Title: Closer To Fine [Harry, Neville]
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating/Warnings: PG for utter sap. It's not even slash, really.
Summary: Harry is going off the deep end.
A/N: Written for Musesfool's Lyric Challenge, for Closer To Fine by the Indigo Girls.
Neville eyed Harry with the same wariness that one
eyes a ticking bomb without a timer to warn your when to get out of the
way. Harry was bent over his desk, scribbling notes frantically, and
when his quill snapped under the pressure, he kept right on writing as
though he hadn't noticed.
Neville slid off his bed with a sigh and went over
to seize Harry by the wrist. Harry jumped several inches off his chair,
and Neville could feel Harry's pulse, hammering against Neville's
fingertips in his wrist.
"Neville?" Harry asked, blinking in squinty
confusion. "What's happening?"
"You've broken your quill," Neville answered calmly,
prying the bent feather out of Harry's cramped hand, "which means you
can't go on writing with it."
"Really?" Harry seemed incapable of focusing on
anything, and his eyes kept darting away from Neville's face and back
again.
"Harry, when was the last time you slept?" Neville
asked. Harry shook his head, waving his free hand vaguely, which could
have meant anything from 'I don't remember' to 'I like circular
objects'. "I thought as much," Neville said, "C'mon, get up."
He tugged Harry up out of his chair by the arm, and
Harry struggled weakly.
"No, I have to study for NEWTS," Harry protested.
"You don't even know what subject you're studying,
do you?" Neville asked.
"Yes!" Harry shot back, eyes flitting down to his
parchments and back again. "It's uh, that one, you know, that we take
all together, and uh, there's books and wands and uh…it's got to do
with magic?"
Neville would have laughed if it wasn't so sad, and
if he hadn't had this conversation with Harry several times this month
already.
"If you won't sleep, you have to take a break,"
Neville said. "We're going outside, Harry."
"No, no I can't!" Harry struggled harder, but
Neville held firm.
"March, Harry," Neville ordered, shoving Harry
towards the door. Harry's shoulders slumped, defeated, and he marched.
He trailed behind Neville, letting him lead without
further protest, and Neville led him outside to the place that would
likely cheer Harry up the fastest.
"The pitch?" Harry asked, looking up finally when he
felt sand crunch underneath his feet. Damp from rain earlier in the
evening, the sand stuck to their shoes and squeaked when they stepped.
"It's too dark to fly, really," Neville nodded, "but
I thought the fresh air might do you good anyway." He toed the sand,
watching it bunch up, and had an idea. "Harry, have you ever made sand
castles?"
Staring at him blankly, Harry shook his head.
Blushing from the childishness of it all, but plowing ahead anyway,
Neville tugged Harry down to his knees and started pushing sand
together. After a minute, Harry joined in, and by the time the wetness
of the ground had soaked through their robes and the knees of their
trousers, they'd created a reasonable facsimile of some structure that
might have been a castle. Harry even found a twig with a leaf on it and
stuck it on top as a flag while Neville was finishing the moat.
While Harry admired their handiwork, Neville took a
good look at Harry, and was relieved to find that most of the panic
lines had smoothed from his face, and he looked more simply tired and
less like he might blow up the school at any moment.
"Thanks," Harry said, "I needed this. Just with the
NEWTS and everything…I think I'm taking life too seriously."
"Glad to help," Neville shrugged. "It's only life
after all."
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