What Was Lost 6/10
Title: What Was Lost ~ Dreaming In Pink (6/10)
Author: Lire lire_casander
Pairing: Bill Weasley/Neville Longbottom
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 462
Beta: Unbeta'ed. Any mistakes are my own fault.
Disclaimer: I do not own in any form or shape these characters, JK Rowling does. Just playing with them for my own amusement and yours.
Summary: Bill Weasley is a Ministry worker sent to Hogwarts to supervise the OWLs and NEWTs. He expects to catch up with his old friend Neville Longbottom, but things are not the same anymore.
Warnings: Angst.
Author's Note: Written for 10_themes's prompt table using prompt 07. Pink.
Bill hadn't seen Neville in the whole day, since the red head had been sulking in the guest room while the teacher had been working. Bill couldn't help but think about what that last memory, about shattered hopes and dreams, about the broken voice of the man who was once all smiles and optimism.
When the sun set down, Neville came back to his rooms; Bill supposed he would get ready for dinner and leave, but Neville sat down on a couch before the fireplace and stared at the flames for long moments before speaking loud enough to be heard through the slightly ajar door separating the guest room from the rest of the quarters. "Minerva has told me you've used the Pensieve. Have you read the letter, too?"
"Do you call letter to that short note?" Bill replied even though his will had been to stay silent.
"It was a letter of sorts." Neville sounded so collected, so serene, that Bill had trouble in actually believing what he had seen. But he knew memories never lie, so he decided to take out of Neville some parts of the truth that hadn't been explained as of yet.
"What was his name?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes, it does," Bill retorted, walking through the threshold and into Neville's field of vision. "I want to know his name so I know who I'm killing when I find him."
"Killing wouldn't help matters, believe me, I know."
"But it will be oddly pleasant," Bill affirmed, stepping before Neville's sitting form. "Killing the man who turned you into this… stranger you've become."
"Can't you see?" Neville snapped. "I did this to myself! When I--- when I--- I chose the black over the pink! She--- my baby--- she would have liked the pink, but I never gave to her the chance to tell me! I killed, Bill, I killed and I didn't eve regret it! I'm a monster!"
Bill took in the desperate gaze, the shaking that came along with the words almost spat with fury and sadness; he couldn't stand it, nor the hate he could hear in Neville's voice. "Listen to me," he said, putting a hand on Neville's shoulder and the other cupping his cheek. "You're not a monster. You acted on a high of feelings; it isn't an excuse but it's the truth, Nev."
"But… maybe…"
"No buts, no maybes, Neville. Just… don't forget her, but don't live in the past anymore."
"I can't…"
"I'll help you."
"How?"
Bill leant in, his nose almost nuzzling Neville's, his breath hot against that pale skin. He looked at Neville in the eye, noticing briefly that the other's cheeks had turned slightly pink.
His mouth acted on its own accord and crossed the few inches separating them.
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Author: Lire lire_casander
Pairing: Bill Weasley/Neville Longbottom
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 462
Beta: Unbeta'ed. Any mistakes are my own fault.
Disclaimer: I do not own in any form or shape these characters, JK Rowling does. Just playing with them for my own amusement and yours.
Summary: Bill Weasley is a Ministry worker sent to Hogwarts to supervise the OWLs and NEWTs. He expects to catch up with his old friend Neville Longbottom, but things are not the same anymore.
Warnings: Angst.
Author's Note: Written for 10_themes's prompt table using prompt 07. Pink.
Bill hadn't seen Neville in the whole day, since the red head had been sulking in the guest room while the teacher had been working. Bill couldn't help but think about what that last memory, about shattered hopes and dreams, about the broken voice of the man who was once all smiles and optimism.
When the sun set down, Neville came back to his rooms; Bill supposed he would get ready for dinner and leave, but Neville sat down on a couch before the fireplace and stared at the flames for long moments before speaking loud enough to be heard through the slightly ajar door separating the guest room from the rest of the quarters. "Minerva has told me you've used the Pensieve. Have you read the letter, too?"
"Do you call letter to that short note?" Bill replied even though his will had been to stay silent.
"It was a letter of sorts." Neville sounded so collected, so serene, that Bill had trouble in actually believing what he had seen. But he knew memories never lie, so he decided to take out of Neville some parts of the truth that hadn't been explained as of yet.
"What was his name?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes, it does," Bill retorted, walking through the threshold and into Neville's field of vision. "I want to know his name so I know who I'm killing when I find him."
"Killing wouldn't help matters, believe me, I know."
"But it will be oddly pleasant," Bill affirmed, stepping before Neville's sitting form. "Killing the man who turned you into this… stranger you've become."
"Can't you see?" Neville snapped. "I did this to myself! When I--- when I--- I chose the black over the pink! She--- my baby--- she would have liked the pink, but I never gave to her the chance to tell me! I killed, Bill, I killed and I didn't eve regret it! I'm a monster!"
Bill took in the desperate gaze, the shaking that came along with the words almost spat with fury and sadness; he couldn't stand it, nor the hate he could hear in Neville's voice. "Listen to me," he said, putting a hand on Neville's shoulder and the other cupping his cheek. "You're not a monster. You acted on a high of feelings; it isn't an excuse but it's the truth, Nev."
"But… maybe…"
"No buts, no maybes, Neville. Just… don't forget her, but don't live in the past anymore."
"I can't…"
"I'll help you."
"How?"
Bill leant in, his nose almost nuzzling Neville's, his breath hot against that pale skin. He looked at Neville in the eye, noticing briefly that the other's cheeks had turned slightly pink.
His mouth acted on its own accord and crossed the few inches separating them.
Back | Next