Back Again
He got out of his gran’s rental, stooping slightly as to not hit his head. All year he’d been waking up with pins and needles and with less and less clothes he could still wear. Even now he felt himself absent-mindedly pulling on the cuffs of his sleeves, as if afraid they would shrink and leave in a moment’s notice without him forcing them back to their proper place.
One of the counselors was already getting his things out of the boot, and eyeing, he could easily guess, the small tank.
“I’ll grab Trevor,” He told him brightly, and saw a small wave of relief rushed over the very prim man before he hurried away from the boy and his toad.
“I still don’t know why you insisted on bringing a toad to camp,” His gran said from inside the car. “It’s not as if there’s a shortage.”
“There’s no one to feed him back home,” He pointed out, for the hundredth time.
“Yes, what a tragedy that would have been.”
He ignored her comment, content in knowing it had no real venom to it, and picked up his tank, cradling it in his arms. He could feel the large toad hopping around already, and it calmed him a bit.
“I’ll see you in 10 weeks,” He told her, circling over to her car window.
“Yes I know,” She said, as if irritated by the reminder, but still offered her cheek for a kiss goodbye. He beamed at her. Things had gotten so much easier between the two of them in the past few months. It almost made him feel like things were just waiting to get better.
“10 weeks!” He said again, mostly to see her scowl.
He got to his cabin only moments after his bags did. It was the same cabin he’d been in since he’d been old enough to come to camp, and it felt genuinely nice to be back. He was struck again, as he often was throughout the years, by how lucky he was to have been put in this cabin at all. Not only was it populated by some of the least snobbish boys he could have imagined- Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, and a scholarship case, Ron Weasley- but had the best sponsor.
Each area of the field of cabins had a different sponsor, a leader in activities such as the tournament, and most importantly charities, fundraising, and all around schmoozing. There was Sprout, a kindly man who had always been nice to Neville when he’d seen him, but was so mild mannered he never managed to lead his group to do much of anything, or even remembered anyone’s name, beyond the other sponsors. Then there was Flitwick, who had always seemed intense beyond his exterior. He would bring his campers out to write journal articles and poetry later to be submitted to prestigious publications, but did it with a vigor Neville had never associated with the arts. He was also known to push his campers to “go behind his back” and practice past lights out once the tournament got into full swing. Then came Snape, Neville’s least favorite of the 4. He didn’t care about anyone but his own campers, to the point where there was whispers of foul play. People liked to say that that’s why his campers wound up winning so often.
The last of the sponsors, his own, was Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore was much older, and did not seem as intense as some of the others, but there was something almost dangerous about him. He’d protect them, and he’d push them, and sometimes he’d set them out on some very odd tasks that Neville never quite understood the point of, but by God, after all these years he’d gladly follow him through the gates of Hell. And, to be honest, he was almost expecting it to be asked to.
Another counselor bustled into the cabin with a large suitcase in his arms that looked like it might have been crimson a few family members’ ago. Behind him was the lanky redheaded boy, flushing slightly already.
“Hiya Ron,” Neville greeted him. Ron always seemed a bit volatile, but he knew it was just because he was defensive. No matter how clear he made it, year after year, that he had no interest in being friends, Neville refused to stop speaking to him. It was one of the few “courageous” things he could give himself points for.
Ron waved dully, awkwardly avoiding eye contact. He seemed disconnected, even for him.
“Wotcha, Ron?” A voice called from the bed in the left corner.
Seamus’ hand appeared, waving itself in a grand arc, as if signalling to someone incredibly far away.
“Oops, sorry, Seamus,” Neville apologized, feeling the familiar uncomfortable feeling. “I didn’t realize you were there.”
“Eh, it’s grand.” He sat up. “I’ve been here since last night. Mam had a few things to do today.”
That uncomfortable feeling rose a little more. He’d never been quite sure how Seamus had gotten into the camp, especially without a scholarship that anyone knew of. There were rumors... Ones better to ignore. Definitely better to ignore. Because people liked to hurt each other the only ways they could.
He forced a smile, and waited for it to become real.
“Any sight of Dean yet?” Seamus asked, looking at both boys.
“No, I don’t think so.”
Ron shook his head as he unzipped his suitcase.
“Well,” Seamus said, looking a little disappointed. “He’ll be here soon enough.”
Neville looked down at the tank he’d just remembered was still in his hands. Trevor staring up at him, as if memorizing the room for any escape routes.
He set him down on the desk next to his bed, and tried to untangle his nerves. He always felt a bit awkward at the start of camp, something he’d never been able to really get over, but there was something else, mixed in with it. Everything had felt so much easier lately, a little... Well, it felt like maybe he was growing into something new.
He felt himself blush slightly, embarrassed immediately at the thought of himself being some kind of emerging butterfly. Still, if his relationship with Gran could get so much better, not to mention his grades, and mum....
Despite himself, he grinned.
“I think I’ll take a look around,” He told the others, no longer interested in unpacking.
“Yeah?” Seamus swung his legs over the bed. “I’ll come with.”
Everything looked the same, with the exception of the new stage in Sprout’s area. He’d been pushing for that for longer than Neville thought any of the current campers had even been coming. It was the same excitement in the air, the same sprawling buildings, the same celebratory green paint on the dining hall, give or take a few new coats. When Neville had first come to camp he’d left with the hall a victorious crimson. He wanted it that color again so badly it felt like a part of him. Of course, that’s how most people felt.
He saw Seamus sneer at the dining hall as well, and a strange sense of unity washed over him that he rarely felt.
“Mr. Longbottom! Mr. Finnigan!” A man approached them, beaming. He was a very large man and the polar opposite to most of the patrons and counselors. Groundskeeper Hagrid was more openly affectionate than Neville was comfortable with, but he still liked the man.
“Hiya, Groundskeeper,” Seamus said with a small wave.
“Make sure to come to the bonfire tonight, eh?” He told them. “Welcome back, lads.”
“Yeah, thank you, Hagrid!” Neville told him.
“Ah,” Seamus said moments later.
“What?” Neville turned to ask, but found Seamus already gone. He looked around for a second before spotting Dean Thomas. Well, that meant there was no point in waiting for Seamus to come back.
It was no matter, anyway. He always felt a bit like he was holding his breath when he was with the other boys- even when they were just walking together. Even when it was just Seamus. It wasn’t like it was...
Draco was walking towards his cabin as if the ground beneath him was gold and only he was worthier than it. He’d gotten a little taller as well, though Neville thought with a slight shock that he was actually the taller one now, but even from this distance he could see that the main change to him was his build. Where Neville had always looked wiry, Draco looked as if he could build his own house by hand.
Great.
Deja vu flooded him like a lightning strike, as their eyes met, once again caught staring. Draco’s eyes were wide, as if deep in thought, and they flickered as if struggling to land on simply one emotion. And then they were taken over again, by that same look.
Neville dragged his gaze away, annoyed with himself and everything else in the damn world. He turned back towards his own cabin, resisting the urge to run.
As he walked, he could still feel Draco Malfoy’s eyes burning into him.