With a Bang
Neville was walking with his shoes grinding into the ground like ice skates, mud flying up in lazy lumps, beige trainers turning slowly into rubbish. It was the combination of running and dragging one's feet that was perfected by Neville, who, to his credit, was at least not staring at the ground. He was tracing the buildings with his eyes, and the stones and bricks that made them up, and the crevices in each of them. Every so often he would look at the sky, look for the sun, then let his eyes dart away again as it started to burn red holes in his vision. Some would call this boredom, or even depression, if he thought much about it at all he’d have called it mediation.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t think in his bed, in his cabin with the others, not exactly, but it was like reciting half remembered poetry in the middle of a mob- pointless, tiring, and too hard to keep track. He liked thinking on his feet, anyway. He’d mentioned this to Ron once, when trying to make conversation, and Ron had actually opened his mouth to ask him why he always seemed to avoid phys ed then. He’d made some complaint about running, mainly because he hadn’t thought about it and didn’t want to start talking about himself that much anyway. In reality, though, he did like running. He just didn’t like feeling like he had to. It all felt like being chased, being cornered, even in open fields, even if the only thing making you run was the sound of a silver whistle.
And he didn’t like being watched. Ever, really, but he hated it most of all when during physical exercise. All the other boys were staring and laughing, and the counselors looked disappointed or amused. He didn’t like people thinking about him at all. Or... Well, maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing, now. If he gave them a good reason. If they were the right people. He realized with not a jolt, but something like a small shock in his gut, that he wasn’t so afraid of talking about him. He let himself consider that maybe, maybe it was a good thing.
He didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him before. He liked to talk to people- well, the people who didn’t sneer at him- but he’d always imagined he’d stopped existing to them when he had left their sight. It was a child’s thought, he knew. But that was that- sometimes he barely existed to himself. But not this summer. This summer it was like he was suddenly real. “Coming into his own” Gran had said.
Yeah. Maybe being talked about wasn’t the worst thing. Not always. Being watched. By some people. Every so often.
And then, his theory was tested.
Because of course- of course- Draco Malfoy was looking at him, sneering at him, like a dog daring you to come closer. Neville’s eyes started to drop to the ground in defense, but he kept them up, suddenly hating the idea of looking away. He stood his ground.
Draco advanced, slow, long strides towards him, and his stomach flipped, eyes falling to the mud. So much for bravery. Looked like it was coming in small doses.
“Longbottom,” He said in his poison drawl. His eyes were travelling up and down Neville like he was looking for his weakest point.
Neville didn’t answer, unsure if it was because he didn’t want to or because he couldn’t. There was something different about Draco but he wasn’t sure what. He looked... almost wild. Not unhinged or out of control- so perfectly in control. Always dangerous, always mean. Nothing really seemed changed, but... It was his eyes, he thought. They were colder. More distant. Like a wolf in the zoo remembering what it was like to be free, seconds from pouncing on its keeper to get to that freedom.
Neville realized he was staring. At least he wasn’t looking at the ground. At least he wasn’t shaking. He smiled in some twisted, confused instinctual response. Draco’s lip twisted, eyes sharper, and Neville’s hands started doing something by themselves, mutiny against the still absent brain. His mouth popped open a little like a confused cassette player.
Draco Malfoy punched him directly in the face.
Neville sat on his bed, feet firmly on the floor, elbows digging into his arched knees. He had a bag of frozen pees on his jaw, which was on fire now that the shock had passed. Draco fucking Malfoy. The prat.
Ron was staring at him from his own bed, as if Neville was about to start yelling, or maybe Draco was going to storm in and finish him off. Dean and Seamus were probably out making theories. This was, after all, unprecedented. Not someone being punched, or Draco being a complete arse, but Draco hadn’t ever “physically assaulted” someone here, as the nurses had called it. If he’d fought anyone at all, it was from on top of his ivory tower, calling his men forward like dim pawns on a chess board.
And out of nowhere, he’d just fucking decked him. And he hadn’t even done anything! Well, except smile. But who gets set off by being smiled at? Other than an aggressive monkey.
The wooden door banged shut, and Seamus and Dean walked in, still chattering under their breath.
“How’s the face, Neville?” Seamus asked, a little too cheerfully.
“My teeth hurt,” Neville answered simply. He wished he had closed his mouth before Draco’d had a chance to swing.
Seamus frowned sympathetically but then turned back around, surely smiling again. They were changing from their t-shirts into something nicer. Their “middle range” clothes, as they liked to call them. The fancy things were saved for the start of summer and the end of summer feast. Tonight was only the unofficial start, the bonfire. Still, if you showed up wearing anything deemed “bummy” there’d be plenty of judgement.
Neville stretched his legs out, moving the peas from mouth.
“Ah, wicked,” Seamus breathed, grinning.
“That bad?” He asked.
“It makes you look right badass.”
Neville shrugged, uncomfortable. No one was going to think he was a badass. They were going to know he was an idiot who stood in front of Malfoy, smiled at him, and hadn’t lifted a hand to defend himself. Like a coward.
He sighed.
“Can’t skip the bonfire,” Dean said over his shoulder, like he knew exactly what Neville was thinking.
“I guess.”
“No guessing, you can’t.” He turned back around to smile at him. “Even if you’re a badass now.”
Neville smiled despite himself.
“Alright, fine.”
He put the peas down on the chestnut dresser next to his bed, worried for a moment about water damage, and then letting his exhaustion at his whole life push that anxiety away. There were better things to worry about. He slipped off his shirt, and pulled on a new one. Like the championship. He tied his dark red tie clumsily. And if his teeth were going to fall out. He walked to the door behind Dean, hiding a grimace. And avoiding Draco Malfoy for the rest of the summer.