Fic: Blue Muggle Lighter (Pansy/Neville, PG)
Title: Blue Muggle Lighter
Author: quietliban
Rating: PG
Prompt Set: 50.4
Prompt: # 34 Yours
Word Count: ~1500 words
Summary: Neville just wants to rest.
Notes: For 100quills. Same drill as before, meant to sit within The End of All the Fighting 'verse. There is a list for it here.
Blue Muggle Lighter
It is mid afternoon and the shouting wakes him. He can hear Harry’s voice loud and angry. He can hear Pansy’s voice mocking and bitter. There is desperation present in both. Neville wants to roll back over and cover his head with his pillow. The image of Snape’s body flashes through his mind as if he is awake. Neville doesn’t want to be awake.
Hermione’s voice cuts through demanding them to be quiet. “Ron is sleeping,” she tells them.
Neville gives up on not being awake, and rolls out of his sofa-transfigured-bed. He reaches over for his Weasley-made sweater and pulls it on. The cold is not so bad, but the shouting reminds him of a war zone.
Luna smiles at him sympathetically as he walks into the kitchen. Neville tries to smile in return. Harry and Pansy are glaring at each other across the table. Pansy is toying with the lighter she has finally accepted from him. “It was Draco,” she says defiantly.
Harry snorts.
“It was.”
Neville shares a look with Luna who shrugs her shoulders. They’re at it again, and Neville can’t believe how many times they have to go over this. At last count, Harry and Pansy had argued this point five times in the last twelve hours.
“You don’t know him like I do,” Pansy tells Harry. “He did it. He killed Snape.”
Harry pinches his lips together and shakes his head. “It wasn’t him.”
Neville wonders how Harry can be so certain. He doesn’t believe that it was Malfoy either, or at he very least, it wasn’t Malfoy alone. The damage that was done to Snape was too complete and too savage for it to have been just one person.
“You have to find him.” Pansy’s tone is desperate and she puts the blue Muggle lighter down.
Neville feels his chest tighten. He feels sick with his insides twisting and turning. Nausea rises in his belly, and Neville thinks he might vomit. A hand rubs his back, and cool fingers rest against his forehead.
“It will be alright,” Luna whispers. Neville looks up into her blue-blue eyes and wonders how she got to him so fast. He grips the wall, and breathes heavily.
“You didn’t see the body, Parkinson. It wasn’t Malfoy.” Harry’s voice is getting tired and angrier. “Draco would never have had the guts to do what was done to Snape.”
Images of clawed desiccated hands and maggot infested eye sockets fill Neville’s mind. He grips the wall tighter, but his hand slides across the plaster.
Pansy picks up the lighter and crosses her arms. “How do you know?” she asks suspicion in her voice.
It is then that Neville vomits before passing out.
----
It is dark when Neville wakes with the foul taste of bile in his mouth. There is a wet cloth on his forehead, and his blankets are tucked all the way around him. He shifts. The air is filled with the sound of rhythmic clicking and hissing. Neville hears someone sigh, and he lifts his head.
Pansy is playing with the lighter. The flame hisses into being before flickering out, dying. She looks at him as he moves, and a smile breaks out on her face. “You’re awake,” she says. She gets out of her armchair, and picks up the glass of water on the coffee table. Her hand closes in around the curves of glass. She ends up sitting up him on his bed. “Here,” she passes the glass to him.
Neville takes it. He puts it to his mouth, and the water feels cool and washes away the foul taste.
Pansy presses her hand to his forehead, removing the cloth. Her fingers brush away his hair. Neville grabs her wrist and holds it. Pansy stops her movement and stares at him. Neville can feel his skin prickle. He leans to set the glass of water down on the floor. Pansy shifts and moves. He can feel her hip leaning against his thigh.
“Why?” Neville asks around his thick tongue. It is the only thing he can think to say.
Pansy nods, and drops he hand away. “I-“ She looks away. The silence stretches out between them, and Neville can hear his own breathing.
She bites his lip. “I’m making a fool out myself, aren’t I?” she asks looking down at him. Neville can see that her eyes are red, and he feels bad. She has been crying.
Neville shakes his head. “No,” he tells her. “No.”
“Do you know what Luna told me?” she asks.
Neville shakes his head, because no, he doesn’t know.
“Luna told me that words had been written on the walls; insults written in Professor Snape’s own blood. She told me that his stomach had been torn out of his belly. She told me that dark magic lingered in the stale air. She told me that she had to drag you away because you couldn’t look away from the horror. She told me how Precious Potter retched when she took him back there to show him. She told me I was being selfish…” Pansy is crying again. The tears stream down her face.
Neville looks away. He doesn’t want to see how Pansy’s tears glisten in the weak light. The nausea rises in stomach again, but Neville tells himself to ignore it. He will not vomit again.
“Am I being selfish?” she asks. “I want him found. I know you know. Sometimes I think that I’m over him. Over it…but I’m not. I still love him. I love Draco and I don’t know how I still can. I want him to be the one responsible. I want him to be the one who murdered Snape, because then I think I could hate him. I think I could get over it then.”
“Pansy,” Neville says, if only to get her to stop. It hurts him. It hurts to hear her speak, and Neville closes his eyes. His insides feel like jelly, they feel like they are going to fall out at any moment. Neville tries to calm himself. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t. He doesn’t want to hear Pansy talk. He doesn’t want to be the one finding dead bodies, mutilated with dark magic in the air. He doesn’t want to be the only surviving member of the Longbottom family. He wants calm, silence. He wants rest.
Pansy shakes her head. “No, Longbottom. Neville,” and she says his first name, like she has only just remembered he has one.
“Go to bed, Pansy,” Neville pleads. He stares up at her. “Please, just go to bed.”
“I can’t sleep,” Pansy tells him, her voice cracking, soft and small.
“Then just go outside and smoke your cigarettes, just…” Neville shakes his head. “I don’t care, Pansy. I don’t care if you’re sill in love with that monster. I don’t care if you’re traumatised because you watched him murder you mother. You should hate him for that. You should want to kill him for that, you shouldn’t…” He gestures vaguely at her. “Just leave me alone, Pansy. Please?”
Pansy shakes her head, and she sobs. Her hand grips his wrist and he can feel her fingernails digging into his skin. “No,” she says.
“Neville,” Hermione calls. “Pansy?”
Neville feels relief at the sound of Hermione’s voice. He knows that Pansy will not cry in front of Hermione.
Pansy stares at him, and shakes her head. Her hand grips tighter, and Neville is sure that her fingernails are digging into bone. “Please?” she whispers at him.
“Pansy, why are you still up?” Hermione asks, walking over to them. She stares and blinks when she sees that Pansy has been crying. She looks down at Neville over the back of the sofa. Neville smiles at her.
“Are you feeling better now, Neville?” Hermione asks. She sounds like a medi-witch checking on her patient.
Neville nods, even though he feels terrible. Pansy releases his wrist. Neville looks to her. Pansy’s expression is pained, sad and disappointed. Neville tells himself not to care. A heavy lead feeling and nausea roll around with each other in his stomach, and he feels tired. Neville feels so, so tired.
Hermione purses her lips, unsatisfied with Neville’s response. “You should sleep, Pansy,” Hermione says. “Neville will still be here in the morning.”
Pansy shoots Hermione a dark look, and Hermione physically flinches. “I’m not an idiot, Granger,” Pansy says acidly.
Hermione frowns and her hands are drawn to her waist. “I’m just trying to help.”
Pansy glares at her. “Well, stop.”
Neville sighs and rolls over. He wants to sleep now. He wants it to all be over. If the fighting was over he would be able to rest. He closes his eyes. He can still feel Hermione and Pansy glaring over him.
Pansy leans over, and trails her fingers through his hair briefly before planting her lips softly on his forehead. “Good night, Neville,” she whispers. Neville is surprised but smiles. It is warm now. He gathers the blankets around him. Everything feels fuzzy and warm. Neville breathes in.
“Good night, Granger.” Pansy’s voice breaks the peace and Neville flicks his eyes open.
Pansy is sitting in the living room armchair. The blue Muggle lighter is in her hands, and Hermione is no where in sight.
Author: quietliban
Rating: PG
Prompt Set: 50.4
Prompt: # 34 Yours
Word Count: ~1500 words
Summary: Neville just wants to rest.
Notes: For 100quills. Same drill as before, meant to sit within The End of All the Fighting 'verse. There is a list for it here.
Blue Muggle Lighter
It is mid afternoon and the shouting wakes him. He can hear Harry’s voice loud and angry. He can hear Pansy’s voice mocking and bitter. There is desperation present in both. Neville wants to roll back over and cover his head with his pillow. The image of Snape’s body flashes through his mind as if he is awake. Neville doesn’t want to be awake.
Hermione’s voice cuts through demanding them to be quiet. “Ron is sleeping,” she tells them.
Neville gives up on not being awake, and rolls out of his sofa-transfigured-bed. He reaches over for his Weasley-made sweater and pulls it on. The cold is not so bad, but the shouting reminds him of a war zone.
Luna smiles at him sympathetically as he walks into the kitchen. Neville tries to smile in return. Harry and Pansy are glaring at each other across the table. Pansy is toying with the lighter she has finally accepted from him. “It was Draco,” she says defiantly.
Harry snorts.
“It was.”
Neville shares a look with Luna who shrugs her shoulders. They’re at it again, and Neville can’t believe how many times they have to go over this. At last count, Harry and Pansy had argued this point five times in the last twelve hours.
“You don’t know him like I do,” Pansy tells Harry. “He did it. He killed Snape.”
Harry pinches his lips together and shakes his head. “It wasn’t him.”
Neville wonders how Harry can be so certain. He doesn’t believe that it was Malfoy either, or at he very least, it wasn’t Malfoy alone. The damage that was done to Snape was too complete and too savage for it to have been just one person.
“You have to find him.” Pansy’s tone is desperate and she puts the blue Muggle lighter down.
Neville feels his chest tighten. He feels sick with his insides twisting and turning. Nausea rises in his belly, and Neville thinks he might vomit. A hand rubs his back, and cool fingers rest against his forehead.
“It will be alright,” Luna whispers. Neville looks up into her blue-blue eyes and wonders how she got to him so fast. He grips the wall, and breathes heavily.
“You didn’t see the body, Parkinson. It wasn’t Malfoy.” Harry’s voice is getting tired and angrier. “Draco would never have had the guts to do what was done to Snape.”
Images of clawed desiccated hands and maggot infested eye sockets fill Neville’s mind. He grips the wall tighter, but his hand slides across the plaster.
Pansy picks up the lighter and crosses her arms. “How do you know?” she asks suspicion in her voice.
It is then that Neville vomits before passing out.
----
It is dark when Neville wakes with the foul taste of bile in his mouth. There is a wet cloth on his forehead, and his blankets are tucked all the way around him. He shifts. The air is filled with the sound of rhythmic clicking and hissing. Neville hears someone sigh, and he lifts his head.
Pansy is playing with the lighter. The flame hisses into being before flickering out, dying. She looks at him as he moves, and a smile breaks out on her face. “You’re awake,” she says. She gets out of her armchair, and picks up the glass of water on the coffee table. Her hand closes in around the curves of glass. She ends up sitting up him on his bed. “Here,” she passes the glass to him.
Neville takes it. He puts it to his mouth, and the water feels cool and washes away the foul taste.
Pansy presses her hand to his forehead, removing the cloth. Her fingers brush away his hair. Neville grabs her wrist and holds it. Pansy stops her movement and stares at him. Neville can feel his skin prickle. He leans to set the glass of water down on the floor. Pansy shifts and moves. He can feel her hip leaning against his thigh.
“Why?” Neville asks around his thick tongue. It is the only thing he can think to say.
Pansy nods, and drops he hand away. “I-“ She looks away. The silence stretches out between them, and Neville can hear his own breathing.
She bites his lip. “I’m making a fool out myself, aren’t I?” she asks looking down at him. Neville can see that her eyes are red, and he feels bad. She has been crying.
Neville shakes his head. “No,” he tells her. “No.”
“Do you know what Luna told me?” she asks.
Neville shakes his head, because no, he doesn’t know.
“Luna told me that words had been written on the walls; insults written in Professor Snape’s own blood. She told me that his stomach had been torn out of his belly. She told me that dark magic lingered in the stale air. She told me that she had to drag you away because you couldn’t look away from the horror. She told me how Precious Potter retched when she took him back there to show him. She told me I was being selfish…” Pansy is crying again. The tears stream down her face.
Neville looks away. He doesn’t want to see how Pansy’s tears glisten in the weak light. The nausea rises in stomach again, but Neville tells himself to ignore it. He will not vomit again.
“Am I being selfish?” she asks. “I want him found. I know you know. Sometimes I think that I’m over him. Over it…but I’m not. I still love him. I love Draco and I don’t know how I still can. I want him to be the one responsible. I want him to be the one who murdered Snape, because then I think I could hate him. I think I could get over it then.”
“Pansy,” Neville says, if only to get her to stop. It hurts him. It hurts to hear her speak, and Neville closes his eyes. His insides feel like jelly, they feel like they are going to fall out at any moment. Neville tries to calm himself. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t. He doesn’t want to hear Pansy talk. He doesn’t want to be the one finding dead bodies, mutilated with dark magic in the air. He doesn’t want to be the only surviving member of the Longbottom family. He wants calm, silence. He wants rest.
Pansy shakes her head. “No, Longbottom. Neville,” and she says his first name, like she has only just remembered he has one.
“Go to bed, Pansy,” Neville pleads. He stares up at her. “Please, just go to bed.”
“I can’t sleep,” Pansy tells him, her voice cracking, soft and small.
“Then just go outside and smoke your cigarettes, just…” Neville shakes his head. “I don’t care, Pansy. I don’t care if you’re sill in love with that monster. I don’t care if you’re traumatised because you watched him murder you mother. You should hate him for that. You should want to kill him for that, you shouldn’t…” He gestures vaguely at her. “Just leave me alone, Pansy. Please?”
Pansy shakes her head, and she sobs. Her hand grips his wrist and he can feel her fingernails digging into his skin. “No,” she says.
“Neville,” Hermione calls. “Pansy?”
Neville feels relief at the sound of Hermione’s voice. He knows that Pansy will not cry in front of Hermione.
Pansy stares at him, and shakes her head. Her hand grips tighter, and Neville is sure that her fingernails are digging into bone. “Please?” she whispers at him.
“Pansy, why are you still up?” Hermione asks, walking over to them. She stares and blinks when she sees that Pansy has been crying. She looks down at Neville over the back of the sofa. Neville smiles at her.
“Are you feeling better now, Neville?” Hermione asks. She sounds like a medi-witch checking on her patient.
Neville nods, even though he feels terrible. Pansy releases his wrist. Neville looks to her. Pansy’s expression is pained, sad and disappointed. Neville tells himself not to care. A heavy lead feeling and nausea roll around with each other in his stomach, and he feels tired. Neville feels so, so tired.
Hermione purses her lips, unsatisfied with Neville’s response. “You should sleep, Pansy,” Hermione says. “Neville will still be here in the morning.”
Pansy shoots Hermione a dark look, and Hermione physically flinches. “I’m not an idiot, Granger,” Pansy says acidly.
Hermione frowns and her hands are drawn to her waist. “I’m just trying to help.”
Pansy glares at her. “Well, stop.”
Neville sighs and rolls over. He wants to sleep now. He wants it to all be over. If the fighting was over he would be able to rest. He closes his eyes. He can still feel Hermione and Pansy glaring over him.
Pansy leans over, and trails her fingers through his hair briefly before planting her lips softly on his forehead. “Good night, Neville,” she whispers. Neville is surprised but smiles. It is warm now. He gathers the blankets around him. Everything feels fuzzy and warm. Neville breathes in.
“Good night, Granger.” Pansy’s voice breaks the peace and Neville flicks his eyes open.
Pansy is sitting in the living room armchair. The blue Muggle lighter is in her hands, and Hermione is no where in sight.