#synodicdeicide

There was a moment of hesitation on her part, mostly because this was how she tended to feel when she was given a new assignment. Overall it wasn’t a difficult task, and she did always feel much better when she had a partner. But there was the fact that she wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about her current partner. She would have been lying to herself if she hadn’t thought about working with yet another Snicket. After all there were times when she had worked with Kit, and they were always so effective together. 

          It was large, old and covered with thick moss that still was slightly damp from last night’s rain showers.  The cushion provided by the green growth made for an excellent back rest whilst Neville cried his eyes out.  Despite its wetness, thick moss could almost pass as being similar leaning into a soft sweater worn by a comforting person.  Almost.  And that was what Neville needed: Comfort.  Something or someone to soothe his broken heart and hurt feelings.  The upsetting scene played over and over in his head, almost as if it were a photograph sprawled out in front of him:

                                 Neville, trailing after Harry and Ron as they chatted away, clearly too caught up in their conversation to hear Neville calling for them to wait up.  Ron was passing along the story to Harry about how Hermione had declined Neville’s invitation to the ball.  The reminder stung, but that wasn’t what crushed the round Gryffindor.  It was the bits and pieces he heard of what Ron said next. “…-Said she was already going with someone…She just didn’t want to go with Neville.  I mean, who would?”  

          Neville’d stopped dead in his tracks after that, feeling as if his heart had plummeted into his stomach.  With tears streaming down his face, Neville retreated to his favorite tree in a shadier, more seclusive part of the school’s courtyard.  He wept into his sleeve, without a doubt believing what Ron said was true— He and Hermione were close, after all.  Hermione just didn’t want to go to the ball with him and, according to Ron, no one did.  Neville’s biggest fear was that everyone secretly hated him and now it felt confirmed. 

                    “Wh-why. . “ Neville whimpers to himself.  “Why can’t I b-be liked?”  Why did he have to be so clumsy? So forgetful? So quick to get upset and so quick to cry?  So bad with potions and transfiguration and— And everything? Why did he have to be him?

                  Sirius laughs, loudly, gray eyes bright.  They’ve already been shushed twice, but clearly have been content to ignore the reprimands and the judgmental looks from Slytherins, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs trying to actually get work done. They should know better, really, that working together is more distracting than productive, yet….   ❝ Well, yes, but— ❞  he starts.  He leans toward Peter until their faces are only inches apart, over the table and the books spread out between them,  and flicks his forehead playfully. ❝ — what would you know about that? ❞  It’s clear he’s teasing out of affection more than anything else. 

     the flick to his forehead has him pulling back, a frown replacing his smile & he narrows his eyes at the boy across the table, lips edging out into a pout.

                 ❝ apparently i don’t know enough about having friends, because surely i have better taste than to befriend someone that flicks me for absolutely no reason at all. ❞

     with that he leans back in his chair & rubs at the site of impact, sure it’s blossoming a lovely shade of pink. because peter, the gentle natured, humble boy that he was, would never in a million years say anything that would warrant a flick. he’s beyond that, without a doubt.

your septum ring is so pretty ???

meme tag // not accepting

don’t starters | accepting | for @synodicdeicide

               “I wish I could stop.”  Neville said in a tone that wasn’t like him at all: It was loud and aggressive— He was clearly frustrated with himself.  “I feel like ‘m always cryin.’”

          He sat on the floor of the Room of Requirement, hot, angry tears rolling down his cheeks.  He was being stupid, he knew this.  Getting so worked up and upset over the fact that, yet again, he was unable to perform a corporeal-form patronus.  He was the only one in his year in the DA who hadn’t produced one.  And he was the one who needed it the most.  

          He had three Death Eaters he had to defeat, after all.  Rodolphus, Rabastan, and Bellatrix.  Barty Crouch Jr. was just an empty shell, now.  The ones whom had destroyed his parents’ minds.  Yes, he need to master every spell possible if he wanted to defeat them.  And he wanted to defeat them— Had to.

don’t starters | accepting | for @synodicdeicide‘s Cedric!

                “Well. . I doubt Gran would want me to get frostbite trying to get through this snow.” Despite how humorous his statement may sound, Neville was being truthful: He could hear Gran in now, nagging him about how he couldn’t fly or apparate, nor did he know how to summon a magic bus to transport him back home.  Thought he wouldn’t relay any of this to Cedric— How embarrassing!  Neville clears his throat before continuing.  “D’You think your family will mind?”

       Though his body language would imply that he’s a bit reluctant to stay, fearful that he’ll be a nuisance (or snore so loudly that no one can sleep ), but inside Neville is buzzing with excitement.  A sleepover of sorts— With Cedric! Perhaps they’d stay up eating Berty’s Beans or talking about Quidditch or girls he liked.  His face flushes at the last thought.  However, he speaks of none of this.  Instead, he rambles about how quiet as a mouse he’ll be.