging, not if it meant he wouldn’t be trapped - wouldn’t die.
“What do you think, Forge?” One twin looked at the other and they were dogs with a cat cornered. They were going to toy with him, then chew him apart with their teeth.
“I don’t know, Gred…” The other twin tilted his head and squinted at Neville, as if considering his plea. “He looks like Twelve to me. Does ickle Harry really need his partner?”
He did, he really did.
He didn’t, Harry didn’t need Neville. Except maybe he did. Maybe Harry needed Neville like Neville needed Harry.
Where was Harry? Theo left. Theo was not Harry, he was gone. Neville was trapped and Theo was gone and the Games would end tomorrow.
“I don’t think so.” The twin with the bandage pulled a loop of rope from his pocket and shook his head slowly at Neville, denying his plea. “It’s not personal, you know that, right?”
It wasn’t personal, it was a game.
Fourteen years of his life and Neville would die for a game.
Neville thrashed as the twin made his intentions known, as he tried to wrap the rope around Neville’s neck.
“Come hold him, Fred,” he said, grunting as Neville’s shoulder smashed his nose.
“Please, please.” Neville couldn’t cry; it wasn’t that he was too manly or tough, it was that he was upside down and all of his blood was inside his head and he didn’t want to die.
“Please don’t.” Neville twisted and swung his body, swatting out at the tributes who were trying to hold him. Fred, the one without the bandage, grabbed Neville’s arms and shoved him against the wall, once again slamming Neville’s head hard enough to cause a full shiver to go down - up - his body.
Neville went limp, only for a second. It was the fear and the shock, the repeated hits to his head.
It was for a second and that was all the time the twins needed to wrap their rope around his neck and to begin pulling it.
Neville’s fingers flew to his throat, scratching hard to try and pull the rope away - to return the air to his body.
The more Neville tried to suck in air, the more his head spun. The stars from before were gone and replaced with bursts of black, which didn’t help Neville’s panic or fear.
“Pull!” someone shouted. It wasn’t Neville, Neville couldn’t speak.
He would have begged, he would have. Neville would have done what he could to get home to his family, to get back to his friends.
There were disjointed memories flashing in Neville’s mind and he rejected them - it wasn’t his time; God, please, it couldn’t be.
The rope tightened and Neville still struggled with it, but his strength was slipping. Everything was getting distant, fuzzy. There would be a cannon —
“You’ve lived for seven hundred and twenty-eight weeks and this is the week people will remember you by for the rest of your life.”
It was the moment that his parents would remember, Luna would be told of. It was the moment Harry would watch play on a screen at his interview.
Neville hoped it was just before Harry stuck a knife in the heart of the Capitol.
The burning pressure in Neville’s lungs was receding and it was going to be okay… it was almost over. Neville would watch over everyone, he’d cheer for them to live long lives: happy and healthy.
As consciousness started to slip away, Neville’s body abruptly swayed hard and he once again bounced his head off the stone wall. The pressure around his neck loosened and Neville weakly tried to wheeze in air, something. There was a haze, a commotion happening, the film covering his eyes kept him mostly blind, but he sensed a fight.
There was a scream, footsteps… Neville’s eyes closed and his arms fell down by his head.
The sound of a cannon burst and it was the last thing Neville heard before his body crashed on the ground, eyes closed and pain free.
“My God…” There was an irritated sigh that tickled in Neville’s mind. Neville could have ignored it, nobody should be irritated in their death. Then they spoke up again.
“I better never hear you call anyone else dramatic again.”
There was a harsh pain in Neville’s side suddenly and he grunted.
Neville grunted.
It took his brain some time to catch up with his body and then his eyes snapped open - in shock and panic.
Standing above Neville, covered in the blood of the tribute he killed to save him, was Theo. Theo with the sword, Theo who didn’t leave him, but saved him.
Theo could live for another fifty years and that would be the moment that Neville would tell the world about.