Unlikely Heroes

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Part Three: Frailty

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Dear Neville--

Hi. I know it's been a long time since I've written you, and I'm sorry for that. I have tried writing before. I've tried so many times to send you a simple letter to see how you were doing, to see if you were still, you know, talking to me. I'd understand if you weren't, of course. It would... It would be your right.

Neville, I wasn't brave enough to send you any of those letters that I wrote. I wasn't brave enough to try to face you, to face me, to face what may possibly be between us. I wanted to come to you-- I wanted to look you in the face. I was determined to do so... and didn't. Couldn't. But I...

Is it stepping out of line, Neville, for me to say that I *want* for there to be something between us? Is it wrong of me, considering what I did, to say that I want to be with you? If it is, if I'm wrong and you don't want me, then I won't try to press anything. I won't try to force you to change your mind, no matter how much I may want to. No matter how much I may wish you would.

So there. It's out there now, between us. I'm going to send this to you now, before my mind catches up with what I'm doing and I forget who I am. What I am. I'd like to. to come see you, if you'd let me. I'd like that very much. I *want* to see you, but if you tell me not to...

You'd think, as Gryffindor, that I'd never be scared of anything. You'd think that I could simply come to see you and say everything that I had to face-to-face. Looking into your eyes. Perhaps feeling your rejection like teeth ripping into my heart...

You'd think that wouldn't scare me so bad. But it does. God, it does.

Please write back soon.

love, Percy

***

Hands shaking, Percy set the feathered quill aside and slowly smoothed out the parchment, eyes scanning over the uneven lines. His room was dark, empty and silent with the exception of Hermes shifting within his cage and a single lamp casting shadows across the wall. Too dark. Too quiet. Taking in a breath that quivered only slightly, Percy gently blew across the page, gusting a slow stream of air to dry the cooling ink even as he reached for the sealing wax.

"Don't chicken out on this," he murmured to himself as he neatly folded the letter and burned the small cylinder of wax. The monotony of his motions was soothing somehow, calming his frazzled, jittering nerves. His hands stopped shaking as he dripped the red wax onto the crease and laid down the hardened block, hands reaching automatically for his seal. He pressed the cool metal into the wax with more force than was necessary, then lifted it away, fingers letting it drop unheeded to his desk as he leaned back and stared at the letter.

For something so small, it symbolized so much.

"I must be insane," he muttered, shaking his head. His red hair fell across his cheeks and down past his chin in a wave a soft silk, and he sighed as he pushed it back, flipping it behind his ears. Hopeless. Drained.

Wanting...

Percy turned his face away, eyes stinging and hot as he blinked back tears, mouth falling open into a wet, shuddering gasp. Slowly, he reached over and clicked off the light, drowning the room in darkness and fickle moonlight as he leaned over in his chair, long arms reaching up to wrap himself in an empty embrace. Tears making silent, burning tracks down his sharp cheekbones, Percy rocked in his chair, arms clutching against his middle as he rested his forehead against the cool wood of the desk, eyes squeezed shut in the denial of shame. "I'm sorry," he gasped, mouth moving across the words, twisting them with the force of holding back the flood. Once he began, once the darkness spiraled up and out of it's secret hiding place deep within his chest, he wasn't sure that he would have the strength to push it back down again. He wasn't sure that he'd want to.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry..."

Shoulders heaving with the force of swallowing years of rage and pain, Percy shook his head and pushed himself upright, hands reaching up automatically to pull off and clean his wire-rimmed glasses. Moonlight reflected off of the oval-shaped glass, shattering the darkness with a burst of colorless light, and he drew in a wet, shivering breath as he looked out of the window, hand reaching out to stroke the soft parchment. Percy's fingers traced over the raised curve of the seal, following the arching lines as he stared into the darkness beyond his window, watching the stars in the sky.

And was silent.

*******************

The moonlight shone, bright and wavering on the twisted sheets as Neville stared up at the infirmary ceiling. Dean was a solid warmth beside him, soft breath gusting across their shared pillow as he shifted in sleep, lashes flickering against his dark skin before he settled within the covers. Neville watched him shiver back into unconsciousness with a blank stare, gaze flickering over the familiar yet strange face of his long-time roommate.

But not friend.

He absently reached up to rub his sore wrist against the base of his chest, as if he could scrub away the deep, aching sensation that sent flutters of anxiety pressing through his heart and throat and down to his fingers and toes. His entire body throbbed with the tension, skating between fiery burn and shuddering ache, echoing with each beat of his heart and staggered, rasping indrawn breath.

~You'll be ok,~ he reminded himself, trying to gather together the courage that he had felt earlier. The determination. But everything seemed to be fleeing from his grasping fingers in the cold loneliness. The moonlight...

~Everything will be all right. You can handle this. You are strong-- are Gryffindor. Brave...~ His eyes stung with tears, and Neville blinked to wash away the heat, mouth opening to gasp in breath as a tear escaped and burned a trail down the soft flesh of his cheek.

"Why?" he whispered, eyes flickering shut to hold back the surplus of tears. Once he let them fall, they'd keep coming, washing over his chest and hands to burn the raised scar on his wrist which ached with the gentle itch of healing. Dean shifted again, but did not wake, ignorant of the raging, helpless emotions scouring through Neville's chest like a tsunami. "Why?"

The moonlight had no answer.

Sighing, Neville pushed his feet over the side of the bed, blankets falling about his waist as he slowly sat up. The room spun in a glory of color for a long moment, then stilled, leaving him disoriented and strangely determined. The floor was cold against his bare feet and the wind from the open window blew against his long white nightshirt, pressing it intimately against his legs. He wobbled on his feet, balance thrown off by the events of the day, and he clung to the bedpost for support, arms wrapping around it tightly as he re-gained his balance.

He pressed his face against the cool wood, feeling the individual grains rough against his forehead as he fought for the energy to move his drained body. The room was stifling-- walled in. He needed the fresh air and the flowers around him. He needed the peace of the greenhouse...

He needed to go back.

Hands gripping the post, Neville slowly pushed away, swaying on his feet as the room spun in a confusion of light and movement. He shook his head, then stepped away, mouth setting into a firm line and shoulders squaring as he made his way to the door, steps slow and deliberate as he fought against the madly tilting earth. He had to go back to the quiet and still. He had to work this out-- had to push out the riot of emotion and fire that churned in his chest. The stillness was better than this. The ice. Anything was better than the roiling mass of fear and pain and hurt and anger and love and hate and despair and hope.

Even the silence. Even the cold.

His hand shook as he gripped the doorknob and slowly turned it, pushing the door open beneath the weight of his shoulder. The main infirmary was dark, shadows playing across the examination tables and beds, curtained off by swaths of white, shining in the dark like ghosts. The wind gently pushed at them, making them sway with a soft hiss as they brushed against the stone floor.

"Not far," Neville murmured, moving towards the door that would lead to the hall. "Not far... Escape."

"Escape what?"

Neville started at the sudden voice intruding on his whispered thoughts, and he turned to face the intruder, legs wobbling weakly and collapsing beneath him as he overbalanced. He fell into a graceless heap onto the infirmary floor, hands reaching behind him to catch his fall, palms smacking hard on the ground as his nightshirt pooled around him.

Justin Finch-Fletchley stood up from the bed, pushing aside the white material with a grimace as he quickly stepped towards Neville. He knelt down next to him, curly brown hair wild from sleep and gray eyes worried. "Are you all right?" he asked, soft voice pitched low as he gently touched Neville's shoulder.

"Yeah," Neville murmured, looking anywhere but up at the other boy. What was he doing here anyways? "I'm fine..."

"You look it." Justin sat back on his heels and looked at Neville, long, thin arms crossing over his bony knees. He smiled gently, almond-shaped eyes gleaming from above high cheekbones. "In fact, you look just swell. Here, why don't I help you up?"

Neville shook his head and planted his hands firmly on the ground, shifting to his knees. "No, I've got it," he protested, wincing when Justin touched him again. He didn't want this. this. this contact. He didn't want strange, soft hands on his upper arm, squeezing gently as he was helped to his feet.

He didn't want.

"You want to sit down?" Justin began steering him towards a large chair without waiting for an answer. Neville let himself be guided, but balked when Justin began to help him lower himself into the seat.

"I think I'll stand," he said, lifting his chin up and meeting the gray eyes. His entire body shook with the strain of remaining upright, but he shifted his legs apart, balancing, mouth setting into a thin, pale line. He didn't want to give in to the silently raised brows or the gentle smile. Bitterness crept up his throat, burning his mouth as he looked away.

Justin crossed his arms over his thin chest and calmly watched the emotions flickering across Neville's face. There was so much there for him to see and wonder at, but he refused to let himself begin to draw conclusions or formulate a plan of attack-- he had to wait for Neville to take the first step on this one. If he didn't wait, if he wasn't patient, then who knew how many hidden time-bombs he would pass over? He had to be so very, very patient...

And Justin Finch-Fletchley had become so very *good* at patient.

He leaned back against the wall, making himself comfortable as he watched the other boy. His bony shoulder blades pressed hard against the plaster, and he shifted again, long legs crossing one over the other as he placidly stared at Neville. He tried to make his face as blank and as unnervingly focused as possible as he waited the other boy out, studying his trembling body with an inward wince as he did so.

Neville had lost weight, and the lack of the additional softness made him look ragged and frail. His skin was alarmingly pale, the roses having fled from his lips and cheeks, and his eyes were flat and dark and lifeless. Justin had been prepared for grief or pain or anger, or perhaps all three, but not the complete... lack of anything. Not the mirrored denial.

He watched, alarmed, as Neville's body began trembling in earnest, shuddering as he verged on the edge of collapse. He tried to think of graceful ways to back down from their mini-battle without giving a total victory to the other boy. He had to find a way to worm himself into Neville's mind until the boy felt as if he belonged there-- had to be free to pluck the thoughts from the golden brain and view them one by one, then as a whole, to steal the secret darkness and find ways to lessen it. He had to have the power to do that... but he couldn't let Neville hurt himself while trying to fight him.

Justin bit back a sigh of relief when Neville finally sank back into the chair, legs almost giving out on him as he fell back into the soft cushions. Justin remained standing for a moment longer, forcing Neville to look *up* at him, burning the image of Justin standing tall above him into his subconsciousness. It would help later, when the true battles began.

Finally, Justin sank down to the ground in a graceful sprawl, deliberately switching their roles, handing Neville the power. If Neville felt in control of the situation, he'd be more likely to talk, to confess, to admit Justin into his thoughts...

~Manipulation,~ Justin thought darkly even as he smiled at Neville, gray eyes focused over his shoulder to take some of the pressure off of the other boy. Part of him didn't want to play the small tricks he had learned to worm his way into confidences, even though he knew they were necessary. ~Open up to me.~

"You're up late tonight," he commented off-handedly, making an opportunity for discussion. He glanced at Neville out of the corners of his eyes, trying to gauge his reaction. What was he feeling?

Was Neville feeling anything at *all*?

~He has to be,~ Justin reminded himself firmly, legs drawing up and arms wrapping around his shins. ~But it's buried deep.~ "I usually enjoy the night," he continued lightly, seemingly chatting about nothing at all. "It's very quiet and calm. And *cold*." ~What are you thinking, Neville Longbottom? What are you hiding from me? Trust me...~ "Colder than where I'm from, really. Though when you sneak out of the common rooms and find your way up to the roof on the southern tower... it's worth the cold to head up there."

Nothing. No response.

"I used to be afraid of heights, you know," Justin continued, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. It felt... intimate. Trusting. Open. Another invitation for Neville to open himself. "I *hated* them. So I stole a broom from Madam Hooch one night and mounted it and *made* myself fly across the Quidditch field." He shivered in memory. "The night was *freezing*-- rain dripped down in cold, hard pellets, like pieces of ice. It soaked into my robe and down to my clothes beneath, and I held onto that broom for dear life, terrified that I was going to fall." He met the light brown eyes, lips quirking into a smile. "It was horrible... My hair was plastered to my forehead and in my eyes and my hands were numb from the cold and I was careening out of control through the air... And then, suddenly, the rain stopped. It just all... dried up, as if the skies were done, and the clouds parted for a moment and I could see the stars. I was so close to them, it seemed. So very close!

that I could touch them. And I reached out," he reached out his hand, "and made as if to touch them and cup them in my palms." Gently, he lay his hand on Neville's knee, feeling the flesh tense beneath his fingers. "I didn't catch any stars that night, but I wasn't scared any more." He looked up to meet brown eyes again, expression serious. "I wasn't scared... and now I love being up high. It makes me feel *alive*."

Slowly, Justin began rubbing his thumb against the tense flesh of Neville's lower thigh, feeling the muscles bunch tighter and tighter beneath his hand... and then release in a sudden surrender.

"I even love to fall," Justin said.

"Fall?" Neville's voice was soft and worn, creaking as if he hadn't used it in years.

Justin pressed his thumb gently against the soft flesh of his inner knee, feeling the racing pulse. "Yeah. I love the sensation of falling-- of losing control over everything and just sinking fast to the earth."

"But. it hurts."

"Not always. Not when there's someone to catch you, it doesn't."

Neville turned his face away. "No one's ever there to catch you."

~That's it!~ Justin silently crowed, seeing the small crack showing in Neville's armor. He had the leverage he needed to climb into the other boy's skull... but he had to be so very careful. He turned his face down as he pulled at the hem of his nightshirt, twining the edges around his long toes and looking anywhere but at Neville as he delicately felt his way through the darkness. "Yeah, I used to think that, too," he admitted, voice pitched low. "When I first came to Hogwarts... I. I didn't know what was going on. I was a Muggle, and it was such a. a *shock* to learn that magic was real. I felt a bit like Lucy stepping through the wardrobe for the first time. Only thing was, I had stepped through and was *stuck* there, in this strange Narnia. And I didn't know anyone or anything." Justin paused and licked his lips, aware of Neville's hungry gaze on him. He was hitting something, hitting something deep and real and important to the boy, but he was also digging into his own !

fears and his own darkness.

~How much should I give?~ he wondered, hands clutching convulsively. He was teetering dangerously close to too much truth too fast. Should he go on? Admit his own... faults? Or veer away? He glanced up from beneath his lashes, chewing on his bottom lip.

One look at Neville was all it took to decide him. The other boy was leaning forwards in his chair, hands gripping the armrests convulsively and eyes shining with the rebirth of light. His leg pressed up into Justin's hand, seeking the touch, the contact, and his tender mouth was open, teeth just visible above his bottom lip.

~Something bad was going to happen tonight-- something bad was happening inside of him. Fuck regulations and give him the truth.~

"I was. was terrified of everything. I couldn't speak. I could only *stare* as so much changed around me. My breath choked in my chest at every turn, at every new surprise. There was so much happening, so much magic and wonder, and all I wanted to do was run back home and press my face into my mother's lap. All I wanted was to get *away*." He shook his head, caught in the memory of young terror. "And I just sat there and *listened*, listened to everyone talk about what was happening and the Houses. I heard them talk about Gryffindor and Slytherin and Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. And. And."

He sucked in a deep breath, part of him amazed at the depth of emotion he still felt when he allowed himself to think of the very first day of his new life. Neville was watching him avidly, eyes wide and round as Justin forced himself to continue. "I went up there in front of so many people and sat on that stool and put on the Sorting Hat... And all I could think was, let me be Gryffindor. Let me be brave. I want so badly to be brave...

And it was if the hat could hear me and I could hear it whispering in my ears. *Please*, I begged. Let me be Gryffindor. Let me have that. 'No', it replied 'you are not Gryffindor.' Then Slytherin, I begged. Let me be Slytherin. I can be ruthless. I can be ambitious. 'No,' it said. 'No-- you can't. You don't know how... You are and can be none other than Hufflepuff.'" Justin's lips quirked into an almost-bitter smirk. "The rest of the House applauded, and I tried so hard to smile at them as I joined their ring of bland, smiling faces, but I just wanted to cry. I didn't want to be ordinary... I didn't want to be kind and placid and dedicated. I wanted to be *brave*. I wanted to be *strong*. And then Peter, one of the sixth years, put his broad, blunt, *capable* hand on my shoulder and whispered 'it's not so bad, really, once you get used to it...'

And. And I still feel like I don't fit in. It's crazy-- I've been here for years. I'm in my *final* year, and all I can think is that the Sorting Hat *must* have made a mistake..." He trailed off and shook his head silently, hands shaking. He had just admitted more than he had ever dared to before. Even when he was training to council others, he had kept the loneliness and feeling of alienation to himself.

Justin started when he felt warm arms wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him into a tight, sweet embrace. He froze for a moment, mouth opened into comic surprise as Neville knelt next to him and pressed his soft face up into his neck, arms tightening comfortingly around him. Slowly, he let his own arms sneak around the other boy's waist, eyes stinging a little at the unexpected gesture. ~I can't believe he's comforting *me*~ he thought a little wildly as he gently moved the palms of his hands in circles against Neville's back.

"I. I know how it feels," Neville whispered, voice pitched so low that Justin had to strain to hear him. He touched the soft, curly brown hair and closed his eyes, frightened at the emotions jumbled chaotically in his breast. ~Well,~ he thought ~so much for the stillness washing it all away.~

"You do?"

"Yes, I. I don't belong in Gryffindor. I don't know how it happened. But they're all so. So strong. And brave. And I can't talk to them because I never know what they mean. I never understand, um, the fire I guess. And I'm not brave..." Justin held him tighter as Neville's breath hitched. "And none of them are my friends. They don't. don't want me. Because I'm *not* strong like them, and I'm not brave like them, and I just... Just can't."

"Is there no-one?" Justin asked. He felt Neville stiffen in his arms and quickly steered the topic away, noting it to think about later. "Is Dean your friend?"

Neville slowly pulled away and sank back onto his heels, hands folding in his lap, knees brushing up against Justin when he breathed. "No. I mean. He never has been. He just, well, you know, found me and did the right thing, I guess..."

"And wasn't a bit worried about you?" Justin raised a single brow, then reached over at the non-committal shrug to lightly grasp Neville's arm. Neville froze, then relaxed, letting Justin turn his arm over to look at the angry red line. "He did this just because he had to? He's in there still, asleep and waiting for you, just because he thought he should?" He touched the end of the scar, pad of his thumb brushing across the pale wrist.

Neville pulled his arm away. "Aren't you here because Dumbledore told you to?" he demanded, brows drawing together darkly. "Because he ordered you to *fix* me?"

Justin looked up calmly and very gently took Neville's hand in his own, cupping his fingers around the cold palm. "No," he said simply, lips curving into a delicate smile. "I'm here to help you."

"I don't need help."

"Don't you?" His finger brushed against the base of the scar once more.

Neville colored. "I don't *want* help with anything. I'm fine on my own."

Justin nodded and stood, slowly drawing Neville up with him. The other boy was defensive-- that was good. It meant he had already begun to break through. "That's what I always said," he smiled, tugging Neville along behind him. Neville followed haltingly, still weak and dizzy from blood loss, leaning briefly against the doorframe as Justin led him into the inner room.

The moonlight shone down through the single window, casting across Dean's face, so sweet in sleep. Justin leaned forward and tapped at one long arm, pushing it over so that Dean took up less of the bed. Then, smiling, he turned to Neville. He motioned for the other boy to crawl in, and Neville slowly complied, eyes watching Justin as he lay down on the bed.

"Scoot over," Justin whispered, climbing in next to him, and Neville curled back against Dean's warmth, eyes flickering closed as Dean wrapped his arm around him in sleep. Justin smiled and curled close to his front, one hand reaching up to brush back a fall of blond hair, thumb tracing gently across his cheek. "Dream well," he murmured before wrapping his own arm around Neville's middle, pulling him into a tight cocoon of warmth and peace and still.

And sleep.

"That's what I always said," Justin whispered to the darkened room, listening to the gentle rise and fall of breaths as Dean and Neville sank into a sleep-gentled rhythm. "And it was always a lie..."

********************

~You have to pull it together, Weasley,~ Percy thought darkly as he shoved his hands into his robe pockets. The wind blew hard and cold down the street, whipping the black material against his legs and stirring his red hair into his face. He ducked his head down, turning his face to the side, eyes slitting shut when the oval frames of his glasses failed to protect him from the bits of dust pushed along by the wind. Men and women hurried about their business, heads ducked down and cheeks stained with color, arms laden with packages and umbrellas and crying children. Percy paused to watch a young woman pass by, her golden hair framing her face in a halo as she shouldered her way into Flourish and Blotts.

He shook his head and walked on, lips pressing into a firm line. Maybe, if he took long enough, Hermes would have returned. And maybe there would be a letter for him. And maybe...

"You are a prat, Percy Weasley," he muttered to himself, reaching up to shove his hair back from his face. He really should get it cut-- either that or start wearing it in a small pony-tail like Neville had suggested.

"A prat." He stopped mid-step and sighed, shoulders tensing beneath his robe. He had been given a day off at work, and for once he had gladly taken it, needing the time alone to think. To worry.

He glanced across the street, unimpressed by the gray dreariness that seemed to have overtaken Diagon Alley. Everything seemed... dead. Uninteresting.

He made as if to move on, but then a flash of color caught his eye. Brows drawing together, Percy crossed the empty street and passed by the large tan building, looking down the broad, open alleyway. An old woman sat on the curb, tattered skirt of her robe falling about her bare feet, cracked and wizened hands gripping a small wicker basket that rested precariously between her thighs. She glanced up at Percy, a crooked smile flickering across her face as she lifted up the basket for him to see.

"Flower?" she said.

Percy shook his head, then paused, gaze moving to the wilting flowers dumped within the basket. They made a riot of color against the dull, gray day, blues and violets and yellows and reds intermingling.

"Yes, actually," he said, digging into his pocket for his coin purse. He didn't have the money to spend of trivilarities, he knew, but he forced himself to ignore the voice of reason as he handed over the coins and picked out a brilliant crimson flower, edges only slightly turned to brown. "Thank you."

"And thank you," the old witch replied, pocketing the money. Percy turned and headed back down the road, wincing when the wind hit him again, nearly blowing him off of his feet. Shoulders hunching protectively, Percy tucked the small flower into his robe and set off for home, lips turned up into an almost-smile.

*****************

"Dean."

"Justin."

"Will you come with me?"

::move silently from room, shutting door quietly behind them::

::long silence::

"... Justin, what are you doing here?"

"Dumbledore asked me to step in and see what I could do."

"Dumbledore *asked* you to?"

"Well, giving off-hand orders in something like this really isn't wise... Look, Dean, you can stop bristling at me like that. I'm not trying to interlope on anything here."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"I'm sure you don't."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Look, Dean, the *last* thing Neville needs is for us to be fighting. How're we going to help him if we're too busy having a pissing contest?"

::pause:: "We?"

::rueful smile:: "You think I'm letting you get out of this that easily? You, my friend, are stuck in this until the end."

::lips curve slowly up into a relieved smile:: "I see."

"But it's not going to be easy. Which is why I have to talk to you."

"Talk."

"OK. Last night, I caught Neville on his way to. Well. I'm not positive where, but I think we both have a pretty good *guess* as to where he was heading at 3 am."

"Oh, shit..."

"Yes. I managed to talk to him and started a... a... a bond, I guess you can say. So, we're on the right path, but I need you as well."

"What can I do?"

::small smile:: "Exactly what you've been doing."

::muttered:: "Oh, that's helpful."

"I live to serve. Now, we're going to start the talking sometime either today or tomorrow-- or later, if he seems to be healing slowly. We don't want to start when he's still too weak: it'll feel like we're attacking him that way. You are to *never* act pitying, but you do need to look open to what he's saying. *Do* *not* jump into what he's saying with denials. Ask questions; don't refute. If he says no-one loves him, you can point out *later* that it's not true, after you get him to explain every detail he can possibly think of as to *why*."

"That sounds... doable."

"Good. Keep some kind of a journal with all of your thoughts and anything that you notice or remember. That'll be important to look over later. And you may have to tell stories about yourself, your life, whatever. Say and do whatever you have to-- what's said between us is going to remain between us. Just be careful not to go *too* deep into your own emotions. We have to try to remain detached from this."

"Detached? You're joking, right?"

::small smile:: "I did say *try* to remain detached." ::hands over a leather-bound journal::

"Oh, ok." ::deep breath:: "Justin, I'm not sure if I... I mean, I'm not trained in this or anything. I'm. I'm not very good with words."

"That's fine Dean-- you just need to *be* there. I'll do all the talking that has to be done. Now, well, I decided that perhaps Neville shouldn't get... reminders of the outside world."

"Like?"

"Like visits or letters."

"No letters?"

"No. He's... he's at a point where anything could offset the balance we're looking for. So they all go back to the sender."

"Yeah, I understand. You seem to know a lot about this. Where did you learn it all?"

"Class."

"*Class*?? What class?"

"Magical Counseling and Psychology."

::brows furrow:: "I wasn't aware that was an option..."

"It's not. Not for most students-- you have to go through testing to get in, and all of the students are Hufflepuff anyways."

"But..."

"You didn't seriously think all Professor Sprout did was play in the garden, did you?"

"Well... why only Hufflepuff?"

::small smile and a wink:: "There has to be *something* we're good at besides getting picked on, right? Come on-- I need to show you how to focus on the cavaten before he wakes up."

"The what?"

"The cavaten... it's a spell that allows you to get a visual image representing emotional networks... Oh, I'll explain it all later..."

******************

"Minerva, for goodness sakes, please stop pacing."

"I can't help it. Albus, what are we allowing here?"

"I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"Oh, I think that you do."

"You did approve the program, if I remember correctly. In fact, I seem to remember you speaking quite favorably of it when Severus objected."

"Yes, well, that was more to spite him than any real zeal for this." ::sighs:: "Albus, it's been four days..."

"Technically only three."

"... and we *still* haven't contacted the boy's family."

::raised brow:: "Justin Finch-Fletchley hasn't authorized contacting Neville's guardian as of yet."

"That's just my point! Why are we putting everything into the hands of this boy?"

"Minerva... did you see the score he made on the E.L.F. testing?"

"That's not the issue here..."

"Justin made the decision that outside influences-- *especially* that of Neville's grandmother-- would be harmful at this point. I, for one, and willing to give him a little lee-way."

"But..."

"It's in his hands, Minerva. Not ours."

::sigh:: "Of course. I still think you're making a mistake, though."

"That's your right. But for now, we're simply going to let Justin and Dean take care of this and keep our noses to ourselves. His daily logs are keeping us as up-to-date as we need be."

::raised brow:: "Is that you're way of telling me to get to reading?"

::smiles and hands over leather-bound pile of parchments:: "Your papers."

*****************

Hey, Mum. I know it's ridiculous for me to be talking to you-- you're so very far away right now, and even if you were here, even if you were touching my hand and kissing my hair, it wouldn't make any difference. It wouldn't change anything.

I'm not sure what to do, Mum. I feel so... so strange. And lost. Dean and Justin are here: they're always here, nearby, watching over me. I don't know whether that makes me feel safe or. or trapped.

I wish you could tell me what I should be feeling. I wish you could tell me whether I should feel hope or despair or anger or helplessness. I don't like this. this roiling mass of *confusion*. I don't like not understanding what's wrong with me.

God, Mum. I just. I.

Save a seat for me next to you and Dad, Mum. The way things are going... I may be in there with you soon.

****************

"Well." Dean glanced over at Justin, who nodded slightly, lips curved up into a smile. "I. Well, see I'm..." He licked his lips. "I'm not quite sure what to say."

Neville's eyes flickered up, then back down to the blank parchment that he was slowly shredding. His soft, delicate fingers would grip the top end of the paper, running down to feel the smoothness and small imperfections before slowly pulling at the two ends, splitting it down the middle in one clean, perfect cut. Then he would move on to the next bit, laying aside the small strips in a ever-growing pile on his lap.

He seemed so focused. Concentrated.

Lost.

"I was the eldest child. My sister, Sarah, wasn't born until I was about eleven years old, which meant that I had my family to myself for a long time. But, well. It didn't really seem that way. It always seemed as if I had to share mother and father with other people, with strangers." He met Justin's gaze and was relieved at the small nod he received. It was hard telling stories about his life-- everything that had ever happened to him seemed so simple and *fake* when he considered what Neville must have gone through. ~But Justin says... Justin says that if we talk, then he may talk. He may open up.~ Neville needed to open up. He was so closed off inside that Dean could almost feel the ice in those dull brown eyes.

"Why was that?" Justin encouraged softly, lashes flickering as he watched Dean with a gentle intensity that was almost disconcerting. As if everything Justin was narrowed down into focusing on Dean. As if his entire *world* was Dean. "Did your parents treat you as if they didn't care?"

"Oh, no!" Dean quickly shook his head. "No, that's not it at all. My parents were-- are-- very loving. They gave me everything that I could ever want. It's just that. Well, both of them were doctors, and they were always being called away to go take care of someone else. I used to get so mad when they'd leave. They were supposed to take care of *me* and not some person I'd never met. They were supposed to be there and play games with me and figure out that the kids in school were making my life hell. They were supposed to have everything figured out and they *didn't*."

"And you hated them for it?" Gaze was locked on gaze, gray on brown, compelling confession, sharing secrets in the strictest confidence that they were the last people on earth. A world of two.

"No. Well, yes. Sometimes. They were just supposed to care enough to wonder why I wasn't happy..."

"And they never did?"

Justin and Dean both started at the soft interruption, heads turning to look at Neville. Long, thin scraps of paper crumpled within his fists as he stared at Dean, cheeks flushing pink and tender mouth dropped open to pull in deep breaths.

~My God~ Dean breathed, amazed at the burning emotions barely held in check within the gently boy's eyes. ~Not ice at all...~

"Well," he began, but Justin cut him off with a hand on his thigh, fingers digging briefly into his flesh. *Let him continue* the pressure seemed to say.

"They never really bothered with how you felt at all. They just. They just assumed that you couldn't feel, couldn't think, couldn't be anything just because you weren't as. as. as equipped to deal with magic as they were. And you were small and young and they didn't like to look at you because you always reminded them of someone they wanted to forget, and it *hurt* when they wouldn't look at you because they were supposed to love you and didn't. And it was almost good when they thought that you didn't have *any* magic, because then they'd pay attention to you, then there was a problem that they thought they could fix and they almost. almost cared for you. But it wasn't for long. Wasn't for long at all and..." His tirade choked off in a muffled gasp, as if he were choking all of the words that had pressed from his lips back into his throat and down his chest to the burning walls of his heart. His shoulders shook with the force of holding back tears and shame, and Dean stared !

helplessly, not sure what to do, mind swirling in a ray of color and shock as words passed unfazing through his brain. ~my god my god my god my god~

A firm yet gentle squeeze on his thigh pulled him back to himself.

"I had a dream once," Justin began, leaning back against the bed. His voice was low and soothing, pitched so that Dean had to lean forwards to hear him as it rose and fell within the intricacies of the story. Slowly, Neville's panicked breathing slowed, then gentled, and eventually he was leaning forwards as well, caught up in the tale of a dream of beautifully-scaled people who lived within the clouds.

And they made a world of *three*.

***********************

PERSONAL JOURNALS: JUSTIN

... understand. It doesn't seem like he's open to the idea, but it's almost like he can't help it. He doesn't *want* Dean and myself to be prying into his thoughts, but at the same time, he *needs* us to be there and talk to him.

Dean is a bit fumbling at times-- he was telling the truth when he said he wasn't good with words. But he's managed to surprise me several times. Last night, he told us a story about when he took his sister to the zoo, and it was such a very simple tale, yet it was... Was moving. And Neville smiled.

My notes to Dumbledore and McGonagall seem dry and bare compared to what's really happening. I'm not positive that there is any improvement yet, but this time will certainly help out Dean. And maybe myself. And hopefully Neville.

However, it doesn't...

****************

Neville gently folded the colored paper over, fingers pressing down the delicate edge to make a crease. Time was passing swiftly, hours melting into days pressing into weeks... and still no contact with the 'outside world', still no letters or visits from his family.

He almost couldn't decide whether or not he was relieved at the lack of intrusion. He *thought* he was relieved.

He curled up the edge of the paper, hiding a wince when the motion pulled at his wound. The scar had healed no more than it had on that first day, edges still red and sore and almost fragile. ~I wonder if it will *never* heal~ he thought, folding another edge over. He glanced over at Dean and Justin. Their heads were bowed over their own squares of colored paper, expressions intent and knees touching almost intimately. ~I wonder if one day, when I am old, the soft wrinkled ends of it would just fall open like a wet, over-ripe pear.~ He folded the end one last time. ~I wonder if it will matter.~

He lifted up the finished paper flower, watching the way the sunlight shone through it's crimson sides. The floor was littered with flowers, a veritable garden of tissue paper and carpet, small blossoms scattered across his lap and thighs.

And all he could do was stare at the red flower cupped within his palms.

"Percy," he whispered, eyes stinging.

A red blossom, a gift. Love.

"Oh, Percy."

Slowly his hand closed over the paper flower, crushing it within his palm.

"Was there something wrong with that one?" Neville looked up and met Dean's dark gaze. ~He sees everything.~

"It was torn."

"You tore it?"

"I-I think it came out that way."

Dean smiled gently and gestured to the pile of blue and green and violet and yellow paper flowers scattered around them. "Well, there are plenty of others."

"Yes." A whisper. "There are."

"However," he added, leaning over the space between them to press a fresh sheet of red paper into Neville's hands. "You could always try again." Neville stared down at the paper within his hands, watching the way the light moved through it to cast red-stained shadows on the floor.

"Yes," he whispered. "Yes, I could always try again."

****************

PERSONAL JOURNALS: DEAN

... laughed today. And I couldn't help myself-- I grinned right back at him. Even though I was trying to remain a bit aloof like Justin told me to, I couldn't seem to help myself. It was as if my lips curved up of their own accord. But, even better, he cried today. I swear that I nearly started to bawl as well when Neville sniffed and asked for a handkerchief. It's something about Neville, I think-- you can't help but *want* to pull him into your arms and comfort him. And damned if he doesn't do the same.

I can't believe this has pulled so much out of me so soon. I can't believe that I'm getting so... emotionally attached so very, very quickly. This isn't supposed to happen. I'm not supposed to be giving into this. I'm just... not.

He fell asleep curled up with his hand on my knee today. It was such a. a simple gesture, and yet. And yet it made me want to cry. The trust. The. the complete *faith* that I was here to help him. His hand, so small and gentle and tender against the blackness of my robe...

I'm not supposed to be getting this involved. I'm not supposed to care so much.

But, God, what can I do to stop it?

What can I do?

*************

"Justin..."

"Yes, Dean?"

"May I talk to you for a moment?"

"Sure." ::sets aside book:: "Where's Neville?"

"He's asleep... Look, Justin. I. I'm not sure that I can do this."

::raised brow:: "Sit down." ::scoots over:: "Now-- what's wrong?"

::sits and stares at interlaced hands:: "I'm not sure I should be here."

"Dean..."

"No. Wait. I mean, I *want* to do it. I want to help Neville. But I don't feel like I'm doing any *good* here. You're good at this-- you know what to say and when to say it and I'm... I think I'm in over my head here."

"Dean... Dean, look. I know that this is a lot. I know that you feel as if everything is too much and too fast. I understand. I... feel that way too. But we can't give up now. Neville's your friend, right?"

"... yes."

"And you want to be there for him, right?"

"Yes."

::puts hand on shoulder and squeezes gently:: "Well... be there. That's all you have to do. You've done so much good already."

::ducks head and slowly nods:: "Yeah. Yeah, ok."

::brilliant smile:: "Great."

::pause::

::pause::

"So, what are you reading?" ::shifts closer::

"It's a book I picked up last summer-- Drawing Blood."

"Drawing Blood? Is it any good?"

::eyes sparkle:: "It will change your *life*." ::shifts closer and opens book:: "Here, let me show you."

***************

PERSONAL JOURNALS: JUSTIN

... never been so furious in my life. I want to *kill* his family when he speaks of them. I wonder if he can tell? I wonder if he can see the fury flashing in Dean and my eyes as he drops his chin and whispers about dark rooms and twisting halls and grandmothers that don't seem to even *understand* the *concept* of love. It's ridiculous and insane and. and. and *wrong* of me, but I want to hurt every single one of them to make them *understand* what it's like to feel this way. I want to hurt everyone who's called him names and ignored him and laughed at him and said that he couldn't do something just because they weren't fucking willing to let him prove himself. I want to *make* them *feel* what it's like to be abandoned and unloved and so alone that you hug your pillow at night because there's nothing else there and you have to shove your first in your mouth to stop the bleeding cries from your heart.

I want them to love him. To love me.

This is getting fucked up fast. I'm not in control of this-- I'm not sure I ever was. Ever since the first night, I've allowed myself to fall under his power. I feel like I know him in a way that I barely know myself.

I feel. I feel almost like he *is* me.

Dean knows what's going on-- he feels it too. But he's always been loved and always had someone that understood him, so he can't fully... dive into this dark sea. He doesn't know what it's like to be us.

I need to find a way to get back in control again. I need to.

I don't want to.

Every story he tells us about his mum and his dad and this strange, nameless adored one that he will never talk for lengths about... every story seems precious. Like a gift. And I'm beginning to see more and more of what went wrong. I'm just starting to see the patterns of his life, weaving a tangled web of want and need and denial.

But there's more to this. I'm sure of it. I'm...

*****************

Justin leaned back against the headboard and sighed, tapping his quill to the leather book propped open on his lap. He couldn't seem to express the strange, roiling emotions that bled through his chest and stomach, shifting from anger to pain to regret to helpless affection.

"What am I doing?" he breathed, glancing over at his bedmates. Dean and Neville were curled around each other, faces sweet and gentle in repose, lashes flickering as they dreamed.

His gaze focused on Dean's open mouth, wet and pink, teeth gleaming.

Beautiful.

"Great," he whispered, closing the journal over the quill and reaching for the lamp, switching it off with a click. The room settled into darkness, lit only by the waxing moon out from the far window. Justin snuggled into his pillow, one arm wrapping around Neville's middle, fingers brushing against Dean's. They were soft and warm. "I finally find another guy I'm attracted to, and he's in love with a hopeless Irish twit." He sighed and shut his eyes tight, ignoring the tight feeling in his chest.

And slowly fell asleep.

****************

Dear Neville:

I guess I got my answer when you didn't write back. When you didn't even *take* my letter and read it. When it came back unopened, attached to my owl's leg, I promised myself that I wouldn't try again. That I wouldn't bother you again. But, Neville, I can't keep that promise. I need to talk to you. And I know that you probably hate me for what I did.

Well, Neville, I hate myself for what I did.

I pushed you away for all the wrong reasons. For all the wrong, stupid reasons that shouldn't matter. All that matters is that I... care for you. I. I want you.

Please, read this letter. Please, respond. I need to hear from you.

love, Percy

****************

I never thought that I'd fall in love. I never thought that I'd want someone so bad that my heart would ache at night. I never thought that my hands would itch for not touching soft skin.

As time passes, everything seems to narrow down into a tunnel of light. The cold has gone for good now-- no matter what I do, I can't bring it back. I. I'm not sure that I want to bring it back any more. Not really.

Not really.

***************

"Do you... do you think love can be wrong?"

Justin looked up at the quiet voice, eyebrows raising. They had already finished their afternoon session hours ago and had chosen to take a rest break so each of them could get some homework done-- no matter what was going on, it seemed as if the professors expected them to keep up in their classes. Especially Professor Snape.

Neville shifted under the scrutiny, then glanced at Dean, who was sprawled across the bed with a large book perched on his lap. His stomach was a riot of butterflies, beating low and fast, and he crossed his arms around his middle, pressing at his stomach as Justin leaned forward in the chair, still watching, waiting for him to continue. ~Why did you ask that?~ He bit his lower lip and cast his eyes down, a blush stealing across his face. The passage of time had seemed almost... dreamlike over the past... Two weeks? Three? He wasn't sure any more. It was as if his life was a brilliant succession of pain and comfort as Justin and Dean slowly pulled out the shards of glass from his heart, pausing to examine each one in an attempt to *understand*.

No one had ever tried to understand before.

But there were some things that were still sacred-- some pains that he refused to share in depth. They were kept locked in a secret box in his heart, waiting for cold night and the pale light of the moon. Then he would close his eyes and let himself remember.

Dancing rainbows skittering across pale flesh.

Red hair, soft. Silken.

Strawberry ice cream and laughter. Red roses and pursed lips. A kiss, so sweet. So real.

Over too soon.

"Neville?" Justin's soft voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. Neville gasped softly, forcing breath past the hard clutch of his heart as he sank onto the bed, aware of Dean crawling to sit beside him, one hand pressing gently against his back in silent support. Neville leaned back into the caress, needing the contact, the human connection more than he needed anything in his short life.

"Neville? What's wrong?"

"I. Can love be wrong? I mean... can it be. be disgusting?" He twisted his hands together, a dark line forming between his brows as he drew in a shaking breath. "I," he whispered, not daring to look at the other two boys. "I think I may be gay. I mean. I'm pretty sure that I am. I've never." He licked his lips. "I never really thought about... you know, *being* with someone at all. Not really. I kinda imagined having a... a lover or something, and I would sit and pretend to talk to her all the time. But I'd never met anyone that I'd want to. to *be* her. And then I met someone, only it wasn't a girl." He glanced up, then away, cheeks coloring. "And then it was like. like. like everything I was narrowed down to this person. He was so. beautiful. And kind. And smart. And he held me, and no one had ever held me before... Not as if they loved me, too. But. But I shouldn't feel like this, should I? I shouldn't miss him and love him and want to. to. you know... I shouldn't want th!

at at all because it's *wrong* and it's disgusting and..."

"Neville. *Neville.* Neville, look at me." Justin's interrupted.

Slowly, Neville lifted his eyes to meet the dark gray gaze, lashes flickering as he chewed on his bottom lip. He hadn't told them Percy's name-- he could never do that-- but it had felt so... so *good* to talk about it. To think about the glass gazebo and the touches and the kisses and the dreams that seeped wet and heat-filled through his nights. To tell them...

"Neville, there's nothing wrong with love."

"But." He licked his lips, then looked away, cheeks flushing. "But, he's a. I mean. It's not. not right. It's disgusting..."

Justin's brows shot up in surprise and Dean made a low noise behind him. "Neville," Justin said gently, heart pounding deep within his chest. ~Well, this is an unexpected problem.~ "Why do you think that? Who told you it was disgusting?"

Neville shifted on the bed, breath rasping quietly as he tugged at the hem of his shirt. "He did," he whispered.

Justin froze, eyes widening. Neville couldn't mean... He met Dean's dark gaze above the other boy's shoulder, brows drawing together. The wave of helpless anger and hurt was almost crushing in it's intensity-- how *dare* someone do this to Neville. How *dare* they.

"Neville. Neville, look at me." He waited until the soft brown eyes were again meeting his. ~This is insane. Why do I feel so fucking *furious*? Why do I want to track that other boy down and *murder* him?~ "There is nothing wrong about it. There is nothing disgusting."

"But," Neville began.

"**No**, Neville. No. There is nothing wrong or disgusting about it-- whoever told you that was a prick and a bastard that doesn't deserve someone like you." Neville shook his head, denying it, but Justin wouldn't let it go. "Neville, I don't think there's anything wrong with it, and I'm sure that Dean doesn't either. It isn't about what..." But Neville wasn't listening. "Shit," Justin murmured, feeling helpless. This was more then he knew how to handle. He looked over at Dean, but the dark-skinned boy looked as lost and as helpless as he felt, his eyes wide and angry and hurting for the smaller boy.

Suddenly, Justin jumped up from the chair, mouth set into a firm line. "I'll just *prove* it," he muttered to himself, eyes snapping from Neville to Dean as he stalked forwards. Dean's mouth fell open into a surprised O as Justin grabbed his wrist and pulled him to his feet, one hand snaking around to clasp the back of his neck and the other pulling at his loose shirt, tugging him up against him. He pulled the taller boy down to him until their mouths touched, gray gaze intent and focused as Dean's surprise-widened eyes slowly flickered and closed.

It was... warm. And sweet. Surprised at the surge of emotion, Justin cupped Dean's cheeks in his palms and tilted his head, opening his mouth into the kiss as he swayed forwards, body seeking heat, limbs tingling as the kiss went on and on.

Slowly, Justin drew back, eyes wide and surprise as he meet Dean's dark gaze. They stared at each other for a long moment, neither able to speak, completely pulled into the moment. Then, clearing his throat, Justin turned to look at Neville. "So," he began, then paused, blushing at how husky and deep his voice had become so very quickly. "So, did you think that was disgusting?"

"No," Neville whispered, eyes huge.

"And did it look like *we* thought it was disgusting?"

Neville licked his lips, tongue darting to touch the corners of his mouth as he stared at the two boys swaying together, hands clasped convulsively. The air was redolent with energy and excitement as they shifted even closer together, Dean's eyes almost comically wide. "No. It. It didn't."

"So." Justin sighed, then glanced at Dean from the corners of his eyes, a red flush creeping up his neck as he shifted. Slowly, Dean disentangled his hand and stepped away, eyes cutting down to the floor as he sank back onto the bed, long fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt. "Ah, well. Is that. Was there anything else?"

"Um. No, not really..." Neville glanced at Dean, then at Justin, watching as they very obviously avoided looking at one another. ~Was that how Percy and I looked when we kissed?~ he wondered briefly. "Um. So. Homework."

"Yes," Dean agreed feverently, grabbing at the nearest book and plopping it onto his lap. "Homework."

And they were silent.

*****************

Dear Neville--

I guess there isn't any point to writing you any more. I mean, you don't answer, you don't even *read* it, but it's like I have to anyway. It's like I'm under this compulsion to pour everything that I am out on these sheets of paper in the hope that someday, somehow, you might bother to try to understand.

I sound angry. I don't mean to. I guess I just feel like I'm talking to a glass wall, only I can't stop because this is the first time that I've ever even been able to *open* myself this much. This is the first time that I've been able to share what I think and what I feel without tripping over myself.

You were the first person to understand me, Neville. You were the first person who wanted to love me. Your eyes, so gentle, so filled with light...

I could almost write a poem about it. About you. Isn't that ridiculous? Me? Wasting my time writing love poetry. 'You're my soul's scream/my whisper/trapped in a bauble of glass, shattered by rainbowed light/ a smile, and peace/ Still...'

Wouldn't everyone just laugh if they see what I've been reduced to? Wouldn't they. just. laugh. It's sad. It's pathetic.

It's.

It's...

Shit.

I'm so lost without you.

****************

Justin sighed and leaned back into the pillows, arms crossed behind his head as he stared out the open window. The cold air blew in past the white curtains, pushing them out in steady undulations, offering glimpses of the night sky before fluttering back into place.

And he saw nothing.

~I shouldn't have done that,~ he sighed to himself, eyes slipping shut. Dean and Neville were in the outer room, playing chess, leaving him to his thoughts. ~I shouldn't have kissed him...~

The warmth of another body, so close to his own. Inelegant kisses, escalating as mouths learned the pressure and press of lips on lips...

"Oh," Justin hissed, fist slamming down on the mattress. "*Stop*." He drew in a deep breath and fought to control the images swirling madly through his brain, lighting fires where they touched. He drew on the void, the calm, siphoning off the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

Threatened to *drown* him in sensation and want and *need*...

"What did I do?" he sighed, giving up. He couldn't calm his racing heart or sooth away the sense-memory of flesh and touch. He wasn't sure that he *wanted* to. He groaned as he reached up to press the palms of his hands against his eyes, as if he could shove the visions from his brain.

Justin froze when the door slowly opened, then closed, his heart hammering hard in his chest. ~It's just Neville,~ he chanted, tongue darting out to lick his lips. ~Just Neville...~

"Justin?" Dean paused at the bed, uncertainty and fear coloring his rich voice. There was a long moment of silence as Justin counted his breaths, heart-beat growing more erratic as the moments ticked by. He could hear Dean shifting from foot to foot, hands fluttering nervously as he waited for a response that he wouldn't receive.

Justin let out a breath that he had only been half-aware that he was holding when Dean pulled back the covers and crawled in next to him, warmth seeping undeniable and insidious. ~This is wrong~ he protested weakly as Dean tugged his hands down, pulling them away from his eyes. Cool fingers brushed against his chin, and Justin allowed his head to be guided, eyes flickering open to meet soulful brown orbs so close, so close...

"Dean," he whispered, voice earthen and husky.

"I don't," Dean began, then shook his head, sliding forwards to kiss Justin instead, lips soft and warm and, oh God, opening against his. Justin sucked in a breath and instead managed to pull Dean's tongue into his, slithering against his own in a co-mingled groan...

And it wasn't right.

"No. No, Dean," Justin gasped, pulling away. Dean rolled off and stared at him with dark, mouth open and wet. Brows drawing together in pain-- ~*why* do I have to have such a persistent conscience?!!?~~ Justin reached out to touch his finger to those lips. "This is wrong."

"But..." Dean's voice was hoarse and throaty.

Justin sighed. "Dean. Tell me the truth-- who were you thinking about?" He met the gaze straight on, gray eyes never flinching and never wavering. "Me... or Seamus?"

Dean froze, brows drawing together sharply. He stared at Justin for a long moment, challengingly, then slowly shook his head. His shoulders slumped in silent defeat as angry, shamed tears stung his eyes.

"It isn't me you want," Justin whispered, one arm wrapping around Dean to pull him close. Dean went unresisting into the circle of his arms, face pressing trustingly against Justin's collarbone as the other boy gently stroked his back, soothing him.

Always helping others. Always soothing others. Always watching others.

Always someone else.

~It's never me they want.~

*******************

You're my soul's scream

my whisper

trapped in a bauble of glass, shattered by rainbowed light

a smile, and peace

Stillness caught in the light in your eyes

the rhythmic flutter of lashes

breathing the candence of the world.

mouth opened.

an utterance.

--love--

testing the boundaries of faithless dreams

twisting the sheets

and wet with need...

And my soul rests, hangs, balances

on the tender brushstoke of your perfect lips...

as you mouth the prayer

of soul's surrender.

And Scream.

***************

Have you ever wondered what it'd be like if you weren't you? If you were, you know, someone else? Someone better or wiser or stronger or braver?

I did. I used to wonder all the time. I'd pretend that I was one of the other boys in Gryffindor or Ravenclaw or even Slytherin. I'd pretend that I was Harry or that I was Ron or Oliver or Lee or the twins... Someone, anyone, besides myself. That way, I'd be brave. That way, I'd be loved. I took on so many fantasy lives and lived worlds in my head. In my mind, I was everything that I always wanted to be: I had everything. I had a family and friends and a lover and I was so very happy.

So happy.

Until I woke up and realized that I was still Neville. I was still me.

It's. It's strange, but I don't do that anymore. I don't sit and think what it would be like if I were changed. There are things about me that I'll never like, I suppose. But it's not such a burden anymore. Being me. It's not so bad.

I have friends. For the first time in forever, I have real friends-- friends that don't laugh at me behind my back and pretend that I can't understand it when they laugh at me to my face. They. They understand.

It still hurts sometimes. It still hurts to think about Percy and my parents and Gran, but... But it doesn't seem too tearing anymore. I'm strong enough to deal with it. I think. I hope.

No. That's a lie-- I'm not.

I...

It. It hurt when you left me, Percy. It *hurt*. And I understand that you don't want me and I understand that it disgusts you, and that makes me cringe and cry inside, but I do. I understand.

But I know what *I* want, and it doesn't disgust me. I'm not ashamed anymore.

You said that you'd write me... I guess I shouldn't have expected you to. The way that you shoved me back, the way that you ran from me as if you were afraid you'd catch some kind of disease just by being near me... I shouldn't have expected anything else.

But I did. I did. And, God, I wanted you to come to me so bad. So very, very bad, Percy. For all that you hurt me, for all that you pushed me away, I still want you. I still want to crawl into your arms and feel you pull me close. I want to talk to you and see you smile and hear you laugh.

I.

I...

I think I'd take anything from you, Percy. I'd take rejection and I'd take pity and I'd take disgust, just so that I could be. be near you. And *fuck*, I don't want to feel that way. I don't want to feel this. this *desperation*. It burns inside me, Percy. It *hurts*. You hurt.

And I'd stand it just to see you again.

I'm such a fool...

***************