The word of the day is *homicidal*.
Harry Potter
Waiting for Godot
He'd forgotten how blue the sky could get. The horizon had been bleeding for so long that seeing the faded robin's egg-blue made him feel a bit ill, and he felt the need to sit down. So he sat. Or he attempted to sit, but it didn’t quite work out the way it always had. So he looked at the sky and worked on the sitting, and he waited.
And then he waited more.
*
Day gave way to night and still he waited.
He felt no cold as the long-forgotten sun set and the moon was seen for the first time in an age. He counted stars and thought of long-ago lessons at a school he'd attended when he felt much younger than he did at that moment. It had only been six months since his last lecture, and yet it could have been a lifetime. It truly felt a lifetime ago, and he wondered where the rest of his life had gotten to in between then and now.
*
At length, he got up and moved.
And then he went back to where he had been.
*
Afterwards he wondered if he had been in the wrong place the entire time for his companion was nowhere to be found and this disconcerted him more than being dead.
*
"Someone will come," he said to himself.
"Oh, really?" he replied back. "From where? Your imagination? No one is coming. No one ever comes."
He leaned forward slightly as the wind blew from the west. It ruffled his hair like fingers, and he sat quietly for some time.
"He will come," he repeated. “I’m going to wait.”
*
He thought of solitude and chocolate frogs and afternoons spent among greenery.
He thought of his friends.
He thought of his companion.
He thought of being alone.
“No one is coming,” he said. “No one ever comes.”
*
At length his companion came, and he heard him long before he saw him as had always been the case. His companion cast no shadow as he came to a halt next to him on the desolate battlefield, and he said nothing for several minutes, preferring instead to touch and see if he could be touched in return.
He could sense the anger and the desperation. The desolation and pain came in waves as his companion clutched at him and made certain he was all right.
He objected to his companion sticking his fingers in his ears, and he spoke.
“I told you I wasn’t going anywhere,” he said.
Draco’s eyes narrowed and filled with something akin to tears, and Neville could taste his anger in the back of his throat.
Draco snapped first. “You idiot, you got yourself killed.”
Neville made a noise and tiny smile twitched at the corners of his lips. “So nice of you to notice.”
Draco scowled, even as he ran his fingers over Neville face and neck. “I can’t believe you went and got yourself killed. I told you not to be a bloody hero, but you idiotic Gryffindors always want to save the blasted day. Now look what you’ve done.”
“This from the Slytherin that’s dead as well.” Neville did his imitation of Draco’s trademark smirk.
“No one ever said Slytherins weren’t hypocritical.”
Neville snorted. “Quite.”
He waited as Draco shook his head.
“I could kill you,” he said, running the tip of his thumb over Neville’s bottom lip.
"You could, but as we’re already dead…”
“Yes, well.”
"I know."
“I’ve been looking for you,” Draco said with a shake of his head.
Neville nodded. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
He thought about it for several moments. “It could be worse,” he said.
‘Oh, really,” Draco said. “How?”
“We could have died alone.”
-end-
Waiting for Godot
He'd forgotten how blue the sky could get. The horizon had been bleeding for so long that seeing the faded robin's egg-blue made him feel a bit ill, and he felt the need to sit down. So he sat. Or he attempted to sit, but it didn’t quite work out the way it always had. So he looked at the sky and worked on the sitting, and he waited.
And then he waited more.
*
Day gave way to night and still he waited.
He felt no cold as the long-forgotten sun set and the moon was seen for the first time in an age. He counted stars and thought of long-ago lessons at a school he'd attended when he felt much younger than he did at that moment. It had only been six months since his last lecture, and yet it could have been a lifetime. It truly felt a lifetime ago, and he wondered where the rest of his life had gotten to in between then and now.
*
At length, he got up and moved.
And then he went back to where he had been.
*
Afterwards he wondered if he had been in the wrong place the entire time for his companion was nowhere to be found and this disconcerted him more than being dead.
*
"Someone will come," he said to himself.
"Oh, really?" he replied back. "From where? Your imagination? No one is coming. No one ever comes."
He leaned forward slightly as the wind blew from the west. It ruffled his hair like fingers, and he sat quietly for some time.
"He will come," he repeated. “I’m going to wait.”
*
He thought of solitude and chocolate frogs and afternoons spent among greenery.
He thought of his friends.
He thought of his companion.
He thought of being alone.
“No one is coming,” he said. “No one ever comes.”
*
At length his companion came, and he heard him long before he saw him as had always been the case. His companion cast no shadow as he came to a halt next to him on the desolate battlefield, and he said nothing for several minutes, preferring instead to touch and see if he could be touched in return.
He could sense the anger and the desperation. The desolation and pain came in waves as his companion clutched at him and made certain he was all right.
He objected to his companion sticking his fingers in his ears, and he spoke.
“I told you I wasn’t going anywhere,” he said.
Draco’s eyes narrowed and filled with something akin to tears, and Neville could taste his anger in the back of his throat.
Draco snapped first. “You idiot, you got yourself killed.”
Neville made a noise and tiny smile twitched at the corners of his lips. “So nice of you to notice.”
Draco scowled, even as he ran his fingers over Neville face and neck. “I can’t believe you went and got yourself killed. I told you not to be a bloody hero, but you idiotic Gryffindors always want to save the blasted day. Now look what you’ve done.”
“This from the Slytherin that’s dead as well.” Neville did his imitation of Draco’s trademark smirk.
“No one ever said Slytherins weren’t hypocritical.”
Neville snorted. “Quite.”
He waited as Draco shook his head.
“I could kill you,” he said, running the tip of his thumb over Neville’s bottom lip.
"You could, but as we’re already dead…”
“Yes, well.”
"I know."
“I’ve been looking for you,” Draco said with a shake of his head.
Neville nodded. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
He thought about it for several moments. “It could be worse,” he said.
‘Oh, really,” Draco said. “How?”
“We could have died alone.”
-end-