Happy little slash.
Mar. 23rd, 2006 03:38 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sabinetzinTitle: The Four Forms of Magic
Summary: Magic is just a system composed of human beings.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Word Count: 500
Rating/Warnings: PG, slash (almost pre-slash, really)
Pairing: Harry/Neville
A/N: I love this pairing, but I can never seem to write well for it. The inspiration came from my cultural anthropology class, of all places. My professor has a huge thing for witchcraft. Mmm, witchcraft.
Imitative
Ever since before Neville could remember, his gran had been exhorting him to be someone else. She very nearly made him no one, stretching him in so many different directions that he thought he would snap.
She started in with Harry sometime during his second year. She was forever upbraiding him for his failure to be the best wizard of his era. He’d had just as much chance; there was no excuse for his stubborn insistence on being mundane.
Even then, a wild voice was starting to arise in him, telling him he’d rather be with Harry than be him.
Contagious
Neville was bad at magic. Neville was horrible at magic. He was spectacularly abysmal at magic. There were Squibs who could cast better hexes than him.
Except at DA meetings. It was something about the atmosphere, the palpable feeling of strength that came from taking his destiny into his own hands. He wasn’t the only one who felt it; he could see it in the eyes of the others. It went through like wildfire, filling them, making them all stronger than they could ever be alone.
But when he caught Harry’s eye, he felt something entirely different burning through him.
Sympathetic
It wasn’t the times when Harry woke gasping from his dreams that were hard. It was when he couldn’t sleep at all. The soft sounds of half-stifled crying were far too much to bear. It reminded Neville too much of how his nights had been for most of his life.
“Harry,” Neville whispered, sitting lightly on the edge of his bed. “D’you want to talk?”
Harry surprised both of them by throwing his arms around Neville, clinging desperately as if Neville was his only connection to safety. Neville stroked his hair awkwardly, listening to Harry sobbing desperately against his chest.
Divinatory
Harry Potter’s life was written in omens and portents, most of which he either couldn’t or wouldn’t interpret. If the door stuck, it was an omen. If his tea wasn’t strong enough, he was going to die. By the time he left Hogwarts, he’d given up what little faith in divination he’d ever had. If he had to spend the rest of his life flying into the face of danger, he wasn’t about to look for more in the stars.
Neville didn’t see it like that. Sure, it was all a bit daft, but it was only natural. Some people had a need to know what was coming, and it wasn’t silly to expect magic to give them an answer. It was just people reaching out for comfort; in a way, it saddened him that Harry could find none.
It didn’t take magical means to see where this road was leading. In fact, there was nothing really magical about it. Against the backdrop of a great conflict, the kind that would make both their names far outlive them, it barely even showed. But when all the triumph, the terror, the glory, and the loss was over, there they stood, together.
Summary: Magic is just a system composed of human beings.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Word Count: 500
Rating/Warnings: PG, slash (almost pre-slash, really)
Pairing: Harry/Neville
A/N: I love this pairing, but I can never seem to write well for it. The inspiration came from my cultural anthropology class, of all places. My professor has a huge thing for witchcraft. Mmm, witchcraft.
Imitative
Ever since before Neville could remember, his gran had been exhorting him to be someone else. She very nearly made him no one, stretching him in so many different directions that he thought he would snap.
She started in with Harry sometime during his second year. She was forever upbraiding him for his failure to be the best wizard of his era. He’d had just as much chance; there was no excuse for his stubborn insistence on being mundane.
Even then, a wild voice was starting to arise in him, telling him he’d rather be with Harry than be him.
Contagious
Neville was bad at magic. Neville was horrible at magic. He was spectacularly abysmal at magic. There were Squibs who could cast better hexes than him.
Except at DA meetings. It was something about the atmosphere, the palpable feeling of strength that came from taking his destiny into his own hands. He wasn’t the only one who felt it; he could see it in the eyes of the others. It went through like wildfire, filling them, making them all stronger than they could ever be alone.
But when he caught Harry’s eye, he felt something entirely different burning through him.
Sympathetic
It wasn’t the times when Harry woke gasping from his dreams that were hard. It was when he couldn’t sleep at all. The soft sounds of half-stifled crying were far too much to bear. It reminded Neville too much of how his nights had been for most of his life.
“Harry,” Neville whispered, sitting lightly on the edge of his bed. “D’you want to talk?”
Harry surprised both of them by throwing his arms around Neville, clinging desperately as if Neville was his only connection to safety. Neville stroked his hair awkwardly, listening to Harry sobbing desperately against his chest.
Divinatory
Harry Potter’s life was written in omens and portents, most of which he either couldn’t or wouldn’t interpret. If the door stuck, it was an omen. If his tea wasn’t strong enough, he was going to die. By the time he left Hogwarts, he’d given up what little faith in divination he’d ever had. If he had to spend the rest of his life flying into the face of danger, he wasn’t about to look for more in the stars.
Neville didn’t see it like that. Sure, it was all a bit daft, but it was only natural. Some people had a need to know what was coming, and it wasn’t silly to expect magic to give them an answer. It was just people reaching out for comfort; in a way, it saddened him that Harry could find none.
It didn’t take magical means to see where this road was leading. In fact, there was nothing really magical about it. Against the backdrop of a great conflict, the kind that would make both their names far outlive them, it barely even showed. But when all the triumph, the terror, the glory, and the loss was over, there they stood, together.
