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perpetual_motionTitle: Sick and Tired of What to Say (No One Listens Anyway) [3/4]
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Neville/Snape
Rating: R [dark themes and sex; mostly the dark themes]
Summary: Wherein I take a giant leap from set-ups in book 7 to create a post-war wizarding world that isn't quite the bright shiny penny we get in the epilogue. Neville gets whumped a bit; Severus acts a touch more well-rounded; Hermione is confident and caring; a bunch of new teachers get vaguely silly names, and there are quotes from Monty Python.
Disclaimer: Lies! Oh, so many lies!
Author's Notes: This came out of nowhere and grew up fast, save the last five thousand words or so, which slowly unfolded while I waited with a measure of impatience. There are quotes from various Monty Python projects scattered throughout (and used with a purpose). Trust me on that. Title comes from the Flogging Molly song "Float", which played on repeat with a few other tunes while I pieced this thing together. Much love to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
distaff_exile who betaed the crap out of this, kept me from repeating myself, and kept me from repeating myself. You're fab, my dear.
Part One
Part Two
Sick and Tired of What to Say (No One Listens Anyway) 3/4
“You’re not sleeping,” Severus tells him two weeks later when they’re alone in the staff common room.
“I’m fine,” Neville says and tries not to rub his eyes. “I’ve been grading.” It’s true, Neville thinks, it’s just happening at two in the morning when he wakes from dreams he can’t remember.
Severus drops a vial into his lap as he passes by to leave the room. “For your grading,” he says quietly.
Dreamless Sleep, the label reads in Severus’s downward slanting script. Neville rolls the bottle between his palms and tries to will away the rush of emotion that flows up his spine. He’s still angry at Severus, but he’s always susceptible to kindness. It makes his stomach knot.
*
During third period the following Wednesday, Neville has to fight to keep his eyes open. He still can’t recall his dreams, but they feel darker somehow, and he gives a long yawn as he walks the class through a dissection of a Devil’s Snare vine. He turns to open the door wider, hoping the breeze will keep him more alert. When he turns back around, a Slytherin boy is wrapped knees to ankle in Devil’s Snare. The Ravenclaw girl responsible doesn’t even act apologetic. Her chin juts out when Neville tries to stare her down.
“He’s Slytherin.”
“He’s a student, same as you,” Neville responds and wonders if he should be pulling her outside to have this conversation.
“My dad says you can’t trust Slytherins.”
“Your dad’s wrong.” Neville looks around the room. “And if anyone else’s parents have said the same, they’re also wrong.”
“How do you know?” asks a boy in the back. He’s Slytherin, Neville knows, and his chin quivers when he tries to look brave.
“A Slytherin saved my life,” Neville says with emphasis. “And if you’d like to take it up with him, you’ll be in his class next period.”
*
“My students are talking about you,” Hilbert says as he sits next to Neville at dinner. “Rumor has it, Snape saved your life.”
Maybe, Neville thinks. He cuts into his roast beef and shrugs. “It ended a confrontation,” he explains. “It’s too early in the year for house rivalries to reach the point of hexes.”
Hilbert grins. “You’ve a point, but we don’t have Quidditch this year, so they’ll have to do something.”
“Halloween’s on the way,” Neville replies. “I’m sure something will go horrifically wrong.” Hilbert gives him a perturbed look. “Kidding,” Neville says.
“Didn’t sound it.”
Neville gives another shrug in response and doesn’t try to smooth it out. It’s too tiring, he thinks, to try and make Hilbert feel at ease. He didn’t ask him to sit there. He didn’t ask the Ravenclaw girl to wrap up the Slytherin boy. He didn’t ask to have his arm slowly, agonizingly pulled open by a Death Eater so that he would drop his sword.
“You all right, Nev?” Hilbert asks, and he sounds very far away.
Neville opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. It’s there, suddenly. “Severus,” he mutters.
“No; Hilbert. You feeling well? You look—”
“Severus.” Neville says loudly.
“End of the table. Can’t miss him,” Hilbert points to Severus.
His legs are shaking. Neville stands anyway and grips the edge of the table. “I need to speak—”
“To Severus,” Hilbert finishes. He stands as well and puts a hand on Neville’s shoulder. “Why don’t you sit—”
“I need to find my sword.”
“…Okay. But before you do that—”
“I will handle this, Mr. Hilbert,” Severus says from Neville’s left.
Neville looks at him. “My arm,” he says. He pulls back the sleeve of his robe. “I thought we’d fought them off. I thought—”
*
“Quiet, Mr. Longbottom,” Severus said as he crouched next to Neville.
“My arm!” Neville screamed, pressing his palm into his forearm to try and stop the blood. “He tried to—”
Severus pulled Neville’s hand away from his arm and pressed a ragged strip of cloth against the wound. “I need you to hold very still, Mr. Longbottom.”
“I feel ill,” Neville said. He felt calm, suddenly. “I think I might bleed to death.”
“It is hardly so dire,” Severus told him as he pressed his wand next to the wound. A ribbon of green light unwound into the air. “It was a separation spell. It is easy to fix.” He let go of the cloth on Neville’s arm to open the bag slung over his shoulder. “Hold the bandage, Mr. Longbottom.”
Neville lifted his hand obediently and pressed the cloth against his arm again. “I’m still bleeding.”
“That happens when you have a gaping wound, you idiot.”
It was reassuring, weirdly, to hear Severus insult him. “Do you think,” Neville asked as Severus unstoppered a vial, “that my parents will know I’m dead?”
“I do not answer moronic questions, Mr. Longbottom. I would have thought even that rudimentary rule would have sunk in by now.”
*
“It was nobody,” Neville says as Severus pushes him into a chair in Severus’s sitting room. “I don’t even remember what he looked like. In my nightmares, it was always her.”
“Say her name,” Severus instructs as he pulls out two short glasses and a bottle of Fire Whiskey.
“Bellatrix,” Neville sighs. “It was always Bellatrix. She would come straight at me, and I could never stop her.” He takes the glass Severus hands him and sips from it carefully. “Did I ever…” He looks at Severus and doesn’t know how to phrase his question. “I remember waking you up,” he says instead. “You’d come in—”
“I remember,” Severus interrupts.
“You’d let me cry,” Neville continues. “I couldn’t remember my nightmares then, either.”
“Take what small mercies you can.”
Neville swirls the whiskey in his glass. “I’ve had enough of those, I think. My life’s full of them. I just want to know what happened—what really and truly happened—just once.”
“You doubt your entire memory due to one moment of its weakness?” Severus asks in a tone that clearly calls Neville an idiot.
“Gran never told me everything about my parents,” Neville explains. “And I only know about the prophecy because Harry told me. I don’t think Dumbledore ever would have mentioned it.”
“No,” Severus agrees, “he would not.”
“What happened?” Neville asks, looking up from his glass. “What actually happened?”
“You fought,” Severus says, “and you lived.”
“The boy who lived,” Neville practically spits out.
“The man who fought,” Severus counters.
“Tell me,” Neville insists quietly. “Please. I just—” A knock on the outer door interrupts him.
Severus stalks across the room and throws up his door. “Miss Granger,” he greets icily.
“Neville—”
“I’m fine,” Neville calls without turning around. He swallows back a sigh when Hermione sits across from him. “I’d much rather—”
“I don’t think Hilbert quite knows what to think of you, Nev,” Hermione says, and there’s amusement under her worry. “I think he’s convinced you’re taking the piss.”
“It’s complicated,” Neville tells her. “And I’d rather not—”
“I know,” Hermione gives a wave. “I just wanted to be certain you’re all right.”
Probably not, Neville thinks. “Severus is handling things,” he says.
Hermione raises her eyebrows at the glass in Neville’s hand. “I can see that.” She stands and squeezes Neville’s shoulder. “I’ll stay, if you want.”
“No,” Neville shakes his head and just manages not to flinch at the hurt in Hermione’s eyes. “I’ve got…”
“I understand,” Hermione says quietly. “I’ll be in my rooms if you want to talk.”
How many times, Neville wonders, has Hermione had to walk away from a friend she just wants to help. He wonders how often she looks at the letters from Ron and Harry and wants to send a Howler. “I’m sorry,” he tells her.
“None of that,” Hermione admonishes, and she walks around his chair, gives Severus a quiet goodnight, and lets herself out.
Neville watches Severus settle himself in the chair across from him. “Tell me,” he insists.
“The first Death Eaters that returned after Voldemort’s death were highly disorganized after Minerva saw fit to blow up a few of them.” Severus smirks at Neville’s dry chuckle. “It was a simple matter to break their ranks and send them running. Once they’d scattered, I sent you to the east lawn to check the dead for curses and information. I heard you scream and found you—”
“I remember that,” Neville tells him. “I remember you fixing my arm. I thought I was going to bleed out.”
“Yes,” Severus confirms. “I had just bound your arm when Minerva approached us about the captive Death Eaters. She pulled you away from them because your grip on the sword was causing blood to seep through the bandages. She re-bound your arm with the pieces of her robe.”
Neville sips his whiskey. “How long—”
“I wanted to send you away after a day. Minerva held out. You were necessary for morale.”
“Someone else—”
“No,” Severus says flatly. “You were screaming in agony as your arm was being dissected, and you did not let go of the sword. No one else there could have done that.”
“I…I didn’t let go?”
“No.”
Neville thinks about the agony he remembers now. He couldn’t feel anything outside of the pain on his arm. He’d been convinced that he could feel the individual blood vessels in his arm being slowly pulled apart. “I didn’t let go.” He states.
“Precisely.”
“Why would I forget that?”
Severus gives him a long, measured look. “I’ve no idea.”
“Maybe…” Neville shakes his head. “There’s so many terrible things that I’ve been hoping to forget,” he starts again. “And that…this.” He looks at the scar on his arm again. “Out of everything.”
“Your parents lost their sanity to crucio. They’d been trained, extensively, to fight that curse.”
“What does that—”
“They were defeated by basic cruelty.”
Neville squints at Severus. “They were defeated because Bellatrix LeStrange tortured them to insanity,” he says sharply.
“Cruelty,” Severus says. “Unimaginable cruelty; the type that leads one person to gleefully torture another. Cruelty that causes a man to methodically tear open another man’s arm when a simple jelly-hand jinx would more easily cause the sword to fall from your grasp.”
“You’re saying…what are you saying?”
“Even war heroes have blind spots,” Severus explains. “Yours is compassion, as it was for your parents. You can understand people doing terrible things because they convince themselves to do so out of misleading information and self-pity, but none of you has the stomach to fully comprehend that some people do cruel things for the sport of it.”
“I forgot because I don’t want to admit that some people are complete bastards.” Neville shakes his head. “That doesn’t make sense. I knew that.”
“Are you certain?”
“There was nothing good in Bellatrix,” Neville says shortly. “I’ve always known that.”
“Second hand,” Severus dismisses. “You saw the aftereffects of her work, but not the act itself.”
“That doesn’t make the after effects any less terrible,” Neville snaps.
“No,” Severus agrees, “but it does leave a gap in understanding. You know that Bellatrix was a terrible person. You know that her acts left your parents without any sense at all. But you did not see it.”
Neville clenches his hand around his glass. “I don’t have to see it to know it was terrible.”
“What was her excuse?” Severus asks. “When you laid in bed after visiting your parents and tried to understand it, what did you imagine?”
Voldemort, Neville thinks. “I thought…I thought she was—”
“She was answering to nothing but her own base urges,” Severus tells him. “She enjoyed it.”
“Why?” Neville asks, and he grimaces at the crack in his voice.
“Because cruelty is easy.”
*
They’d been at the flat for nearly two months before Minerva showed up and asked to speak to Severus alone. Neville watered the plants and wondered if any of Severus’s potions needed stirring. Minerva and Severus walked into the kitchen before Neville could work up the nerve to actually touch one of the soup pots.
“Bottle the healing potion,” Severus ordered him as he pointed to the pot on the back left burner. “The tracking potion will need to be stirred once an hour for the next four hours, and the—”
“Where are you going?” Neville interrupted.
“Away.” Severus replied.
“I am in need of Severus’s services elsewhere,” Minerva explained.
“Don’t we have other brewers?”
“Minerva does not require my brewing expertise,” Severus said quietly.
It took a moment for Neville to understand what wasn’t being said. “You’re—”
“If I do not return within the day, owl St. Mungo’s for assistance.”
“Why do you need healing potion?”
The silence that answered him painted a clearer picture than Neville had actually wanted. “I can help.”
“You’ve done more than enough,” Minerva told him with a small smile. “And someone needs to look after the potions.”
“What if I ruin something?” Neville asked Severus.
“It will explode,” Severus said. “And you will be deceased.”
“Nah, I’ll just be resting.”
Minerva raised her eyebrows at the both of them. “Should I know something?”
“It’s nothing,” Severus assured her. He took the bottled healing potion and gave Neville a sharp nod. “Every hour for the next four hours.”
“Chin up,” Neville replied.
*
Neville finishes his whiskey and watches the fire. “Were you nice to me at the flat because you thought I’d gone ’round the bend?”
“No,” Severus says quietly. “I treated you as a rational person because you behaved as one.”
“Did I?”
“Most of the time, yes.”
“What about…” Neville finds he can’t finish the question. He looks at Severus. “You kissed me goodbye once,” he says instead.
“Yes,” Severus acknowledges. “I was only mostly rational as well.”
“I wanted…I kept hoping it would happen again.” Neville mulls over the memory. “You wanted me to instigate it, didn’t you?”
“I did not want you to think you were obligated,” Severus tells him. “The rash impulse to kiss you goodbye—”
“You thought you were going to die,” Neville interrupts. “At least, that’s what I’ve always assumed.”
“It is close enough to the truth.”
*
Severus left with Minerva at intervals Neville could never quite track. Sometimes he’d be gone for days, sometimes only hours, and once it was only minutes.
“Where do you go?” Neville asked after an absence that lasted four days, catching Severus as he Apparated in and nearly collapsed.
“It is not your concern,” Severus replied and allowed Neville to help him to a chair.
“Are you injured?”
“No.”
“Do you want some tea?”
“Yes.”
Neville walked to the kettle and poured a cup of water. He took a bag of tea from the box in the cupboard, took the milk from the refrigerator, and placed all of them on the table in front of Severus. “Sandwich?”
“Yes.” Severus carefully lowered his tea bag into his cup. “I had to Apparate repeatedly,” he said to his cup.
“Will they—” Neville cleared his throat and wrapped his fingers tightly around the mustard jar. “Can they follow?”
“They would be here already.”
“All right.” Neville nearly jumped out of his skin when the room reverberated with the pop of another Apparation. He turned, wand out before he thought about it, and let out a harsh breath when he registered McGonagall. “Is everything—”
“Severus,” MCGonagall said over Neville, “I’m so terribly—”
“Do I need to bring anything?” Severus asked as he stood.
“No.” McGonagall pulled herself up straight and pushed back her shoulders. She gave a nod to Neville. “How—”
“Fine,” Neville interrupted. “Do you—”
“Yes,” Severus said before Neville could finish. “There is a war on.” He glanced at McGonagall. “The usual place?”
“Number six.”
“I will be there shortly.”
McGonagall stood very still for a moment, looking ready to argue. “Hurry, please.” She Apparated away.
“What—” Neville was cut off when Severus leaned in and kissed him. It was slightly harsh; Severus’s mouth was off-center and his nose pressed against Neville’s cheek uncomfortably.
“Keep watch,” Severus ordered as he pulled away. “This could—”
“I know,” Neville said. He reached to the potion rack and pressed a bottle into Severus’s palm. “I had to finish it without you.”
Severus eyed the bottle of Pepper-Up. “I distinctly recall you nearly blowing up my classroom making this once.”
“Best of luck,” Neville made himself smile when Severus gave him an unamused look.
“Neville…” Severus shook his head and tucked the bottle into the pocket of his trousers. “Keep watch,” he said again and Apparated.
*
Neville watches Severus finish his whiskey. “If I kissed you right now, what would happen?”
“I would assume you hysterical.”
“Really?”
Severus stands up and carries his glass to the table with the whiskey. “You have been traumatized by what you experienced in the war. To the point that you forgot you were injured. Memories of your injuries are only now returning. To begin—”
Neville turns him around and kisses him. “I kissed you in the greenhouse,” he says, his mouth pressed against Severus’s cheek. “You kissed me on the lawn.”
“You were—”
Neville kisses him again and risks reaching for Severus’s hand. “Please.”
“You’re a fool,” Severus says, his fingers wrapping around Neville’s wrist. His mouth slides down Neville’s cheek, and he bites lightly at Neville’s neck. “I should send you away.”
“You won’t.” Neville presses his nose into Severus’s hair and sighs. “You didn’t before.”
“You were traumatized before.” Severus lets go of Neville’s wrist and laces their fingers together.
Neville pulls away to look Severus in the eyes. “I still am.” He says quietly.
“I know,” Severus responds just as quietly.
“Will it pass?” Neville asks before he can push it back.
“No.”
“Will it get better?”
Severus presses his palm against Neville’s. “I do not know.”
*
Every single one of Neville’s students look terrified when he collects their mid-term papers. “Everyone meet length requirement?” He smiles when they nod as a group. “Then you’ll do just fine.”
An hour later, sitting in the common room, he wishes he could take it back. “One of my Gryffindors thinks Screechsnap is related to Devil’s Snare.”
Hermione looks up from her own stack of student papers. “That’s not a terrible mistake. They both move, at least.”
“I spent an entire class period explaining the differences,” Neville sighs, rubbing his eyes. “A double class period, no less.”
“I recall you making numerous similar mistakes,” Severus interjects from across the table.
“In Potions,” Neville points out. “Not Herbology.”
“Oh, yes,” Severus draws out, “that makes all the difference.”
Neville presses his foot against Severus’s ankle under the table. “As I’m teaching Herbology, it does.”
“As I’m teaching Potions.” Severus replies.
“As I’m teaching Muggle Studies,” Hermione says as she tosses her supplies onto the table, “I’m going to win.” She sits down and holds up an essay. “I have a Hufflepuff who thinks Audrey Hepburn and Englebert Humperdinck are related.”
Neville sorts through his papers. “I’ve a Ravenclaw who wrote an entire paper on the pretty purple flowers that come out of Pufferpods.” He sighs at the blank look Hermione gives him. “They’re pink. Very, very pink.”
“I’ve had a Gryffindor and two Ravenclaws cause explosions in my classroom this week,” Severus says.
“Pulled a Neville, did they?” Hermione grins wickedly.
“At least it was not a Hermione,” Severus tells her.
“A Hermione?”
“Knows all the ingredients,” Neville explains, “but doesn’t quite have the quantities down yet.”
Hermione looks shocked for a moment before she laughs. “Is there a Potter?”
“Always,” Severus confirms. “And it always has a Weasley attached.”
“It’s symbiotic,” Hermione says. “The Potter sense of adventure feeds into the Weasley lack of sense.”
“You grossly underestimate the types, Miss Granger. They could each, individually, have both qualities.” Severus drawls.
Neville and Hermione collapse into a laughing fit. They’re still going a few seconds later when Grace and Nomos walk into the room.
“What’s so funny?” Nomos asks, eying the seat next to Severus and settling at the other end of the table.
“We’re taking cheap shots,” Hermione tells them between giggles. “Because the people we’re taking the shot at aren’t here to defend themselves.”
“Anyone we know?” Grace asks as she sits next to Hermione.
“Harry and Ron.”
Grace leans in. “You have embarrassing stories of Harry Potter, and you haven’t told me? That’s just rude!”
“It wouldn’t—”
“Potter made his decisions to be an idiot,” Severus interrupts Hermione’s protest. “And now you get to make the decision about how kind to be about it.”
Hermione gets a gleam in her eyes. “That’s very true.”
“Hermione,” Neville says, mildly apprehensive, “just remember what they know about you.”
“Oh,” Hermione waves her hand, “I’ve told all those.” She thinks for a moment and grins at Neville. “Remember the first day of Transfiguration?”
Neville can’t stop the grin that slides across his face. “Yes, I do.”
“What about Transfiguration?” Minerva asks as she walks into the room.
“We’re telling stories on Harry and Ron,” Hermione explains.
Minerva’s face lights up. “Let me get a fresh cuppa.” She lifts the teapot from the counter. “Anyone else?”
“I’ll get my own, thanks,” Neville stands and picks up his mug. He grabs Severus’s mug as well and fills them both. When he turns back to face the table, he sees Minerva standing behind his chair. “Go ahead,” he tells her. “I know you like that chair.”
“Thank you,” Minerva says and sits, the smile on her face widening as Hermione starts the story.
“…they run in, and they’re very proud of themselves, because they think they’ve beaten Minerva to the room—”
“They didn’t.” Grace interrupts.
Hermione shakes her head. “Even better than that.”
Neville walks around the table, sets Severus’s mug next to his stack of papers, and pulls out the chair next to him.
“…and then the cat jumps off the table and there’s Minerva. And Ron immediately…”
“Thank you,” Severus says as Hermione sends everyone else into a round of raucous laughter.
Neville smiles at him. “You’re welcome.”
“Tell another!” Grace demands as Hilbert walks in the room.
“Did I miss a meeting?” Hilbert asks as he takes a seat.
“No,” Minerva assures him. “The old hats are just reminiscing.”
“Hermione,” Neville says, “tell them what Fred and George put you through in fifth year.”
“Fred and George?” Nomos asks.
“Weasly’s Wizard Wheezes,” Neville explains. “They went here with us.”
“They tested their early work on the first-years when I was prefect,” Hermione tells Nomos.
“The number of things from that shop that I’ve confiscated,” Nomos says with a shake of his head. He leans into the table. “Tell me, do they accept Howlers at their shop?”
“His,” Neville corrects automatically. “Fred died in the war. It’s just George now.”
“And Percy,” Hermione says.
“Percy? Really?” Neville asks.
“Percy was always much more studious than his siblings,” Minerva explains at the confused looks from Grace, Nomos, and Hilbert. “He spent most of his time as a prefect trying to stop his brothers from getting into mischief.”
“It didn’t work?” Hilbert’s grin is knowing.
“Not even a little,” Hermione confirms.
“I can’t believe Percy…” Neville trails off and shakes his head.
“Stranger things have occurred,” Severus tells him.
Neville grins a little when Severus’s knee presses against his leg under the table. “I suppose.”
“Forget all these names,” Nomos says with a dismissive wave. “I just want to know how nasty of a letter I can actually get through to them.”
*
Neville wakes up and blinks away the tears at the corners of his eyes. He stares at the ceiling and listens to himself breathe. The nightmare is waiting for him, he knows. He wishes he could remember it. If he could remember it, he thinks, maybe he would get a full night's sleep.
He sits up in bed and looks across the room at his bookshelf. The bottle of Dreamless Sleep from Severus is sitting next to his gradebook. Neville gets out of bed and walks to the shelf. He rolls the bottle between his hands and considers his options. Taking the potion means sleeping, but Neville can't bring himself to do it. He's scared he'll wake up and realize he's forgotten everything, or just enough of everything to think that none of it happened.
Neville puts the bottle back on the shelf. He pulls on his dressing gown and finds his slippers. The hallway is quiet, save a few creaks and whispers between the portraits. Neville looks right, then left, and wonders when the silence in the castle became somewhat soothing. He walks left, down to the dungeons, and stops outisde of Severus's door.
Knock, he dares himself, and presses his hand against the door. There's a faint glow around the doorknob, and then the door swings open. Neville blinks. He takes a step inside, and the door closes behind him. "Huh," Neville says quietly. He looks around Severus's sitting room and walks to the bedroom. Severus is asleep on the left side of the bed, and Neville hesitates. Maybe, he thinks. But maybe not.
"Quit your internal nattering and get into bed," Severus mutters as he turns over. "I do not personalize my door locks for every idiot I meet."
"I wouldn't think so," Neville drapes his dressing gown over one of the bed posts. "Everyone could get in." He settles himself next to Severus and takes a deep breath to keep from stuttering. “What does this--”
“It is much too late to draw you a map,” Severus curls his hand around Neville's arm. “And you would only take a wrong turn anyway.”
“Good night, Severus,” Neville says quietly.
“Good night.”
Part Four
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Neville/Snape
Rating: R [dark themes and sex; mostly the dark themes]
Summary: Wherein I take a giant leap from set-ups in book 7 to create a post-war wizarding world that isn't quite the bright shiny penny we get in the epilogue. Neville gets whumped a bit; Severus acts a touch more well-rounded; Hermione is confident and caring; a bunch of new teachers get vaguely silly names, and there are quotes from Monty Python.
Disclaimer: Lies! Oh, so many lies!
Author's Notes: This came out of nowhere and grew up fast, save the last five thousand words or so, which slowly unfolded while I waited with a measure of impatience. There are quotes from various Monty Python projects scattered throughout (and used with a purpose). Trust me on that. Title comes from the Flogging Molly song "Float", which played on repeat with a few other tunes while I pieced this thing together. Much love to
distaff_exile who betaed the crap out of this, kept me from repeating myself, and kept me from repeating myself. You're fab, my dear.Part One
Part Two
Sick and Tired of What to Say (No One Listens Anyway) 3/4
“You’re not sleeping,” Severus tells him two weeks later when they’re alone in the staff common room.
“I’m fine,” Neville says and tries not to rub his eyes. “I’ve been grading.” It’s true, Neville thinks, it’s just happening at two in the morning when he wakes from dreams he can’t remember.
Severus drops a vial into his lap as he passes by to leave the room. “For your grading,” he says quietly.
Dreamless Sleep, the label reads in Severus’s downward slanting script. Neville rolls the bottle between his palms and tries to will away the rush of emotion that flows up his spine. He’s still angry at Severus, but he’s always susceptible to kindness. It makes his stomach knot.
*
During third period the following Wednesday, Neville has to fight to keep his eyes open. He still can’t recall his dreams, but they feel darker somehow, and he gives a long yawn as he walks the class through a dissection of a Devil’s Snare vine. He turns to open the door wider, hoping the breeze will keep him more alert. When he turns back around, a Slytherin boy is wrapped knees to ankle in Devil’s Snare. The Ravenclaw girl responsible doesn’t even act apologetic. Her chin juts out when Neville tries to stare her down.
“He’s Slytherin.”
“He’s a student, same as you,” Neville responds and wonders if he should be pulling her outside to have this conversation.
“My dad says you can’t trust Slytherins.”
“Your dad’s wrong.” Neville looks around the room. “And if anyone else’s parents have said the same, they’re also wrong.”
“How do you know?” asks a boy in the back. He’s Slytherin, Neville knows, and his chin quivers when he tries to look brave.
“A Slytherin saved my life,” Neville says with emphasis. “And if you’d like to take it up with him, you’ll be in his class next period.”
*
“My students are talking about you,” Hilbert says as he sits next to Neville at dinner. “Rumor has it, Snape saved your life.”
Maybe, Neville thinks. He cuts into his roast beef and shrugs. “It ended a confrontation,” he explains. “It’s too early in the year for house rivalries to reach the point of hexes.”
Hilbert grins. “You’ve a point, but we don’t have Quidditch this year, so they’ll have to do something.”
“Halloween’s on the way,” Neville replies. “I’m sure something will go horrifically wrong.” Hilbert gives him a perturbed look. “Kidding,” Neville says.
“Didn’t sound it.”
Neville gives another shrug in response and doesn’t try to smooth it out. It’s too tiring, he thinks, to try and make Hilbert feel at ease. He didn’t ask him to sit there. He didn’t ask the Ravenclaw girl to wrap up the Slytherin boy. He didn’t ask to have his arm slowly, agonizingly pulled open by a Death Eater so that he would drop his sword.
“You all right, Nev?” Hilbert asks, and he sounds very far away.
Neville opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. It’s there, suddenly. “Severus,” he mutters.
“No; Hilbert. You feeling well? You look—”
“Severus.” Neville says loudly.
“End of the table. Can’t miss him,” Hilbert points to Severus.
His legs are shaking. Neville stands anyway and grips the edge of the table. “I need to speak—”
“To Severus,” Hilbert finishes. He stands as well and puts a hand on Neville’s shoulder. “Why don’t you sit—”
“I need to find my sword.”
“…Okay. But before you do that—”
“I will handle this, Mr. Hilbert,” Severus says from Neville’s left.
Neville looks at him. “My arm,” he says. He pulls back the sleeve of his robe. “I thought we’d fought them off. I thought—”
*
“Quiet, Mr. Longbottom,” Severus said as he crouched next to Neville.
“My arm!” Neville screamed, pressing his palm into his forearm to try and stop the blood. “He tried to—”
Severus pulled Neville’s hand away from his arm and pressed a ragged strip of cloth against the wound. “I need you to hold very still, Mr. Longbottom.”
“I feel ill,” Neville said. He felt calm, suddenly. “I think I might bleed to death.”
“It is hardly so dire,” Severus told him as he pressed his wand next to the wound. A ribbon of green light unwound into the air. “It was a separation spell. It is easy to fix.” He let go of the cloth on Neville’s arm to open the bag slung over his shoulder. “Hold the bandage, Mr. Longbottom.”
Neville lifted his hand obediently and pressed the cloth against his arm again. “I’m still bleeding.”
“That happens when you have a gaping wound, you idiot.”
It was reassuring, weirdly, to hear Severus insult him. “Do you think,” Neville asked as Severus unstoppered a vial, “that my parents will know I’m dead?”
“I do not answer moronic questions, Mr. Longbottom. I would have thought even that rudimentary rule would have sunk in by now.”
*
“It was nobody,” Neville says as Severus pushes him into a chair in Severus’s sitting room. “I don’t even remember what he looked like. In my nightmares, it was always her.”
“Say her name,” Severus instructs as he pulls out two short glasses and a bottle of Fire Whiskey.
“Bellatrix,” Neville sighs. “It was always Bellatrix. She would come straight at me, and I could never stop her.” He takes the glass Severus hands him and sips from it carefully. “Did I ever…” He looks at Severus and doesn’t know how to phrase his question. “I remember waking you up,” he says instead. “You’d come in—”
“I remember,” Severus interrupts.
“You’d let me cry,” Neville continues. “I couldn’t remember my nightmares then, either.”
“Take what small mercies you can.”
Neville swirls the whiskey in his glass. “I’ve had enough of those, I think. My life’s full of them. I just want to know what happened—what really and truly happened—just once.”
“You doubt your entire memory due to one moment of its weakness?” Severus asks in a tone that clearly calls Neville an idiot.
“Gran never told me everything about my parents,” Neville explains. “And I only know about the prophecy because Harry told me. I don’t think Dumbledore ever would have mentioned it.”
“No,” Severus agrees, “he would not.”
“What happened?” Neville asks, looking up from his glass. “What actually happened?”
“You fought,” Severus says, “and you lived.”
“The boy who lived,” Neville practically spits out.
“The man who fought,” Severus counters.
“Tell me,” Neville insists quietly. “Please. I just—” A knock on the outer door interrupts him.
Severus stalks across the room and throws up his door. “Miss Granger,” he greets icily.
“Neville—”
“I’m fine,” Neville calls without turning around. He swallows back a sigh when Hermione sits across from him. “I’d much rather—”
“I don’t think Hilbert quite knows what to think of you, Nev,” Hermione says, and there’s amusement under her worry. “I think he’s convinced you’re taking the piss.”
“It’s complicated,” Neville tells her. “And I’d rather not—”
“I know,” Hermione gives a wave. “I just wanted to be certain you’re all right.”
Probably not, Neville thinks. “Severus is handling things,” he says.
Hermione raises her eyebrows at the glass in Neville’s hand. “I can see that.” She stands and squeezes Neville’s shoulder. “I’ll stay, if you want.”
“No,” Neville shakes his head and just manages not to flinch at the hurt in Hermione’s eyes. “I’ve got…”
“I understand,” Hermione says quietly. “I’ll be in my rooms if you want to talk.”
How many times, Neville wonders, has Hermione had to walk away from a friend she just wants to help. He wonders how often she looks at the letters from Ron and Harry and wants to send a Howler. “I’m sorry,” he tells her.
“None of that,” Hermione admonishes, and she walks around his chair, gives Severus a quiet goodnight, and lets herself out.
Neville watches Severus settle himself in the chair across from him. “Tell me,” he insists.
“The first Death Eaters that returned after Voldemort’s death were highly disorganized after Minerva saw fit to blow up a few of them.” Severus smirks at Neville’s dry chuckle. “It was a simple matter to break their ranks and send them running. Once they’d scattered, I sent you to the east lawn to check the dead for curses and information. I heard you scream and found you—”
“I remember that,” Neville tells him. “I remember you fixing my arm. I thought I was going to bleed out.”
“Yes,” Severus confirms. “I had just bound your arm when Minerva approached us about the captive Death Eaters. She pulled you away from them because your grip on the sword was causing blood to seep through the bandages. She re-bound your arm with the pieces of her robe.”
Neville sips his whiskey. “How long—”
“I wanted to send you away after a day. Minerva held out. You were necessary for morale.”
“Someone else—”
“No,” Severus says flatly. “You were screaming in agony as your arm was being dissected, and you did not let go of the sword. No one else there could have done that.”
“I…I didn’t let go?”
“No.”
Neville thinks about the agony he remembers now. He couldn’t feel anything outside of the pain on his arm. He’d been convinced that he could feel the individual blood vessels in his arm being slowly pulled apart. “I didn’t let go.” He states.
“Precisely.”
“Why would I forget that?”
Severus gives him a long, measured look. “I’ve no idea.”
“Maybe…” Neville shakes his head. “There’s so many terrible things that I’ve been hoping to forget,” he starts again. “And that…this.” He looks at the scar on his arm again. “Out of everything.”
“Your parents lost their sanity to crucio. They’d been trained, extensively, to fight that curse.”
“What does that—”
“They were defeated by basic cruelty.”
Neville squints at Severus. “They were defeated because Bellatrix LeStrange tortured them to insanity,” he says sharply.
“Cruelty,” Severus says. “Unimaginable cruelty; the type that leads one person to gleefully torture another. Cruelty that causes a man to methodically tear open another man’s arm when a simple jelly-hand jinx would more easily cause the sword to fall from your grasp.”
“You’re saying…what are you saying?”
“Even war heroes have blind spots,” Severus explains. “Yours is compassion, as it was for your parents. You can understand people doing terrible things because they convince themselves to do so out of misleading information and self-pity, but none of you has the stomach to fully comprehend that some people do cruel things for the sport of it.”
“I forgot because I don’t want to admit that some people are complete bastards.” Neville shakes his head. “That doesn’t make sense. I knew that.”
“Are you certain?”
“There was nothing good in Bellatrix,” Neville says shortly. “I’ve always known that.”
“Second hand,” Severus dismisses. “You saw the aftereffects of her work, but not the act itself.”
“That doesn’t make the after effects any less terrible,” Neville snaps.
“No,” Severus agrees, “but it does leave a gap in understanding. You know that Bellatrix was a terrible person. You know that her acts left your parents without any sense at all. But you did not see it.”
Neville clenches his hand around his glass. “I don’t have to see it to know it was terrible.”
“What was her excuse?” Severus asks. “When you laid in bed after visiting your parents and tried to understand it, what did you imagine?”
Voldemort, Neville thinks. “I thought…I thought she was—”
“She was answering to nothing but her own base urges,” Severus tells him. “She enjoyed it.”
“Why?” Neville asks, and he grimaces at the crack in his voice.
“Because cruelty is easy.”
*
They’d been at the flat for nearly two months before Minerva showed up and asked to speak to Severus alone. Neville watered the plants and wondered if any of Severus’s potions needed stirring. Minerva and Severus walked into the kitchen before Neville could work up the nerve to actually touch one of the soup pots.
“Bottle the healing potion,” Severus ordered him as he pointed to the pot on the back left burner. “The tracking potion will need to be stirred once an hour for the next four hours, and the—”
“Where are you going?” Neville interrupted.
“Away.” Severus replied.
“I am in need of Severus’s services elsewhere,” Minerva explained.
“Don’t we have other brewers?”
“Minerva does not require my brewing expertise,” Severus said quietly.
It took a moment for Neville to understand what wasn’t being said. “You’re—”
“If I do not return within the day, owl St. Mungo’s for assistance.”
“Why do you need healing potion?”
The silence that answered him painted a clearer picture than Neville had actually wanted. “I can help.”
“You’ve done more than enough,” Minerva told him with a small smile. “And someone needs to look after the potions.”
“What if I ruin something?” Neville asked Severus.
“It will explode,” Severus said. “And you will be deceased.”
“Nah, I’ll just be resting.”
Minerva raised her eyebrows at the both of them. “Should I know something?”
“It’s nothing,” Severus assured her. He took the bottled healing potion and gave Neville a sharp nod. “Every hour for the next four hours.”
“Chin up,” Neville replied.
*
Neville finishes his whiskey and watches the fire. “Were you nice to me at the flat because you thought I’d gone ’round the bend?”
“No,” Severus says quietly. “I treated you as a rational person because you behaved as one.”
“Did I?”
“Most of the time, yes.”
“What about…” Neville finds he can’t finish the question. He looks at Severus. “You kissed me goodbye once,” he says instead.
“Yes,” Severus acknowledges. “I was only mostly rational as well.”
“I wanted…I kept hoping it would happen again.” Neville mulls over the memory. “You wanted me to instigate it, didn’t you?”
“I did not want you to think you were obligated,” Severus tells him. “The rash impulse to kiss you goodbye—”
“You thought you were going to die,” Neville interrupts. “At least, that’s what I’ve always assumed.”
“It is close enough to the truth.”
*
Severus left with Minerva at intervals Neville could never quite track. Sometimes he’d be gone for days, sometimes only hours, and once it was only minutes.
“Where do you go?” Neville asked after an absence that lasted four days, catching Severus as he Apparated in and nearly collapsed.
“It is not your concern,” Severus replied and allowed Neville to help him to a chair.
“Are you injured?”
“No.”
“Do you want some tea?”
“Yes.”
Neville walked to the kettle and poured a cup of water. He took a bag of tea from the box in the cupboard, took the milk from the refrigerator, and placed all of them on the table in front of Severus. “Sandwich?”
“Yes.” Severus carefully lowered his tea bag into his cup. “I had to Apparate repeatedly,” he said to his cup.
“Will they—” Neville cleared his throat and wrapped his fingers tightly around the mustard jar. “Can they follow?”
“They would be here already.”
“All right.” Neville nearly jumped out of his skin when the room reverberated with the pop of another Apparation. He turned, wand out before he thought about it, and let out a harsh breath when he registered McGonagall. “Is everything—”
“Severus,” MCGonagall said over Neville, “I’m so terribly—”
“Do I need to bring anything?” Severus asked as he stood.
“No.” McGonagall pulled herself up straight and pushed back her shoulders. She gave a nod to Neville. “How—”
“Fine,” Neville interrupted. “Do you—”
“Yes,” Severus said before Neville could finish. “There is a war on.” He glanced at McGonagall. “The usual place?”
“Number six.”
“I will be there shortly.”
McGonagall stood very still for a moment, looking ready to argue. “Hurry, please.” She Apparated away.
“What—” Neville was cut off when Severus leaned in and kissed him. It was slightly harsh; Severus’s mouth was off-center and his nose pressed against Neville’s cheek uncomfortably.
“Keep watch,” Severus ordered as he pulled away. “This could—”
“I know,” Neville said. He reached to the potion rack and pressed a bottle into Severus’s palm. “I had to finish it without you.”
Severus eyed the bottle of Pepper-Up. “I distinctly recall you nearly blowing up my classroom making this once.”
“Best of luck,” Neville made himself smile when Severus gave him an unamused look.
“Neville…” Severus shook his head and tucked the bottle into the pocket of his trousers. “Keep watch,” he said again and Apparated.
*
Neville watches Severus finish his whiskey. “If I kissed you right now, what would happen?”
“I would assume you hysterical.”
“Really?”
Severus stands up and carries his glass to the table with the whiskey. “You have been traumatized by what you experienced in the war. To the point that you forgot you were injured. Memories of your injuries are only now returning. To begin—”
Neville turns him around and kisses him. “I kissed you in the greenhouse,” he says, his mouth pressed against Severus’s cheek. “You kissed me on the lawn.”
“You were—”
Neville kisses him again and risks reaching for Severus’s hand. “Please.”
“You’re a fool,” Severus says, his fingers wrapping around Neville’s wrist. His mouth slides down Neville’s cheek, and he bites lightly at Neville’s neck. “I should send you away.”
“You won’t.” Neville presses his nose into Severus’s hair and sighs. “You didn’t before.”
“You were traumatized before.” Severus lets go of Neville’s wrist and laces their fingers together.
Neville pulls away to look Severus in the eyes. “I still am.” He says quietly.
“I know,” Severus responds just as quietly.
“Will it pass?” Neville asks before he can push it back.
“No.”
“Will it get better?”
Severus presses his palm against Neville’s. “I do not know.”
*
Every single one of Neville’s students look terrified when he collects their mid-term papers. “Everyone meet length requirement?” He smiles when they nod as a group. “Then you’ll do just fine.”
An hour later, sitting in the common room, he wishes he could take it back. “One of my Gryffindors thinks Screechsnap is related to Devil’s Snare.”
Hermione looks up from her own stack of student papers. “That’s not a terrible mistake. They both move, at least.”
“I spent an entire class period explaining the differences,” Neville sighs, rubbing his eyes. “A double class period, no less.”
“I recall you making numerous similar mistakes,” Severus interjects from across the table.
“In Potions,” Neville points out. “Not Herbology.”
“Oh, yes,” Severus draws out, “that makes all the difference.”
Neville presses his foot against Severus’s ankle under the table. “As I’m teaching Herbology, it does.”
“As I’m teaching Potions.” Severus replies.
“As I’m teaching Muggle Studies,” Hermione says as she tosses her supplies onto the table, “I’m going to win.” She sits down and holds up an essay. “I have a Hufflepuff who thinks Audrey Hepburn and Englebert Humperdinck are related.”
Neville sorts through his papers. “I’ve a Ravenclaw who wrote an entire paper on the pretty purple flowers that come out of Pufferpods.” He sighs at the blank look Hermione gives him. “They’re pink. Very, very pink.”
“I’ve had a Gryffindor and two Ravenclaws cause explosions in my classroom this week,” Severus says.
“Pulled a Neville, did they?” Hermione grins wickedly.
“At least it was not a Hermione,” Severus tells her.
“A Hermione?”
“Knows all the ingredients,” Neville explains, “but doesn’t quite have the quantities down yet.”
Hermione looks shocked for a moment before she laughs. “Is there a Potter?”
“Always,” Severus confirms. “And it always has a Weasley attached.”
“It’s symbiotic,” Hermione says. “The Potter sense of adventure feeds into the Weasley lack of sense.”
“You grossly underestimate the types, Miss Granger. They could each, individually, have both qualities.” Severus drawls.
Neville and Hermione collapse into a laughing fit. They’re still going a few seconds later when Grace and Nomos walk into the room.
“What’s so funny?” Nomos asks, eying the seat next to Severus and settling at the other end of the table.
“We’re taking cheap shots,” Hermione tells them between giggles. “Because the people we’re taking the shot at aren’t here to defend themselves.”
“Anyone we know?” Grace asks as she sits next to Hermione.
“Harry and Ron.”
Grace leans in. “You have embarrassing stories of Harry Potter, and you haven’t told me? That’s just rude!”
“It wouldn’t—”
“Potter made his decisions to be an idiot,” Severus interrupts Hermione’s protest. “And now you get to make the decision about how kind to be about it.”
Hermione gets a gleam in her eyes. “That’s very true.”
“Hermione,” Neville says, mildly apprehensive, “just remember what they know about you.”
“Oh,” Hermione waves her hand, “I’ve told all those.” She thinks for a moment and grins at Neville. “Remember the first day of Transfiguration?”
Neville can’t stop the grin that slides across his face. “Yes, I do.”
“What about Transfiguration?” Minerva asks as she walks into the room.
“We’re telling stories on Harry and Ron,” Hermione explains.
Minerva’s face lights up. “Let me get a fresh cuppa.” She lifts the teapot from the counter. “Anyone else?”
“I’ll get my own, thanks,” Neville stands and picks up his mug. He grabs Severus’s mug as well and fills them both. When he turns back to face the table, he sees Minerva standing behind his chair. “Go ahead,” he tells her. “I know you like that chair.”
“Thank you,” Minerva says and sits, the smile on her face widening as Hermione starts the story.
“…they run in, and they’re very proud of themselves, because they think they’ve beaten Minerva to the room—”
“They didn’t.” Grace interrupts.
Hermione shakes her head. “Even better than that.”
Neville walks around the table, sets Severus’s mug next to his stack of papers, and pulls out the chair next to him.
“…and then the cat jumps off the table and there’s Minerva. And Ron immediately…”
“Thank you,” Severus says as Hermione sends everyone else into a round of raucous laughter.
Neville smiles at him. “You’re welcome.”
“Tell another!” Grace demands as Hilbert walks in the room.
“Did I miss a meeting?” Hilbert asks as he takes a seat.
“No,” Minerva assures him. “The old hats are just reminiscing.”
“Hermione,” Neville says, “tell them what Fred and George put you through in fifth year.”
“Fred and George?” Nomos asks.
“Weasly’s Wizard Wheezes,” Neville explains. “They went here with us.”
“They tested their early work on the first-years when I was prefect,” Hermione tells Nomos.
“The number of things from that shop that I’ve confiscated,” Nomos says with a shake of his head. He leans into the table. “Tell me, do they accept Howlers at their shop?”
“His,” Neville corrects automatically. “Fred died in the war. It’s just George now.”
“And Percy,” Hermione says.
“Percy? Really?” Neville asks.
“Percy was always much more studious than his siblings,” Minerva explains at the confused looks from Grace, Nomos, and Hilbert. “He spent most of his time as a prefect trying to stop his brothers from getting into mischief.”
“It didn’t work?” Hilbert’s grin is knowing.
“Not even a little,” Hermione confirms.
“I can’t believe Percy…” Neville trails off and shakes his head.
“Stranger things have occurred,” Severus tells him.
Neville grins a little when Severus’s knee presses against his leg under the table. “I suppose.”
“Forget all these names,” Nomos says with a dismissive wave. “I just want to know how nasty of a letter I can actually get through to them.”
*
Neville wakes up and blinks away the tears at the corners of his eyes. He stares at the ceiling and listens to himself breathe. The nightmare is waiting for him, he knows. He wishes he could remember it. If he could remember it, he thinks, maybe he would get a full night's sleep.
He sits up in bed and looks across the room at his bookshelf. The bottle of Dreamless Sleep from Severus is sitting next to his gradebook. Neville gets out of bed and walks to the shelf. He rolls the bottle between his hands and considers his options. Taking the potion means sleeping, but Neville can't bring himself to do it. He's scared he'll wake up and realize he's forgotten everything, or just enough of everything to think that none of it happened.
Neville puts the bottle back on the shelf. He pulls on his dressing gown and finds his slippers. The hallway is quiet, save a few creaks and whispers between the portraits. Neville looks right, then left, and wonders when the silence in the castle became somewhat soothing. He walks left, down to the dungeons, and stops outisde of Severus's door.
Knock, he dares himself, and presses his hand against the door. There's a faint glow around the doorknob, and then the door swings open. Neville blinks. He takes a step inside, and the door closes behind him. "Huh," Neville says quietly. He looks around Severus's sitting room and walks to the bedroom. Severus is asleep on the left side of the bed, and Neville hesitates. Maybe, he thinks. But maybe not.
"Quit your internal nattering and get into bed," Severus mutters as he turns over. "I do not personalize my door locks for every idiot I meet."
"I wouldn't think so," Neville drapes his dressing gown over one of the bed posts. "Everyone could get in." He settles himself next to Severus and takes a deep breath to keep from stuttering. “What does this--”
“It is much too late to draw you a map,” Severus curls his hand around Neville's arm. “And you would only take a wrong turn anyway.”
“Good night, Severus,” Neville says quietly.
“Good night.”
Part Four
