Waves
Neville sat on his bed with his back against the wood wall, his knees high mountains in front of him, holding his pocket radio in his lap. He’d stuck the cheap pair of earbuds that he’d shoved in his luggage into the radio, and into his own ears only moments after turning it on, when Seamus had made a loud noise of objection from his bed.
Seamus always meant to stay up for Dean’s morning radio show, and most summers he would succeed for at least the first few weeks. It was later on that he’d start to sleep too hard to even try to wake up, having been out until 5 am. He’d started early this year with the bonfire. Neville wasn’t sure when he’d actually gotten in, but was sure how little he wanted to be awake, so he left him to it.
Dean’s voice was soft and happy in his ears. He really loved his radio show. He’d taken over for an older boy, Lee, after “interning” with him two years ago, and it was one of the few things he truly cared about. He wasn’t one to put a lot of energy in the things he didn’t love completely.
Almost without thinking, Neville glanced back over at Seamus. He was twisted up in the off white cover like a natural disaster, the dark red afghan that came with every bed messily kicked to the floor with his shoes. Even in sleep he looked like a powder keg.
Neville rested his head against the wall again, closing his eyes. Dean was talking about football with a zeal that clashed with the very early hour, lovingly prattling on about West Ham. After a moment he laughed, and a song came on abruptly. Neville couldn’t place it, but it had a strong bass line and a soft, confident male voice carrying it towards him. It fit together in a way that made him yearn, with a strange sort of pulling in his chest. He let it settle over him as peacefully as it could until the song was through.
“Ah, sorry,” Dean was saying in his ear buds, laughter still coloring hjs voice. “I forgot this was supposed to be a music programme.”
And with that, another song started. This time it was more like folk, but louder. More incessant. Neville thought he’d ask Dean about it when he saw him later, then let the thought go. Dean loved music almost as much as he loved football, and if you got him going about it, he’d never stop. Unlike with football and art, the only way he could do anything with that passion was to talk your ear off about it.
He remembered the summer Dean had brought a cherry red guitar with him to camp. He’d been so proud until he had actually tried to play it. Seamus thought he just needed more practice, and Neville thought he was probably right, but Dean had denounced it. He sometimes caught him looking wistfully at the keyboards and drums they took out for events, looking like he’d trade most anything to be able to play music. For now, though, he was content just playing other people’s.
Seamus groaned again from his sheet wreckage and threw his body half off the bed.
“Alright there, Seamus?” Neville asked, but he got no response but another loud groan. He got up and placed a bottle of water by the boy’s bed.
Seamus was still knackered at 8, when their official first breakfast started. Neville and Ron had had to practically pick him up out of bed. He’d drained the water in one go.
Even now he was rubbing his sleep bruised eyes with his fists, stalling the line. Neville headed to the table Dean was already sitting at with a few others, and Seamus sluggishly followed.
“Good programme today, Dean,” Neville told him, sitting.
“Thanks,” He answered brightly. “It is nice to back.” He looked at the sleepy, ruffled boy next to Neville with a bemused expression. “Didya listen, Shay?”
Seamus blinked blearily. “What?”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Well, thanks for listening, Neville.”
Neville dug into his oatmeal, listening to the chatter around him. His eyes raised off of his bowl as he lifted the spoon up to his mouth, and then immediately looked away.
Draco Malfoy was at the long table next to theirs, and directly across from Neville’s seat. He looked back down at his bowl, determined not to catch his eye. Even if the universe kept pushing them together, he would hold onto his resolve. After all, avoiding Draco was the safest option there was.
Once finished eating, having lost some of his appetite to his now nervous stomach, he pushed his chair away from the table.
“Leaving, Neville?” Dean asked.
“Going for a walk, I think,” He answered, and made his way to the door, eyes locked ahead of him.
The air was surprisingly cold on his bruised face, the wind pushing into his split bottom lip. His teeth still hurt.
If it had been anyone other than Draco Malfoy to start a fight on the first day of camp, he would have been surprised at the lack of punishment. Instead he was just sick of the whole thing. No one got Draco in trouble- not serious trouble, at least. He had too many friends of the family around.
He hadn’t “started a fight”, anyway, he had to admit. Just punched someone once and that was it. Not much of a fight for either of them. Neville guessed that he’d been lucky. It definitely could have gone worse. Sometimes it felt like Draco was a lawnmower trying to cut everyone down who had the misfortune of catching his eye.
To be honest, he was half expecting to be punished himself. It didn’t make sense, not logically, but his old jumpy anxiety was hard to shake, especially after such a sudden attack. He hadn’t gotten into any fights in the 4 year before this, and had gotten in only minimal trouble with Snape, which was always frightening but didn’t count against a person, as most everybody did. So it was hard to believe that after being “involved in a fight” as his school back home would have called it, there’d be absolutely no repercussions. Even if they weren’t going to do more than speak to Draco it didn’t mean they would leave it to rest entirely.
He jumped at the sight of a counselor in his peripheral. She gave him the kind of polite smile you gave strangers on the street or women with children that wanted too much to do with you. A smile that said absolutely nothing about either of you except that you’d noticed each other and were most likely eager to stop noticing each other and get back to your lives. Somehow he doubted she even knew his name.
Maybe being in trouble wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Gran had always wanted him to do more, push himself. He was sure that this wasn’t what she had meant. “Make waves, but make them well,” was her average parting wisdom. But he got it, at the moment. And he wasn’t sure how to follow her advice.
If someone came to him, gave him lines or a suspension for events, it would at least mean he’d been acknowledged. It would mean he’d “made waves”, for what felt like the first time. He’d never felt more like a background character in his own life.
He stiffened again as another figure moved past him, this time a boy about a year older than him. He didn’t look at Neville at all, but moved with purpose towards the dining hall. If he’d been punished, he’d probably have fainted. He probably still would.
If Snape approached him right now, with his regular glare, he would have ran before he’d even realized he was moving at all. That would have made a mark, wouldn’t it? Making waves, not making them well. But, he was a coward. He couldn’t expect that all to change.
He jumped as yet another person came up behind him, this one stopping by his shoulder.
“Alright, Neville?” Ron asked, awkwardly.
“Uh, yeah. Sorry.”
They stood in silence for a moment. It settled uncomfortably around their shoulders.
“Good.. walk?” Ron asked.
“Yeah, yeah. Nice...air.”
“Yeah.”
Ron looked past him for a second and Neville fought the urge to whip around and see who was coming. Then Ron looked back at him.
“Heading back?’
“Yeah.”
They walked together in broken silence, Neville too far in his own worried mind to even fully appreciate that Ron was speaking. By the time they reached their cabin door, his mind was too full of scenarios and annoyances aimed at himself, that he found it hard to respond to Ron at all.
He sat on his bed a minute before giving up and lying down. Seamus had had the right idea. It was always better to just be asleep.
*********************************************************
Neville had spent most of the day in bed. He’d taken several more walks, but as the day went on there had been more and more people to startle him, and eventually he settled back into the cabin. Dead and Seamus had moved in and out together every hour or so until they’d started to change for the start of summer feast.
Neville looked up from the potted plants on his window sill, to watch them pick at each other’s wardrobes. Ron was already dressed and look miserable, as he always did in his hand me down “top tiers”. Neville felt bad for him. The boy was quiet and angry without wearing shirts too worn out and large for him.
He got up, slowly, from his favorite succulent and began to dress himself. As he pulled his shirt on, he focussed in on Dean and Seamus’ conversation.
“This year is our year,” Seamus was saying, confidently.
“That’s what you say every year, Shay.”
“Ah, but this year I’m right.”
Dean just laughed.
“Don’t you think?” Seamus pushed.
“Oh, I don’t know. I can just hope.”
“What do you think?” Seamus leaned past Dean, to speak to Ron.
Ron shrugged, and then, after a few seconds, spoke. “Dunno. Same as Dean I guess.”
“Oh, come on, why can’t anybody feel it?”
“Because then we’d all be as hopelessly optimistic as you are,” Dean told him.
“Well, it’s been years...” Ron continued, arms twisting themselves in knots.
“Exactly! It’s a comeback!” He looked over at Neville. “Nev! Don’tcha think?”
Neville grinned and didn’t speak, still putting on his shoes. He stood up and thought for a second. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
Seamus laughed triumphantly. “You and me, Nev. We know.”
They walked down to the dining hall as a cabin, the air filled with static excitement as well as the other boys’ laughter. Other boys were walking together too, and their talk bounced back into each others airs, all circling around the same subject- the tournament.
This was the night every year where the tournament officially opened. It was done in teams of 3, apparently so that “socialization would be encouraged”, meaning that at least one person from every cabin was forced to go talk to someone they didn’t live with.
He’d been so afraid his first year. It seemed obvious that he would be the one kicked out of the cabin’s group. Dean and Seamus had hit it off early on, and Ron wasn’t too social but not as awkward as Neville had always been. When they’d grouped together it suddenly felt like Ron had been picked, and he graciously mumbled something about finding another group before anyone had had to say it out loud. Every year since they had switched between Ron and Seamus, and each year they found new people to band together with. This year Ron was out again. Neville felt bad, like every year, but he could never get the nerve to volunteer to find a new group. The idea of it was too terrifying. He could feel the rejection already.
They settled in at the same long table they’d sat at for dinner, waiting for the food to be put out. Once it was, they pounced like hungry tigers, Neville included. He really had let his nerves get the best of him at breakfast. Now he refused to look up past his cabin mates at all, eliminating the risk.
“Welcome,” Dumbledore began from his place at the front of the hall. With that one word, the boys quieted. “back to another summer at Hogwarts. And welcome, of course, to our newest attendants. As you know, the annual tournament begins in just about one week. I’m sure you’re all anxious to get started, so be sure to sign up as soon as possible. As always, sign ups for teams of three begin tonight and continue on for three more days. Once it is lights out on the third day, sign ups are closed. In other news, Caretaker Filch has asked us to remind you that the official list of banned items is posted on his office door, and that ownership of any of them will be swiftly punished.” He smiled at this, almost dreamily. He really was odd. “Our sister camp has also been in contact, as their new owner is very enthusiastic about socializing our campers. There will be multiple joint events with them, which will be further elaborated on in the coming weeks. For now, enjoy your dinner, and try not to start any fights.” He winked, and sat down.
Dean already had the half-form in front of him, and was pencilling in his own name along with Seamus and Neville’s. He stood up so quickly he almost bounced, flashing another bright grin at the lot of them.
“This year is the year. I can feel it.”