Walls
It had all gone down hill in what felt like an instant- from cheery smiles with the lads, to... this. It wasn’t the first time Dean and Seamus had fought, and he didn’t expect it to be the last either. Mainly because he couldn’t imagine them not talking for much longer.
Normally their fights were small and full of silent treatment from Dean, or Seamus going a little off the rails, and once they made up it was like it had never happened. They loved each other like that- without holding grudges, like making up was inevitable. Their spats usually just meant a few days of uncomfortability for Neville, and then a few days more of a different kind of uncomfortability, and that was it. Neville had given up hope of it being that easy this time.
He still wasn’t entirely sure of the details, of the fight that had apparently been building for weeks- months?- and had culminated in a drunken argument on Seamus’ part. They were lucky not to have been both been expelled, or at least blocked from entering the tournament, they had been so loud. Lucky for them, Crabbe and Goyle were keeping the counsellors busy. Or, maybe not so lucky for at least Neville and Seamus.
Dean had marched himself up to Dumbledore’s cabin and taken his name off their group. He’d tried to move cabins as well, but no one had ever managed it before, and he was no exception. Still, that left them with a wide open, gaping spot that needed to be filled. And, by the next day it had been.
It might have been better if someone had told them in person. Better, even, if they’d been asked. But maybe they were afraid of how the boys would react. And, to be fair, they would have been right to be.
Neville’s chest was already tying itself in painful knots, and Seamus was borderline despondent. Dragging them both out to the dining hall was the only cure Neville could think of, temporary or not. But even the sight of scones and toast couldn’t make his stomach settle, or his hands stop twitching.
Seamus was watching Dean, who was sitting a few tables away, and not looking back with a practiced air of stoicness. Neville started to say something about it, then changed his mind. He wasn’t exactly the best person to give any relationship advice. He had a feeling that he still wouldn’t have been even if he had managed to have one by this point. So he directed his eyes to the porridge he’d ladled into the bowl in front of him, trying to make himself want it. His eyes flicked back up after a few minutes, and they caught themselves on Draco Malfoy.
His hands twitched again without asking permission first, and flung his spoon out of his grip and past the other end of the table.
“Um, Ron, could ya...?”
Ron looked as if he had been in a completely different world, and it took him a few seconds to turn the question into one he understood. By the time he had leaned under the table and the come back, spoon in tow, Draco was looking over at them. Neville found he wasn’t quite sure if he’d ever stopped staring. No, he had to have, he told himself, at least when he was talking to Ron. But it still felt like they had been staring at each other, having some telepathic screaming match, so loud the whole hall should have been staring.
But Ron was staring at his hands, and the plate within them, more focused on if he could get more food than he was on the freezing gaze on the back of his head. Seamus’ own eyes hadn’t moved at all.
Neville tried to ignore the stare as well, wiping off the spoon and then using it to shovel porridge into his mouth as if he were ravenous. It felt like swallowing dumbbells.
He made himself breathe, once he realized her was holding his breath, and then tried not to look like he’d just been holding his breath. He felt 11 years old, and the thought warmed his cheeks. So much for feeling like he’d grown up.
He shook his head at himself, just slightly. Anyone would be unhappy about this. Just look at Draco- he seemed angry enough to be a timebomb. Which, well, wasn’t exactly comforting, but it did prove his point. He took in a long breath and straightened up. He’d stew for a few minutes, then he’d get over it. It wasn’t like Draco Malfoy was evil. Not even like he’d chosen to be part of their group at all.
The thought of Crabbe and Goyle in the woods, blood on their clothing, was enough to make Neville feel like the porridge he’d shoved down his throat was going to make a reappearance, and he tried not to dwell. His eyes went back to Draco, for just a moment. He could see him trying to take charge, bully them into doing what he wanted. The thought of being a tool, or a stepping stone for anything Draco Malfoy wanted made him bristle. The blonde boy was scowling at the boy in front of him- Nott, he thought. Then he watched him shrug, polite coolness rising to them top.
He knew what Gran would say- “make the best out of any situation”- and he knew that she was right. It wasn’t what any of them had wanted, but that didn’t change the reality of it. Maybe he’d even be lucky enough to get more Polite Draco than the one who punched him in the face and seemed happy to do it again. All he needed to do was get through this- preferably without any broken bones. But he was nothing if not realistic.
~
Dean was sitting on his bed, facing the wall. It was a sight that made Draco falter. It looked a little “horror movie”, until Dean turned and gave him a half-watt smile.
“Oh, hey, Nev.”
Knowing for sure that he wasn’t Seamus, Dean turned away from the wall fully. He had a notebook next to him, probably the one he used to draft his radio show.
Neville sat down on his bed, and watched Dean for a second. He seemed off, but not quite as bad as Seamus. Maybe that’s how it happened when you were the one who did the breaking up, not the one being broken up with. He realized he was staring when Dean raised an eyebrow at him. He really needed to stop staring at people today.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” Neville answered. “I was just... I mean, are you okay?”
Dean gave him a thin smile. “Yeah.”
They looked at each other in silence. Neville was pretty sure he was supposed to say something, but didn’t know what. His experience with friends’ breakups was equal to his experience with breaking up. Dean looked tired, he realized. Like if he had to do or explain one more thing, he’d just fall to the ground.
He considered offering him some coffee, then nixed the idea. Maybe he should just ask him if he wanted the room to himself. He opened his mouth, but before he got the question out, Dean had already abandoned the not-quite-conversation and turned back to the wall.
The air felt flat around him, and his sat there for a few seconds, watching the back of Dean’s head, unwilling to shift on his bed and make a noise that would break him out of whatever strange meditation he was doing. Then he decided that leaving might be the best option after all. He walked out of the cabin as silently as he could.
The gardens were almost indistinguishable from the regular grounds, as no one seemed to care if the boys knew how to take care of plants, or if there was anything beyond grass and shrubs planted, but Neville still liked them. He’d started hanging out there his first year, mostly because they were almost always deserted. Then he’d noticed the way they grew, persevering without needing an ounce of encouragement, and it was hard not to feel fond of them. Especially when he found the few buds that were hidden within the glass, of watery blue flowers trying, and usually failing, to reach the sunrays. He always wondered how they managed to come back every year, but he was glad that they did
He settled down to the stone wall of the garden, giving the plants a silent hello. The sun that had warmed the wall, touched down on his shoulders and arms, like he was sitting inside of a sunbeam.
He wasn’t sure how much time had gone by then he opened his eyes with the sound of footsteps. It took him a second to adjust to the sunlight, they had been closed for so long, and then another second to recognize who was in front of him and why.
Seamus looked sheepish. For a moment, Draco thought he’d sought him out to talk about his feelings- both a terrifying thought and one that made him feel relieved that he could at least help one of them- and he started to talk.
“Holding up okay, Seamus?” He asked, words coming out even as he noticed the other boys behind Seamus. They didn’t look sheepish, but had expressions of barely contained excitement. It made him uncomfortable. It also made him feel like an idiot.
His eyes fell to the thing in Seamus’ hand, then he pulled them back up, pretending as if he hadn’t seen. For some reason. He felt jumpy and a little like they’d launched a sneak attack on him.
“Uh. Yeah, I’m alright,” Seamus said, unconvincingly, but nicely enough. “How ‘bout you, Nev?”
“Yeah, I’m good.” Then, because, he guessed, he was truly stupid, he interupted the silence with, “Just saw Dean.”
Seamus’s face twisted in a nameless expression before it cleared into the forced contentedness it had begun as. “Oh, yeah?”
“Back in the cabin. Well, a little while ago I guess.” He bit his lips closed, then stood up. “I’m gonna go then.”
Seamus nodded, then raised his right hand to him. “Wanna join us?” He asked, which Neville knew instinctively really meant “don’t mention this, okay?”
He shrugged apologetically. “Thanks, I’m gonna head out anyway.”
“Alright, then,” Seamus said, and took his spot on the wall, facing the opposite way, away from the rest of the camp.
The cabin was empty when Neivlle got back, which was a relief and yet made him feel something more complicated at the same time.
He felt untethered, and he tried to balance out the feeling, by clinging to his bed. He wished he could have one good conversation with just one of them, to feel a little less hopeless as a friend. But, really, he knew that wasn’t what bothering him.
Maybe cabin-mates wasn’t quite the same as friends. Or, maybe he was friends with Dean & Seamus, but not with Dean or Seamus. The thought made him feel heavy and exhausted.
Well, maybe that could change. He wasn’t sure how, but the thought made him feel a little better. “Friends to come” was better than “no friends”. They still lived together, all three of the boys he was used to being around. And Seamus, at least, would be around for the tournament meetings. And hopefully not depressed or stoned for at least the majority of the time. Maybe winning would be what it took to snap them out of it. Not that they’d gotten close before.
But, he reminded himself, they’d never had Draco on their team before. The thought made him feel manipulative and conniving. And to what end, really?
Though, it would be nice, just once, to win. Like his father, the idol he could never really live up to. He hated the idea of being a tool for Draco to use, and he didn’t much like the idea of trying to use Draco the same way. But if it were mutually beneficial, well, did that change anything? He could hear a voice in the back of his head saying “no, it makes you a giant prat, Nev”.
Still... He thought of his Gran. Make the best of it they would.