FIC: Like Incendio
Title: Like Incendio
Author: coffee_n_cocoa
Pairing: Harry and Neville gen, background Ron/Hermione and Harry/Ginny, one-sided Neville/Ginny
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: # 102: On their 18th birthday, Harry tells Neville about the prophecy.
Content Information/Warnings: Drunk!Harry
Summary: Some things probably shouldn’t be spoken aloud.
Author's Notes: 1339 words. Thanks so much to featherxquill for her patience while I wrestled with this! I tried not to make Harry such a drunken douchebag, but considering the nature of the fest maybe I should have allowed him his misbehaviour earlier. Thanks to my beta for the onceover.
Like Incendio
The party celebrating Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom’s eighteenth birthdays takes place the first evening in August on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, so as not to give precedence of one hero over another. Everyone from Hogwarts has been invited, or at least that seems to be the impression, considering the number of students in attendance. Madam Rosmerta provides the liquid refreshment, and once the sun sets there will be a bonfire.
Harry has claimed his own liquid refreshment, a bottle of Old Ogden’s firewhiskey that’s nearing empty. He had already enjoyed a proper celebration the previous day at the Burrow; and he knows Neville celebrated his on the thirtieth of July, something small and restrained organised by his Gran, because Ginny told him so. Harry knows he shouldn’t feel out of sorts because Ginny and Luna were invited and he wasn’t. It isn’t as though he’s ever acknowledged Neville’s birthday before the war.
And yet....
Harry watches Neville mingle with the guests and wonders when he became so self-assured, so well-liked, so trusted. He hadn’t slain the Dark Lord, after all, merely killed Nagini; and even then only because Harry had asked him to do so if given the opportunity. He had only reformed the D.A with Ginny and Luna; he wasn’t the actual founder. He’d suffered from Quirrell and Lockhart and Barty Crouch Jr masquerading as Moody and Umbridge and Snape, while Neville only had the Carrows to worry about.
True, the Sorting Hat had deemed Neville a true enough Gryffindor to give him Godric’s sword, so he probably would have killed Nagini anyway. The D.A. had been Hermione’s idea originally; and Harry had been quick enough to disband the group once Umbridge was gone. And the Carrows’ brand of cruelty had been more excessive than any of their predecessors.
He hadn’t almost died...Harry pauses before allowing himself a mental shrug. All right, he’d give Neville that episode with the burning Sorting Hat too; but even then Neville had only almost died once. He wasn’t the Boy Who Lived Twice.
So why, then, are so many of the party guests so eager to spend a few moments chatting things up with Neville beyond expected birthday wishes, while barely speaking two words past ‘Happy Birthday, Harry’ to him? Hell, even Ginny has spent more time with Neville tonight than with him, and she’d agreed to take him back as her boyfriend the previous day. Ron and Hermione are practically inseparable, and Harry feels rather put out. He saved the fucking world barely three months ago, and everyone’s already forgotten?
Fucking ingrates, the whole lot of them.
“Happy birthday, Harry,” Hannah Abbott says. Harry hadn’t even seen her until she stood practically in front of his nose. “Lovely party, isn’t it?”
Harry swallows more firewhiskey, not even wincing when it burns a path down his throat. He’s had all night to grow accustomed to the liquor’s searing heat. “Thanks. It’s not bad.”
Laughter erupts over where Neville is standing with Michael Corner and Seamus Finnigan, and Harry glowers in their direction. He barely notices when Hannah squeaks in alarm and scurries away, probably back to her Hufflepuff friends.
No matter. Harry slugs back more Old Ogden’s, hearing the slosh signalling the fact it’s nearly empty, and walks unsteadily toward Neville, who would still be a nobody if it hadn’t been for him.
Neville brightens at his approach, murmuring to his companions before walking toward Harry, a smile on his lips. “Hiya, Harry!” he says. “Brilliant party, I’m glad Ron and Hermione and Ginny and Luna thought of it. Is it true you’re skipping out on a proper last year to join the Aurors early?”
“Yeah, it’s true. Shacklebolt asked me, and I said yes. I start next month.” At least Kingsley knows Harry’s worth, but he doesn’t say it aloud.
“Couldn’t you have found an easier way to skip NEWTs and Auror training than killing V-Voldemort?” Neville asks, smiling and sipping from his bottle of butterbeer. Harry knows Neville’s only jesting, but he’s not in the mood for jokes, especially ones at his expense.
“Merlin, he’s been dead all summer and you still can’t say his name without stammering?” Harry barely refrains from snarling, but he’s still rewarded by the slow fade of Neville’s smile.
“Harry, you’re drunk. Is that Old Ogden’s?” Neville’s eyes widen. “You drank nearly that whole bottle by yourself?”
“Yeah, what of it?” Harry takes a deliberate swig and leans forward. “It could have been you, you know.”
“What?” Neville takes a step back, his expression suddenly wary, but Harry grabs his elbow. “Harry...”
“There was a prophecy, before we were born. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.” Harry knows the words by heart, has known them for years. “Dumbledore told me only two families fit the criteria. My parents...and yours. Voldemort decided I was the bigger threat.”
Neville is still, face pale. “Did Dumbledore tell you why?”
“Because we were both half-bloods, not a pureblood like you, but who really knows? What it really boils down to is that instead of me it could have been you who saved the world, skipped the last year of school to join the Aurors, and had Ginny Weasley fall in love with you.”
Neville’s flinch speaks volumes, confirming Harry’s own suspicions.
“You know what, though?” Harry slugs back more firewhiskey, eyeing the bottle. There are only a couple good swallows left. “I’d trade all of it, even Ginny, if it meant I could have my parents back alive and well. I can only guess whether or not your mum would have died for you like mine did...”
He barely has time to notice the flash of rage in Neville’s eyes before he’s flat on his back, head ringing and stomach churning. He blinks up at Neville, at his clenched fists, and tastes blood in his mouth. It’s metallic flavour clashes with the firewhiskey.
“You don’t know your parents would be alive and well!” Neville snarls. “They could have ended up like mine. You call that an improvement? You’re an idiot, Harry. What’s done is done.”
Seamus, Dean and Michael have surrounded Neville, not touching yet close enough to pull him back should he decide to hit Harry again. Ron and Hermione kneel beside Harry. Ron looks stunned.
“You all right, mate?” he asks, gaze flicking between Harry and Neville in confusion.
“I’m fine.” Harry sits up, touching his lip. “What’s done is done. I think I’m going to be sick.” Ron barely moves out of the way in time before the firewhiskey comes bubbling back up, even more fiery and corrosive than it had been when he’d originally swallowed it. It tastes like burning bridges, like Incendio.
“I’ll take him home and be back in time for the bonfire.” Ron’s words are dim through the roaring in Harry’s ears as he’s pulled unceremoniously back onto his feet. “You all right, Neville?”
“Yeah.” Harry looks up to find Neville looking at him. He’s still pale, his eyes sad. Harry realises Neville’s looking at him with pity, and if he weren’t so drunk and sick he’d do his damndest to give Neville a return punch he wouldn’t soon forget.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he says instead, querulously.
“I never wanted to be you,” Neville says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now I can honestly say I’m glad I’m not you. I hope you feel better tomorrow.”
He turns and walks away, his friends trailing behind him. Ginny is among them, and Harry thinks he’s going to be sick again.
Fortunately, he manages to hold off until Ron grabs him by the arm and Apparates them both away.
Author: coffee_n_cocoa
Pairing: Harry and Neville gen, background Ron/Hermione and Harry/Ginny, one-sided Neville/Ginny
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: # 102: On their 18th birthday, Harry tells Neville about the prophecy.
Content Information/Warnings: Drunk!Harry
Summary: Some things probably shouldn’t be spoken aloud.
Author's Notes: 1339 words. Thanks so much to featherxquill for her patience while I wrestled with this! I tried not to make Harry such a drunken douchebag, but considering the nature of the fest maybe I should have allowed him his misbehaviour earlier. Thanks to my beta for the onceover.
Like Incendio
The party celebrating Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom’s eighteenth birthdays takes place the first evening in August on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, so as not to give precedence of one hero over another. Everyone from Hogwarts has been invited, or at least that seems to be the impression, considering the number of students in attendance. Madam Rosmerta provides the liquid refreshment, and once the sun sets there will be a bonfire.
Harry has claimed his own liquid refreshment, a bottle of Old Ogden’s firewhiskey that’s nearing empty. He had already enjoyed a proper celebration the previous day at the Burrow; and he knows Neville celebrated his on the thirtieth of July, something small and restrained organised by his Gran, because Ginny told him so. Harry knows he shouldn’t feel out of sorts because Ginny and Luna were invited and he wasn’t. It isn’t as though he’s ever acknowledged Neville’s birthday before the war.
And yet....
Harry watches Neville mingle with the guests and wonders when he became so self-assured, so well-liked, so trusted. He hadn’t slain the Dark Lord, after all, merely killed Nagini; and even then only because Harry had asked him to do so if given the opportunity. He had only reformed the D.A with Ginny and Luna; he wasn’t the actual founder. He’d suffered from Quirrell and Lockhart and Barty Crouch Jr masquerading as Moody and Umbridge and Snape, while Neville only had the Carrows to worry about.
True, the Sorting Hat had deemed Neville a true enough Gryffindor to give him Godric’s sword, so he probably would have killed Nagini anyway. The D.A. had been Hermione’s idea originally; and Harry had been quick enough to disband the group once Umbridge was gone. And the Carrows’ brand of cruelty had been more excessive than any of their predecessors.
He hadn’t almost died...Harry pauses before allowing himself a mental shrug. All right, he’d give Neville that episode with the burning Sorting Hat too; but even then Neville had only almost died once. He wasn’t the Boy Who Lived Twice.
So why, then, are so many of the party guests so eager to spend a few moments chatting things up with Neville beyond expected birthday wishes, while barely speaking two words past ‘Happy Birthday, Harry’ to him? Hell, even Ginny has spent more time with Neville tonight than with him, and she’d agreed to take him back as her boyfriend the previous day. Ron and Hermione are practically inseparable, and Harry feels rather put out. He saved the fucking world barely three months ago, and everyone’s already forgotten?
Fucking ingrates, the whole lot of them.
“Happy birthday, Harry,” Hannah Abbott says. Harry hadn’t even seen her until she stood practically in front of his nose. “Lovely party, isn’t it?”
Harry swallows more firewhiskey, not even wincing when it burns a path down his throat. He’s had all night to grow accustomed to the liquor’s searing heat. “Thanks. It’s not bad.”
Laughter erupts over where Neville is standing with Michael Corner and Seamus Finnigan, and Harry glowers in their direction. He barely notices when Hannah squeaks in alarm and scurries away, probably back to her Hufflepuff friends.
No matter. Harry slugs back more Old Ogden’s, hearing the slosh signalling the fact it’s nearly empty, and walks unsteadily toward Neville, who would still be a nobody if it hadn’t been for him.
Neville brightens at his approach, murmuring to his companions before walking toward Harry, a smile on his lips. “Hiya, Harry!” he says. “Brilliant party, I’m glad Ron and Hermione and Ginny and Luna thought of it. Is it true you’re skipping out on a proper last year to join the Aurors early?”
“Yeah, it’s true. Shacklebolt asked me, and I said yes. I start next month.” At least Kingsley knows Harry’s worth, but he doesn’t say it aloud.
“Couldn’t you have found an easier way to skip NEWTs and Auror training than killing V-Voldemort?” Neville asks, smiling and sipping from his bottle of butterbeer. Harry knows Neville’s only jesting, but he’s not in the mood for jokes, especially ones at his expense.
“Merlin, he’s been dead all summer and you still can’t say his name without stammering?” Harry barely refrains from snarling, but he’s still rewarded by the slow fade of Neville’s smile.
“Harry, you’re drunk. Is that Old Ogden’s?” Neville’s eyes widen. “You drank nearly that whole bottle by yourself?”
“Yeah, what of it?” Harry takes a deliberate swig and leans forward. “It could have been you, you know.”
“What?” Neville takes a step back, his expression suddenly wary, but Harry grabs his elbow. “Harry...”
“There was a prophecy, before we were born. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.” Harry knows the words by heart, has known them for years. “Dumbledore told me only two families fit the criteria. My parents...and yours. Voldemort decided I was the bigger threat.”
Neville is still, face pale. “Did Dumbledore tell you why?”
“Because we were both half-bloods, not a pureblood like you, but who really knows? What it really boils down to is that instead of me it could have been you who saved the world, skipped the last year of school to join the Aurors, and had Ginny Weasley fall in love with you.”
Neville’s flinch speaks volumes, confirming Harry’s own suspicions.
“You know what, though?” Harry slugs back more firewhiskey, eyeing the bottle. There are only a couple good swallows left. “I’d trade all of it, even Ginny, if it meant I could have my parents back alive and well. I can only guess whether or not your mum would have died for you like mine did...”
He barely has time to notice the flash of rage in Neville’s eyes before he’s flat on his back, head ringing and stomach churning. He blinks up at Neville, at his clenched fists, and tastes blood in his mouth. It’s metallic flavour clashes with the firewhiskey.
“You don’t know your parents would be alive and well!” Neville snarls. “They could have ended up like mine. You call that an improvement? You’re an idiot, Harry. What’s done is done.”
Seamus, Dean and Michael have surrounded Neville, not touching yet close enough to pull him back should he decide to hit Harry again. Ron and Hermione kneel beside Harry. Ron looks stunned.
“You all right, mate?” he asks, gaze flicking between Harry and Neville in confusion.
“I’m fine.” Harry sits up, touching his lip. “What’s done is done. I think I’m going to be sick.” Ron barely moves out of the way in time before the firewhiskey comes bubbling back up, even more fiery and corrosive than it had been when he’d originally swallowed it. It tastes like burning bridges, like Incendio.
“I’ll take him home and be back in time for the bonfire.” Ron’s words are dim through the roaring in Harry’s ears as he’s pulled unceremoniously back onto his feet. “You all right, Neville?”
“Yeah.” Harry looks up to find Neville looking at him. He’s still pale, his eyes sad. Harry realises Neville’s looking at him with pity, and if he weren’t so drunk and sick he’d do his damndest to give Neville a return punch he wouldn’t soon forget.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he says instead, querulously.
“I never wanted to be you,” Neville says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now I can honestly say I’m glad I’m not you. I hope you feel better tomorrow.”
He turns and walks away, his friends trailing behind him. Ginny is among them, and Harry thinks he’s going to be sick again.
Fortunately, he manages to hold off until Ron grabs him by the arm and Apparates them both away.