Closing Doors

His skin was clammy, the color was drained from his face; he couldn't stand still, nor stop wringing his hands. Biting his lip. Waiting.

He was in the dungeons, outside of a class. He knew what was happening inside. Students were working together; he could hear the low din of their voices. A teacher was leading the lesson, a teacher with a harsh tone and the boy outside winced as if in pain at his voice. And, perhaps it was pain he was feeling - not physically, but emotionally, yes, he was hurting.

Another typical Potions class, Neville Longbottom thought. Another chance to make mistakes in front of an audience: half enemies, which only gives them something *else* to taunt me about; half my own house-mates, who can shake their head at me, and feel ashamed to share the colors red and gold with me.

And so now, I'm standing here, like a total dunce, Neville frowned at himself. I wish I hadn't reached across the cauldron like that.. Why did my hand shake instead of hold steady and let me measure properly? I shouldn't have let Draco get away with what he was saying about me..

Neville paused. Despite his state, he almost chuckled. I will never stand up to Draco. I may fantasize as much as I want, but it'll never change anything.

Predator and prey. Teaser and teased. Draco and Neville. Some things ever change.

And it was at that moment that the fourth year Potions class came to an end and the students hurried to gather their things, and run off to their next classes.

Neville looked down at the floor, with his back turned to the students filing out - he was trying not to be seen. He saw a few Gryffindors look over at him, sympathetically. Hermione Granger came out next, and although she was balancing books on one hand, and her bag on the other, she watched Neville, too, and he could have sworn she was going to say something when Draco strolled in between them.

On his face was a smug look (As always, Neville noted), and his pale eyes glinted with wickedness.

"Well, well, well," Draco began, moving over to Neville's spot, Goyle and Crabbe close at hand. "If it isn't Never-Bright-Bottom..." A small group of Slytherins formed themselves around the two boys, laughing.

Neville went from white to red in the blink of an eye.

"Stop it! Don't call him those things!" cried Hermione's voice. She had forced her way through the crowd back to the wall, where Draco was cornering Neville.

Draco whirled around and retorted, "He didn't have to wait outside of our classroom; Professor Snape dismissed him at least ten minutes ago! He's asking for this."

"No one enjoys being taunted, Malfoy." Hermione shot a stern look at the Slytherin.

"No one besides Longbottom, anyways," Draco said, rolling his eyes, trying not to show that he was pulling these words out of thin air - his wit was leaving him, and fast.

"And, Malfoy, I know that no one would ever stay behind class to wait for you," Hermione finished, taking Neville by the arm and leading him away.

***

Once Hermione and Neville had left the dark, cold dungeons, he sighed in relief.

"So-o," Hermione tried to keep conversation up. "Why were you waiting behind?"

Neville was, once again, beet red. "Er, well, you see, I -" He hadn't expected this, nor wanted the question to be asked. He started coming up with excuses.

I wanted to stay after for extra help from Snape.. (No!!)

I was going to ask Ron about those fabulous sweaters his mum knits him.. (Ack.)

I wanted Draco to have another shot at humiliating me. (Never!)

I.. Erm..

"I was going to ask someone," Neville breathed in deeply, and then exhaled for, "about something."

Hermione looked intrigued, and in that moment, Neville made up his mind, to go for his goal. Here was this clever witch, with wonderfully crazy hair that gives her such confidence (if only Neville knew), and the kindest heart ever imaginable (to Neville).. And he wanted to accompany her to the ball.

"The truth of the matter is," Neville drew out words. "I was going to ask you about the Yule Ball. You are going, aren't you? Er, well, I wanted to know if you could come with me. That is, be, my, erm," Neville knew he was blabbering on, and tried to stop the words from coming out, but it was like a dam in his mind had been broken. He never thought he could ever say this.

"Um, would you be my date to the ball?" There. He had said it. Neville had asked someone to the ball. As a date.

Neville Longbottom: an insecure boy, with hardly any memory, and a sad past, not the happiest future (as long as Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins are involved, anyways), butt of many jokes, and really only liked by Gryffindors - and even then, not everyone talked to him.

And he asked someone to a ball.

An action like this takes courage, but Neville had none. Anyone would have laughed at the thought of Neville asking someone out. He, himself, had to admit it was rather crazy. But it had been eating away at him, and the fact remained that he did not have a date for the ball. And that he was friends with a wonderful witch, and all he had to do was ask..

Hermione acknowledged all of this, and so much more. Which made her feel terribly.

"Neville, I, uh -" she started, faltering horribly. "I've already been asked. I'm sorry."

Neville's face fell a mile. "Of course. I should have thought - Harry."

Hermione blushed and muttered, "No, not Harry. But Neville, I am so sorry. I really am. And -"

"No, it's okay," Neville said, almost through gritted teeth. He had said all those things, and for what? For rejection? "I, uh, well, see you in the common room, anyways."

Looking unsure, Hermione nodded, and walked away. It was a very uncomfortable moment for both.