#neville threads

[itswasteland]

@seafinnigan liked this for a starter (Neville and Seamus) 

Neville sat at the Gryffindor table, poking his breakfast patty for several long moments but neither seeing nor feeling what he was doing. It was hard to have an appetite when everything around him seemed so wrong, so off, so much like waking up from a nightmare only to realize you’d fallen right into another one. At the high table, Snape sat where Dumbledore should have, and the Carrows huddled on either side of him, haughty and proud and undeniably evil. They had only been back at school for a handful of days, but already the truth was abundantly clear: this was not Hogwarts. 

Neville looked down the table glumly until his eyes caught on the sight of Seamus, who looked as terrible as Neville felt. Even worse, he looked empty without Dean by his side, like he was missing half of himself. And maybe he was. It was yet another mark of how crooked life had become at Hogwarts: all the missing places where their muggle-born classmates should have sat. 

Making up his mind in an instant, Neville scooted down the table and without a word, grabbed one of the old DA coins from his pocket and stuffed it into Seamus’ hand. He’d been thinking about it for days now, ever since he’d stepped off the train and felt dread rather than excitement--more dread than he usually did, anyway. As this year, it wasn’t bullying he was afraid of. It wasn’t even Voldemort. It was the end, the fear that there was no point, no future, no goal--nothing for any of them to work for or look forward to. All of their training, all he’d endured, all for nothing. “We’re gonna get him back,” he said with as much bravado as he could. “I have an idea and maybe--” He paused, biting his lip, but this was no time to fall into old ways, to get nervous, to stutter his way through words he knew mattered. “Maybe you want to help me?”

[itswasteland]

@praeludio liked this for a starter (Neville and Cedric)

“I believe you, you know.” Neville was trembling slightly--it was difficult, sometimes, for him to say these things, not because he didn’t believe in them (he did with all his heart and gut), but because to look another student in the eye and declare anything with such conviction was not something Neville was accustomed to, not something he’d ever been good at it or that had been encouraged either at home, where his family steam rolled over everything he ever tried to say, or here at school, where he was apt to be pushed into a suit of armor if he dared speak up. But he was getting better, was stuttering less, was holding his head higher. And in the wake of all that had happened the year before, bravery no longer felt like an option. It now seemed an obligation. 

Harry and Cedric had been the butt of every Ministry joke, every snide remark in the paper, and Neville had watched it happen with a growing rage at his government, his school, his country. Neville’s grandmother had cancelled their subscription because of it, and every day since, he had felt a righteous indignation rising inside of him, a desperate need to do something--anything--to help. “I believe you saw him. S-saw--” He readied himself, bit his lip, and tried again, “V-voldemort. And that you fought him with Harry and you won. And that he’s back. And-and anyone that says otherwise--” He glanced at the Slytherins who were brandishing a newspaper article Neville was sure said nothing good. “Doesn’t know what they’re talking about.”

[itswasteland]

“I’ll protect you”

Soft Sentence Starters || @hcllfxre (Neville and Remus) || Accepting 

Neville nodded, the sinking feeling in his chest increasing tenfold with every second he tried to stand, his legs dancing uncontrollably beneath him and blood dripping sickeningly into his mouth from a broken nose that would not stop throbbing. He had been so sure of himself just hours before–a feeling Neville had never had before–and yet when they’d arrived at the ministry on those Thestrals, when they’d heroically (or so he’d thought) burst into the ministry to save Harry’s friend, he’d been sure they were doing the right thing, that finally–finally–he’d found his place, done something good, something his parents would be proud of. 

Instead, he’d ended up flat on his back, screaming under Bellatrix’s cruciatus spell, just as his parents had, his friends were scattered to the wind, and his old Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was standing above him, wand held out, looking as brave and strong and admirable as he had that first lesson when he’d taught Neville–patient and kind and determined, the first adult ever to be with Neville–how to face his fears. He had no doubts that Professor Lupin would protect him now, that the Order of the Phoenix would save them all. Neville only opened that this one time, finally, he’d have been able to save himself. 

“We haf–to geb–Harre–” He mumbled, voice garbled under the pressure of his bleeding nose. “The prob-ethe. They’re tryin’ to geb the propb-ethe.”