![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Just because I feel like it, here is the beginning of a Neville/Pansy fic I started back around Christmas time. I've never gotten any farther with it than this. Maybe one day. It's completely unbetaed, so please forgive any errors.
The door to the greenhouse swung open under the force of Pansy’s mighty shove, but its weight prevented it moving quickly enough to slam loudly into the wall behind it. The dark haired girl tilted her head back, and groaned in exasperation. Not even her temper tantrum was going well; it fit in with the rest of her day perfectly. Stalking over to the table where Professor Sprout had laid out the garland and decorations needed to make wreaths for the Great Hall, she began working the sprigs of pine together.
In previous years Pansy had enjoyed working in the greenhouse. Herbology had always been her favorite subject. She liked learning the different uses for plants, whether they were medicinal, magical, or just decorative. Now, however, she had other things on her mind, and making pretty wreaths for the Christmas feast was that last thing she felt like doing. It couldn’t be helped though; she promised Professor Sprout that she would handle this part of the preparation.
Pansy worked quickly, forcing herself to remain focused on her task. Deftly she connected the pine garland into a sturdy ring. Once the main portion of the wreath was ready, she selected the adornments she wanted to add. She carefully attached silver painted pinecones and berries that were so white they were nearly opalescent. At the top she tied a big bow of silver ribbon, from which hung two silver bells that jingled merrily. As she looked over the finished product, Pansy smiled.
A very Slytherin wreath, she thought with satisfaction, Draco would love it.
Her smile disappeared instantly. Draco hadn’t contacted her since his abrupt departure on the night of Dumbledore’s death. She had tried to reach him everyway she could think of. She sent letters to Malfoy Manor, she had queried his friends, she had written to Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban. She had even discovered an aunt of Draco’s, a blood traitor married to a Muggle, and contacted her to see if she had any information. All her efforts were fruitless. No one had any information on Draco’s whereabouts, or if they did they weren’t sharing it with Pansy. It had been six months, why was he still haunting her thoughts? Deep down she had to have known he never really cared for her. Why couldn’t she let it go? With a cry of frustration, she picked up one of the silver bells on the table and threw it.
Across the room someone yelped.
Pansy looked up quickly and saw Neville Longbottom rising from a chair, rubbing his head and looking aggrieved.
“What was that for?” he demanded.
“I didn’t know anyone else was in here,” the Slytherin girl replied, not bothering to apologize.
Neville frowned, “Maybe you should check that sort of thing before you start throwing things around.” Still looking sour, he tossed the ornament back to the frustrated young woman, who snatched it easily from the air and returned to her task.
A soft chuckle caused her to raise her head once more.
“What’s so funny, Longbottom?” Pansy snapped.
Neville’s round face was not accustomed to putting on nasty expressions, so the curl of his lip didn’t quite rise to the level of a sneer. It was, however, the most scornful look Pansy had ever seen on the usually shy Gryffindor. She felt herself flush in surprise.
“I was just noticing how handily you caught the bell. Maybe if you’d been seeker, rather than Malfoy, Slytherin would’ve had a chance against Gryffindor. Of course, you would have had less time to fawn over him, so it’s probably just as well you didn’t play.”
Neville wasn’t sure which shocked him more, that he had been intentionally hurtful to a person for no reason, or that Pansy had burst into tears at his comment. He didn’t have much time to reflect on it as silver bells, pinecones and various other articles of Christmas splendor began to whiz by him. Covering his head with his hands, he dropped down below the table.
“Knock it off, Pansy, it was just a joke!” he called. The uninterrupted hailstorm of holiday finery told him that Pansy was not appeased. This sort of thing was why Neville was usually timid. Apparently he had struck a larger nerve than he intended, and now he was at a loss for what to do. He remained in his uncomfortable crouch, hoping the Slytherin girl would run out of objects to throw in the near future.
When Pansy’s soft sobbing overshadowed the crashes from the items she threw, Neville felt it was safe to come out of his hiding place. Poking his head up over the tabletop, he saw his attacker had run out of ammunition and had resorted to dismantling the wreath she’d just finished assembling to continue her assault. He walked over to where she was furiously ripping at the pine garland and took hold of her wrists.
Her face turned up towards him slowly, a hateful glare firmly in place. Neville was used to nasty looks from the Slytherins; what caught his attention was the hurt he could see lingering just below the surface. Her deep brown irises were surrounded by jagged red streaks. Wide, wet paths from her tears stretched all the way down cheek and chin to her neck and, if he paid very close attention, Neville could see that Pansy’s jaw was trembling ever so slightly.
The sharp jerk that came when Pansy tried to wrench free from his grip interrupted Neville’s study of her face.
“Let go of me!” she growled.
The door to the greenhouse swung open under the force of Pansy’s mighty shove, but its weight prevented it moving quickly enough to slam loudly into the wall behind it. The dark haired girl tilted her head back, and groaned in exasperation. Not even her temper tantrum was going well; it fit in with the rest of her day perfectly. Stalking over to the table where Professor Sprout had laid out the garland and decorations needed to make wreaths for the Great Hall, she began working the sprigs of pine together.
In previous years Pansy had enjoyed working in the greenhouse. Herbology had always been her favorite subject. She liked learning the different uses for plants, whether they were medicinal, magical, or just decorative. Now, however, she had other things on her mind, and making pretty wreaths for the Christmas feast was that last thing she felt like doing. It couldn’t be helped though; she promised Professor Sprout that she would handle this part of the preparation.
Pansy worked quickly, forcing herself to remain focused on her task. Deftly she connected the pine garland into a sturdy ring. Once the main portion of the wreath was ready, she selected the adornments she wanted to add. She carefully attached silver painted pinecones and berries that were so white they were nearly opalescent. At the top she tied a big bow of silver ribbon, from which hung two silver bells that jingled merrily. As she looked over the finished product, Pansy smiled.
A very Slytherin wreath, she thought with satisfaction, Draco would love it.
Her smile disappeared instantly. Draco hadn’t contacted her since his abrupt departure on the night of Dumbledore’s death. She had tried to reach him everyway she could think of. She sent letters to Malfoy Manor, she had queried his friends, she had written to Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban. She had even discovered an aunt of Draco’s, a blood traitor married to a Muggle, and contacted her to see if she had any information. All her efforts were fruitless. No one had any information on Draco’s whereabouts, or if they did they weren’t sharing it with Pansy. It had been six months, why was he still haunting her thoughts? Deep down she had to have known he never really cared for her. Why couldn’t she let it go? With a cry of frustration, she picked up one of the silver bells on the table and threw it.
Across the room someone yelped.
Pansy looked up quickly and saw Neville Longbottom rising from a chair, rubbing his head and looking aggrieved.
“What was that for?” he demanded.
“I didn’t know anyone else was in here,” the Slytherin girl replied, not bothering to apologize.
Neville frowned, “Maybe you should check that sort of thing before you start throwing things around.” Still looking sour, he tossed the ornament back to the frustrated young woman, who snatched it easily from the air and returned to her task.
A soft chuckle caused her to raise her head once more.
“What’s so funny, Longbottom?” Pansy snapped.
Neville’s round face was not accustomed to putting on nasty expressions, so the curl of his lip didn’t quite rise to the level of a sneer. It was, however, the most scornful look Pansy had ever seen on the usually shy Gryffindor. She felt herself flush in surprise.
“I was just noticing how handily you caught the bell. Maybe if you’d been seeker, rather than Malfoy, Slytherin would’ve had a chance against Gryffindor. Of course, you would have had less time to fawn over him, so it’s probably just as well you didn’t play.”
Neville wasn’t sure which shocked him more, that he had been intentionally hurtful to a person for no reason, or that Pansy had burst into tears at his comment. He didn’t have much time to reflect on it as silver bells, pinecones and various other articles of Christmas splendor began to whiz by him. Covering his head with his hands, he dropped down below the table.
“Knock it off, Pansy, it was just a joke!” he called. The uninterrupted hailstorm of holiday finery told him that Pansy was not appeased. This sort of thing was why Neville was usually timid. Apparently he had struck a larger nerve than he intended, and now he was at a loss for what to do. He remained in his uncomfortable crouch, hoping the Slytherin girl would run out of objects to throw in the near future.
When Pansy’s soft sobbing overshadowed the crashes from the items she threw, Neville felt it was safe to come out of his hiding place. Poking his head up over the tabletop, he saw his attacker had run out of ammunition and had resorted to dismantling the wreath she’d just finished assembling to continue her assault. He walked over to where she was furiously ripping at the pine garland and took hold of her wrists.
Her face turned up towards him slowly, a hateful glare firmly in place. Neville was used to nasty looks from the Slytherins; what caught his attention was the hurt he could see lingering just below the surface. Her deep brown irises were surrounded by jagged red streaks. Wide, wet paths from her tears stretched all the way down cheek and chin to her neck and, if he paid very close attention, Neville could see that Pansy’s jaw was trembling ever so slightly.
The sharp jerk that came when Pansy tried to wrench free from his grip interrupted Neville’s study of her face.
“Let go of me!” she growled.
