FICLETS! Holiday: Day Twenty-Three
For hackthis
Neville
He doesn’t know what to expect when he enters King’s Cross station and makes his way to Platform 9 ¾. He supposes he figured there would be some somber chatter if there was any at all, but the strange silence is ominous. He can hear the buzz of the lights and the breath of the smoke and the rustle of skirts and robes and it’s almost as though he can hear the sound of hands sliding against the wood of wands, waiting for something, anything to happen.
Gran stays right beside him up until it’s time to board and then she just looks at him. He knows there’s fear in her eyes, but he doesn’t see that. Can’t allow it. He knows that she’s afraid because Dumbledore is dead and Snape is headmaster and everything his parents fought for seems lost, which makes their sacrifice seem pointless. But she hides that behind a grim, determined smile and he exhales and nods and smiles back. He’s Gryffindor. He’ll find a way.
Everything is the same enough that the differences stand out sharply and he’s careful to keep to himself as best he can. There are a few who share his care and his determination. No one speaks the words Dumbledore’s Army but they’re there on everyone’s lips, on everyone’s mind. There aren’t any questions. There’s work to be done and, with Harry and Hermione and Ron gone, it’s up to Neville to get it done.
Lines and classes and Houses divide easily, but Neville’s not willing to take anything at face value. He stands up for what he believes in, and he meets every Slytherin eye to eye. He takes his beatings and his punishments without question, without complaint, but for every one there is an equal revenge. Nothing goes unpunished, not even the punishments.
Neville doesn’t know if they’ll win or lose. No one ever knows, only suspects, only hopes. Neville doesn’t do any of those things. He just does what he must and keeps on fighting for what he believes in.
For sibilantwretch
Archie/Horatio
The rain hammers against the window with a vengeance and the building shudders against the wind. “Not a fit night out for man nor beast.”
Horatio gives Archie a look and a slight smile, jabbing the logs in the fire with the poker. “Which is why we’re safe in here and pitying the poor men left back on the ship.”
“Except I doubt you have any pity for them, Mr. Hornblower. I would venture to say that, were it not for my insistence, you would be on the ship with them, braving out the storm and complaining of water dripping off your hat and down your neck, putting you in your typically pleasant mood.”
“Are you suggesting, Mr. Kennedy, that I am anything but pleasant when soaked to the skin in a driving rain?” Horatio stabs the fire once more, watching as it settles. “Careful, I might take great offense at your slight on my character.”
“I spoke of nothing but pleasantness, Horatio. You are a ray of pure sunshine when you are drenched and on watch with no relief in sight, your great coat whipping in the wind like it is dancing with the storm.” Archie stretches out on the bed, licking his lips before taking a sip from their bottle of wine. “It’s a wonder the storm has any resistance to your innate cheerfulness and charm.”
“You fail to be amusing, Mr. Kennedy.”
“I am infinitely amusing, Horatio. You fail to have a sense of humor for anything but the absurd.” He takes another sip, his eyes shining in the firelight. “Come over here.”
“But it is, as you say, a horrible night, Archie. Bitterly cold, a raging storm and a vengeful sea.” Horatio unfastens his stock and lays it across the chair that supports his uniform jacket as well as his waistcoat. “Seems quite ill-advised to venture away from the fire.”
“You do have a point, Horatio. But a fire, no matter how brightly it burns will warm one side of you until it burns and then you must turn, like a swine roasting on a spit.” Archie grins and takes another sip of wine. “Wine, on the other hand, and this very nice bed will go a long way to warming you inside and out.”
Horatio smiles and unbuttons the collar of his shirt. “With the assistance of the occupant of that very nice bed, I would assume.”
“I think that would be a safe assumption, Horatio, yes.” Archie holds out the wine, smiling as Horatio comes over to the bed and sits on the edge of it, accepting the bottle from him. “Unless you have an objection to that?”
“No, Archie.” Horatio sets the bottle on the floor and then leans in, his breath warmer than the fire against Archie’s skin. “No objections at all.”
Neville
He doesn’t know what to expect when he enters King’s Cross station and makes his way to Platform 9 ¾. He supposes he figured there would be some somber chatter if there was any at all, but the strange silence is ominous. He can hear the buzz of the lights and the breath of the smoke and the rustle of skirts and robes and it’s almost as though he can hear the sound of hands sliding against the wood of wands, waiting for something, anything to happen.
Gran stays right beside him up until it’s time to board and then she just looks at him. He knows there’s fear in her eyes, but he doesn’t see that. Can’t allow it. He knows that she’s afraid because Dumbledore is dead and Snape is headmaster and everything his parents fought for seems lost, which makes their sacrifice seem pointless. But she hides that behind a grim, determined smile and he exhales and nods and smiles back. He’s Gryffindor. He’ll find a way.
Everything is the same enough that the differences stand out sharply and he’s careful to keep to himself as best he can. There are a few who share his care and his determination. No one speaks the words Dumbledore’s Army but they’re there on everyone’s lips, on everyone’s mind. There aren’t any questions. There’s work to be done and, with Harry and Hermione and Ron gone, it’s up to Neville to get it done.
Lines and classes and Houses divide easily, but Neville’s not willing to take anything at face value. He stands up for what he believes in, and he meets every Slytherin eye to eye. He takes his beatings and his punishments without question, without complaint, but for every one there is an equal revenge. Nothing goes unpunished, not even the punishments.
Neville doesn’t know if they’ll win or lose. No one ever knows, only suspects, only hopes. Neville doesn’t do any of those things. He just does what he must and keeps on fighting for what he believes in.
For sibilantwretch
Archie/Horatio
The rain hammers against the window with a vengeance and the building shudders against the wind. “Not a fit night out for man nor beast.”
Horatio gives Archie a look and a slight smile, jabbing the logs in the fire with the poker. “Which is why we’re safe in here and pitying the poor men left back on the ship.”
“Except I doubt you have any pity for them, Mr. Hornblower. I would venture to say that, were it not for my insistence, you would be on the ship with them, braving out the storm and complaining of water dripping off your hat and down your neck, putting you in your typically pleasant mood.”
“Are you suggesting, Mr. Kennedy, that I am anything but pleasant when soaked to the skin in a driving rain?” Horatio stabs the fire once more, watching as it settles. “Careful, I might take great offense at your slight on my character.”
“I spoke of nothing but pleasantness, Horatio. You are a ray of pure sunshine when you are drenched and on watch with no relief in sight, your great coat whipping in the wind like it is dancing with the storm.” Archie stretches out on the bed, licking his lips before taking a sip from their bottle of wine. “It’s a wonder the storm has any resistance to your innate cheerfulness and charm.”
“You fail to be amusing, Mr. Kennedy.”
“I am infinitely amusing, Horatio. You fail to have a sense of humor for anything but the absurd.” He takes another sip, his eyes shining in the firelight. “Come over here.”
“But it is, as you say, a horrible night, Archie. Bitterly cold, a raging storm and a vengeful sea.” Horatio unfastens his stock and lays it across the chair that supports his uniform jacket as well as his waistcoat. “Seems quite ill-advised to venture away from the fire.”
“You do have a point, Horatio. But a fire, no matter how brightly it burns will warm one side of you until it burns and then you must turn, like a swine roasting on a spit.” Archie grins and takes another sip of wine. “Wine, on the other hand, and this very nice bed will go a long way to warming you inside and out.”
Horatio smiles and unbuttons the collar of his shirt. “With the assistance of the occupant of that very nice bed, I would assume.”
“I think that would be a safe assumption, Horatio, yes.” Archie holds out the wine, smiling as Horatio comes over to the bed and sits on the edge of it, accepting the bottle from him. “Unless you have an objection to that?”
“No, Archie.” Horatio sets the bottle on the floor and then leans in, his breath warmer than the fire against Archie’s skin. “No objections at all.”