InsaneJournal

For KillingRose (30stm/HP, Shannon & NEville, 15ish)



disclaimer: Neville belongs to JK.
note: opening scene of longer fic in WIP pile that was a maybe for spookathon and will be finished eventually, this bit works okay-ish enough on it's own for drabble.


Shannon looked at the bike from where he sat leaning against a tree. Dew from the grass seeping through the ass of his jeans and the pre-dawn coolness was actually bordering on cold at this elevation. He fiddled with his phone. He hadn't even checked if there was reception up here or not. The thought of calling Jared to come with a can of gas? Not a pleasant one.

There was also the problem he really had no freaking clue where he was. He'd hopped on his bike, and gone. Needed out of the city, away from the studio, away from the lawyers and the lawsuit, away from Jared. Hell, away from Tomo even.

Last frayed nerve and past midnight, he'd just driven. He wasn't sure when or where he'd turned off the highway on the dirt. He probably should consider himself lucky the catastrophe of the way too fast ride on unknown roads at night was...running out of gas. The only thing that dented was his pride, and maybe his brother's face if Jared decided to be amused.

The snap of a twig, a rustle of brush.

Oh. Shit.

He tensed. Fuck.

Visions of a mountain lion or hell, some Mexican Mafia foot soldier out checking their latest crops filled his head. The news had something about stepping up on marijuana growing. Another step, human, had to be. He barely had time to start to panic before a tall man stumbled over his helmet and tumbled to the ground in front of him with a "Bloody hell" Shannon's squeak had a stick almost up his nose in a blink. Jesus the guy had scary reflexes. A stick though?

"What are you doing here?" the man's stick pressed against Shannon's adam's apple.

"My bike ran out of gas," Shannon said shakily. He didn't try to move. Right now all he had pointed at him was a stick but a fairly pointy stick right against his throat. That stick was unnerving enough.

The whisper of something, definitely not English, but too soft to make out clearly, something like jehmins.

"I just ran out of gas. My brother was driving me nuts. Work driving me nuts. Get the hell out of there, ride, clear my head and fucking ran out of gas not even sure where I am," Shannon babbled out in a rush without quite meaning too. The whole of the last couple days tumbling through his mind yet again, this time at panicked speed.

The man whispered something. Shannon thought he heard 'neet-ay' and 'tatum' in the whisper but wasn't sure. "Sorry," the man sighed. "Never quite know what you'll run into up here."

"Uh...huh," Shannon said dubiously.

"I have my truck, I can give you a lift back down if you'd like. Petrol station not too far from my building."

British accent and soft voice didn't exactly seem to match with--fucking Ninja reflexes.

"What are you doing up here?" Shannon dared to ask.

"Gathering some plants for the shop. Some things are best picked on the full moon for the highest potency."

Well, not Mexican Mafia or M13 or anything like that but..."You a drug dealer?" he blurted out before his mind quite caught up with his still racing heart.

"An herbalist. I wouldn't doubt Professor Snape is rolling in his grave because I do some distillations but primarily an herbalist."

"Who?"

"A teacher of mine from school--Chemistry. He claimed more than once I shouldn't be allowed to boil water. If you were the least bit intimidated he'd terrorize you."

"Sounds like a bastard."

"He had a few redeeming qualities in the end. Very few. But...Don't mind me. Old memories haunting tonight. So a lift? You should be able to sort how to find your way home from the shop and get petrol just down the street to get home."

The guy didn't seem too threatening, stick shoved in Shannon's throat aside. Those kind of reflexes were scary but, better than being all by himself. The dark starting to lift, sky graying and the light of the moon, the guy didn't look crazy like a Manson or Bundy or Kasczinski. The alternative was sitting there and hoping his phone worked and Jared found him. Or making his way back to the main road, hopefully, then calling Jared. The wild animals and marijuana growers his imagination had come up with before now firmly planted in mind, and scarily not too far out of the realm of possible on either count.

"Yeah, okay... I'd appreciate it, thanks."

"No trouble. I'm Neville. Neville Longbottom."

"Shannon. Leto."