Zacharias Emmanuel Smith (noblesse_oblige) wrote in contentious, @ 2008-12-20 23:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | * complete, neville longbottom, zacharias smith |
Who: Zacharias Smith & Neville Longbottom
When: 20 December, 2001
Where: The Ministry/Courthouse
What: To Be Determined! Possibly mistletoe murder! Mistletoe is gone..also, it's not specifically mentioned a whole lot. But it's gone.
Rating: Awkwaaard(Also known as PG-13-ish)
Status: Non-Existant
Zach had crumpled the papers he'd been holding beyond repair, out in the deserted hallway he was trying fruitlessly to straighten them out. There wasn't really any hope for them, but he was trying his best. This had been a very bad idea in the first place. Why had he ever thought it was a good thing? Clearly he was going nutters. Between Oliver!, his friendship with Kimb that always had him feeling slightly off-kilter and entirely too nice and whatever-it-was he seemed to be entertaining with Longbottom, Zach had very clearly left his mind somewhere else entirely. Now this!
When Rogers had asked the rookie to deliver some papers over to the courts, Zach had come up with some bloody idiotic idea that he should do it. He was volunteering not just to get a stretch of his legs after five hours of playing catch-up with the paperwork, but also because he knew that currently underway was the hearings for the Carrows. Hearing everyone spout off about them for the past weeks had played a sour note on his mood. He'd avoided the journals mostly and had immersed himself in his work and rehearsals, but he couldn't help but think about it. Zacharias had nothing to add to his classmates testimonies, what could he say against them? The Carrows were like any other Death Eater of the time, cruel, narrow-minded and so very convinced they were in the right. He had seen terrible things, but somehow, something everyone else liked to forget, he had also noticed life continue. People were remarkably adaptable and even in the dire circumstances he could be found on the quidditch pitch encouraging his team, you would have found people in the library, people studying, laughter and happiness still remained even if it was subdued, hidden away. Zach had an undeniable curiousity to see what everyone else had seen during their time there. If he had spent his time with his head down, how must those others have felt with their necks on the chopping block?
He supposed it was only foul luck that sent him into the room one witness before Neville Longbottom took the stand. The person in front of him was an underclassman Hufflepuff, had been an alternate chaser in fact. She mentioned Zach actually, something about balm at practice, he vaguely remembered the incident, at the time he'd just been making sure his players were in their best condition. He wondered at its making an impact on the girl. When Longbottom's name was announced Zach stiffened in his seat, he wanted to leave, but it was already too late, he'd have to wait until the next recess.
He didn't even notice the papers tightly fisted in his hands until the judge called recess. Zach was the first one out the door. Most of the other people in the room remained behind, discussing the testimonies, lawyers and classmates alike. He walked quickly to an abandoned hallway, feeling like he'd run a mile. Bloody hell, he felt like he'd been chased. He felt like he did on that day, the moment when McGonnigal lhad said they could leave. He was terrified, piss-his-pants, scared-out-of-his-wits, terrified. But this time it wasn't that selfish panic that had left him getting out of Hogwarts as fast as he could, he was running from his own damn conscience.
The mistletoe bobbed gently above his head, forgotten as it had been for most of it's time with Zach. He tried to smooth the papers out against the wall with fingers that shook, nervous energy coursed through his veins, he was electrified, he was dying. His mind was rushing through a million scenarios a minute, sprinting from one image to the next. Zach groaned and hit the side of his fist against the wall, crumpling the papers once more. He rested his head against the cool siding, wondering how he'd gotten himself into such a mess. He wanted to go home and lay down, to drink, anything, to let him stop being so damn human.
There had been another person escaping the courtroom with Zach, though neither had noticed. To be frank, Neville hadn't noticed Zach in the courtroom, either. All he'd been able to see was seventh year and the Carrows in his mind, and the courtroom had felt decidedly cold and narrow as he spoke. McGonnagall had been there, smiling at him proudly and sadly and as encouraging as she could be, but all Neville could see and feel and hear were the voices of the dead, the beaten, the abused that he hadn't saved.
It was the cold porcelain of the loo that Neville met first - and he was glad it was just outside the courtroom doors or the marble in the foyer might have needed mopping. He wasn't weak 'ickle Nevvy Wongbottom' anymore - or any of the stupid name names Pansy and her Slytherins had called him over the years. Still, weak or not, there was only so much pain one could take before being ill and his heart hurt. His throat closed up as he'd spoken and it had hurt his entire chest to recount everything, every beating he'd witnessed, every crying, tortured first year, second year, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh. He didn't cry or stumble, but his throat ached and his heart tightened and he could see the scars and feel his own and he hated doing it, but he hated the Carrows more - because he did hate them, loathe them, wish them hundred of firey infernos for the rest of their days.
Neville splashed water on his face and slicked his hair back in an attempt to look presentable and not as if he'd lost last nights dinner in the loo just seconds before. There were other testimonies to hear and he planned to sit through all of them. It was entirely masochistic, but the other students needed him and if he couldn't bring back Colin or Fred, he could listen through these testimonies and hope the penance was fairly exchanged. Merlin, he thought, looking at his tired, drawn reflection. He looked like he had in seventh year and wondered why he hadn't gotten a haircut sooner. There was a difference in some of his features - his nose was longer and his cheeks had thinned out. Comparisons to a chubby chipmunk had stopped somewhere round sixth year and a lack of proper eating seventh year had erased any thoughts of rodent nicknames from the jeering lips of his enemies (though they didn't run out of insults by any means.)
Nevile tucked his hair behind his ears and was glad the mistletoe had the good sense to be decent in a courtroom. He had a feeling that whoever made the cheeky little plant was a Weasley twin type and had the decency to make sure the mistletoe was annoying, not mean spirited - but then again, Neville thought he was thinking about it entirely too hard. He was tired - tired of the mistletoe, tired of this bloody trial. He was tired of this odd little confusing life he led where he worked too much and saw less of his old friends, save Luna, and more of his new, odd half-friendships with people like Zach or Malcolm Baddock. Neville scrubbed one more tired hand over his face before exiting the loo and going to wait in the foyer until the court was called back in session. He glanced about, gave McGonagall a reassuring half-smile and a 'I'm fine, please don't come over' wave and a nod as she spoke to the parents of several students in the hallway and was glad he didn't see that rat-faced Skeeter about, though he was sure she was lurking. He moved towards a less occupied end of the foyer and slowed and stilled as he spied Zach... Smith - Zach. Neville didn't say anything, just nodded as he approached, sliding his hands deep into the pockets of his slacks beneath his dressrobes, that now hung open in the less formal air of the foyer.
"Zach," he greeted, feeling that 'Hi' was inappropriate. Zach didn't look in the mood for salutations any more than Neville did.
Zach looked over, surprised, before lifting his head from the wall, hand falling to his side and crunching the papers even more. He looked away, down the hall, debating for a moment what to do. Finally he leaned against the wall, facing Neville and sighed, "Hey," he said softly. Knowing back in school, or even a year ago, he would've been happy to tell Neville to fuck off given the same circumstances. Some things had changed, some things hadn't, he still didn't know what it was Neville expected of him or what he should say. Maybe he should've asked if Neville was alright, but it was pretty clear that the answer was obvious. The proverbial elephant had come to sit in the room, at least for Zach. He felt like he'd never be at ease amongst his old classmates no matter how many jokes he could toss off or smiles he could fake.
"How's uh, how's work going?" he tried, looking a little miserable. He felt like he should be saying something profound or understanding. But he couldn't, he didn't understand, he hadn't been there. It was obvious Zacharias was the wrong person for the job. Someone else should've been here, one of Neville's friends, not his awkward drinking partner whom he'd punched not more than a month ago. His fingers were still shaking and he hid them at his sides, that nervous energy tied up in knots in his chest, rattling around like a pair of pixies.
"He gave me part of the week off, and we're closing up for the hols, so it's alright. It'll be busy after New Year's, people wanting to get ready for Spring planting when it comes round." That was easy to talk about and he was glad for it. He honestly felt as if anyone asked - well, he blinked and looked away, not really wanting to think about it. He eyed Zach as he stood there and took in his appearance. He hadn't figured Zach would come - he wasn't sure why really. Part of him figured that for an Auror, he would probably be there, but the other part of him didn't see Zach for being much on hearings and crowds and testimonies. Frankly, Neville almost hadn't come.
Still, easy or not, Neville wasn't blind and there was something off about Smith today, something off like something was off about Neville himself and for a brief second Neville felt like Zach was his reflection because he looked about as drawn and haunted as Neville felt. In a brief moment of locking eyes, Neville saw something in Zach and he wondered if the person needing something was more Zach or him.
"Alright, Smith?" he ventured, stepping a bit closer, though not much, just enough that his voice didn't carry. Neville immediately felt the muscles tense beneath the scar that ran across his shoulder blades. He wasn't sure what made him ask and he was suddenly wary of what the answer might be. Neville had never minded helping others, but Smith didn't seem the type to need help and the way the other man looked seemed to signal to Neville that maybe both of them needed more help than the other one could give.
Zach's laugh was dry and tired in response, "Not really, but there's really nothing anybody can do about that." He didn't deserve to be not alright, he thought, feeling old and worn. "You uh, had a good testimony in there," he said awkwardly, and looking away at the other side of the hall. "This whole hearing is a circus, it's just-" he sighed and shook his head, "I think you made the right choice." Whether he was referring to giving a testimony or doing what he had done at Hogwarts even Zach didn't really know.
His free hand raised momentarily, to do what exactly wasn't clear. It fell down fingers curling back in thin and unsure. He looked back at Neville for a long moment, the sparking heat of words unsaid, unthought, seemed to build up between them. The muted murmur of the people in the foyer falling away and Zach was suddenly acutely aware of how tired he was. That energy trapped up and calling for him to do something in a strong counterpoint to the slow machinations of his mind against the dragging pull of exhaustion. How long had he been running without stop? It felt like forever. He couldn't look at Neville very long, as if he were too bright to see, a painful reminder of things best left unsaid.
"It was good, you reminded them I think, of why they're here in the first place," he added, belated and slow. That wasn't what he was supposed to say, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out anything that would somehow make any of this right.
Neville stilled as Zach answered, and though he felt tired and old and thread bare, he felt empathy for the other man. He knew what is was to be not really alright, not really anything. Neville shook his head immediately upon Zach's complimentary words. It hadn't been good - not good enough. Good enough would have been taking care of it all at the time, doing more at the time - killing Bellatrix Lestrange himself... and while he was very sure he'd never thought that out loud, he realized suddenly that part of him hated Molly Weasley for taking that right from him. Molly killed Bellatrix for trying to kill Ginny - and while he didn't fault Molly for her actions, it should have been him. He should have done something about Bellatrix before it had gotten that far. He had every right to do it, and unintentionally or not, Molly Weasley had taken that right from him and he hated her for it deep down in the small, stubborn side of him.
It was a circus though. That anyone could even entertain, for one second, the Carrows innocence was ludicrous. Right choice, though? Neville wasn't so sure about that. The right choice was hard to see in the blur of deaths and abuse that surrounded that year and this trial. He was glad he had testified. He had told the truth and he could only hope it was enough to push for a guilty verdict. Part of him couldn't imagine anything but a guilty verdict, but there was a nagging doubt that the Carrows would go free and he'd never find closure that he was just now realizing he'd been seeking.
"I'm not even sure why I'm here in the first place," Neville admitted, casting his gaze up to Zach's before down to the swirling marble floor. It was decidedly too silent in the foyer - nearly everyone had gone back inside the courtroom. "I mean, I would have-" he stopped short. He would have gladly been the one- should have been him not Colin, or Fred or that little girl from Hufflepuff or the Muggleborns in Sussex that were friends of his Uncle's. "I could have-" his throat was closing again and his heart was aching. "It shouldn't have been them- they shouldn't have had to- it's not fair that-" Neville felt hot faced and ashamed... for stuttering or for not doing more or for being weak in front of Zach or for being alive when they were dead, he wasn't sure, but he bowed his head and clenched his fists in his pockets. Each second that passed had him closer to shaking like a leaf and he hated it. It wasn't often he broke down about the war in recent years and it certainly hadn't happened more than once in any given day and he wasn't, was not going to fall apart again, not here, not with Zach. He set his jaw and looked up at some point past Zach's ear and tried to still his body. He blinked his eyes rapidly, on the verge of falling but holding on by a few scant threads.
Zach felt like laughing at the irony of it, here he was wishing he could have done something to relieve his guilt and Neville was thinking he hadn't done enough, Neville Longbottom who had probably done some of the most important work in Hogwarts. Zach shook his head moving a step closer, the papers fluttering to the floor behind him forgotten for a moment. He grabbed the edges of Neville's robe, eyes down cast as if he were really just interested in the fabric, running his thumbs over the dark material.
"You're an idiot," he said finally, pulling him gently forward and canting his head as if to kiss the other. He paused for a moment longer, "You deserve to live too you know," he added, warm breath mingling with Neville's. And then Zacharias Smith kissed Neville Longbottom and the world didn't fall apart. It wasn't gentle and sweet, it was rough and probably a little scratchy, but it was unapologetically Zacharias.
Neville's resolve slipped away from him and his eyes were watering and the last thing he expected was nowhere near the realm they had just entered. Strange as it was, and unnecessary as Neville might have once thought it would be, it was exactly what he needed. The strange comfort, the harsh reminder that neither of them were dead - and there could have been said a hundred different things about them both being alive for a reason, silver linings and rose colored sap, but neither of them were that kind of person because Neville was sure, at this moment in their lives, neither of them could believe that shit less.
What coursed through Neville then was the stinging rush and relief of being alive, of being able to feel - feel this, feel the rough press of cloth, lips, hands... of bodies pressing quickly together because now Neville was responding and a few tears fell hot across his cheeks unchecked but then there was the relief, some sense of satisfaction and crescendo. Something Neville had been stifling was bubbling over, and whether it was guilt or some awkward desire for Smith or just the pure feeling of letting go, Neville wasn't sure, nor did he care. There were lips pressed against his and hands gripping the fabric at his chest and his own hands had reached forward to grab Smith's waist and he turned his head, pressing his mouth hard against the other man's, noses bumping, chins grazing because no, it wasn't gentle or timid or sweet by any means, but it was tangible and present and it made Neville feel so aware he thought every hair on his body might stand on end.
He didn't think much about it, that would come later, when as always he would overanalyze and over-agonize. He could almost not think about it at all, but it wasn't a quick fix in a bar, a hurried relationship, or even a friendship. It was Neville Longbottom and well, that was something else entirely. Zach pressed close, the warmth of another, strong and sure, the sparking electricity that had them kissing like it made sense. It was as if that nervous energy tied up so tight and close in his chest had been released in one quick moment racketing from fingertips to feet. His grip tightened in Longbottom's robes as he parted his mouth, silent meaningless words escaping in the sure movements of his lips against Neville's.
It may not have been the best thing, the right thing, or even a good thing, but it was what Zach had done. His mind could worry at the problem later, for now it was a time for impulse and for human nature. Zach kissed the edge of Neville's mouth, he pressed hard and almost demanding and wanted to say a million apologies for things he never did, for people he wasn't and events he never caused. Because it wasn't fair, for anyone, it wasn't fair that in a cold quiet hallway two men had to find fleeting comfort in order to just keep walking on.
It may not have been the best thing so far as figuring out what the hell this weird, odd acquaintance was turning into, but so far as fulfilling some aching need inside him? Then yes, it was right - at that moment at least, or so the foggy, muddled core of Neville's mind was convincing him. And no, it wasn't fair, though Neville was sure these days that nothing was and the only thing that seemed to be making anything better at that moment was the feel of Zach's mouth opening against his, then his own opening in return - the feel of Zach's hair at the base of his neck and his jaw beneath Neville's thumb as he lifted a hand to cup the other man's face, directing him where he needed him. Neville wasn't calm by any means, but the racing of his heart was no longer caused by the closing of his throat and he was sure, any later awkwardness or not, he'd endure it just to finish this moment and continue in it a minute longer.
It wasn't the slow burn of longing that drove him onward, or the luxurious relaxed nature of a touch well remember, but rather the sparking heat like lightening between fingertips and skin, lips, noses bumping. It was the sort of hyper awareness that left you completely unaware, so important became the feel of moist heat exchanged, of Neville's fingers on his still Oliver! scruffy jaw, so important was holding on that all else fell away. Of course looking back he would've been grateful for a little awareness.
Later he would wonder how many times McGonagall cleared her throat before they noticed. Zach's hold tightend on the robes lapels, not letting Longbottom escape for the moment, as he broke away at the sound, air sucked in greedily by forgotten lungs, eyes flicking upward to the source. He couldn't remember a time he had seen McGonagall look so uncomfortable, if he didn't know better he might've thought she was blushing. She gave him a stern look, frowning lightly, "Mr. Longbottom," she said, not even addressing Zach and he tried not to feel the sting of it, "The recess is over, if you wished to watch the rest of the proceedings.." McGonagall trailed off a little, looking questioning between the two.
Zach suddenly realized he was still gripping tightly to the front of Longbottom's robes. He let go, hands falling to his sides useless. Feeling suddenly like a turtle that has been flipped on it's back and exposed. He let his head drop a little, but still watched Neville carefully. Hoping and not hoping, that he wouldn't.. Zach didn't know, but he could feel his stomach twist in knots at the thought of it. Zach stepped back a little further, wishing the old witch would leave, so he could fix this somehow. Giving into an urge he ran his thumbs over Neville's cheeks, erasing the tracks of wet there, and tried on a smile. "Good as new," he said, feeling like he was babbling nonsense, but not knowing what else to say.
Confusion was defined as a lack of understanding, a situation of panic, a breakdown of order, a disorderly jumble. Neville was, possessed, embodied confusion. He was confused as to why Zach was pulling his lips away when Neville only wanted them closer. He was confused why there was a throat clearing, then why McGonangall was there and looking at them like that. Then he was confused as to why, what, how. His gaze drifted back to Smith and his fingers tightened in the cloth of his shirt, but after a moment he let his hand drop away, feeling somehow chastised by McGonagall's look. He'd never been caught snogging at Hogwarts and could only imagine this was how it felt - but thank bloody Gryffindor it wasn't Snape doing the catching.
Neville looked back to the other man and his eyes were confused as they searched Zach's. He needed to go - he'd made a promise to the others that he'd be there throughout the trial. Still, leaving Zach and the safe haven he'd found in the Ministry corridor felt altogether like the wrong thing to do. He tried to explain this somehow, without words because his throat was failing him... but then Zach spoke for them and Neville felt his throat tighten, though it wasn't like before. There was some needy want in this tightening and Neville couldn't help but smile back, sad broken smile as it was.
Neville wanted to say something solid as he stepped back, something that marked that this wasn't finished for him, not by any means, but it all seemed trite and ridiculous as it played through his mind. Neville hated to break this tentative bond, but he had to go, and he was sure Zach understood this or else his thumbs wouldn't have grazed over his cheeks in that slow, almost apologetic motion. He half-turned to McGonagall and lifted his hand a little less awkwardly than he might normally have, and nodded to Zach before turning back to the courtroom. They'd find each other at some point, sooner or later.
Zach watched him leave, that sudden connection drawn between them, that spell that had him aching like he deserved something more, seemed to break as the distance increased, and he was left as plain old Zacharias Smith. The only sound he could hear wasn't the footsteps as Neville left or McGonagall's murmur of words as she moved to walk beside him back to the courtroom, it was the drumming of his heart. Panic maybe, arousal, the rush of getting caught like he was twelve years old and out after curfew, whatever the reason Zach was rather sure he had jumped from the frying pan into the proverbial fire. He wondered for a moment at what their final headmaster said in those few steps to the waiting trial, he doubted she approved, not for any sort of prejudice but rather a simple dislike for Zach himself. To be quite honest, Zach couldn't agree more. He was selfish, didn't think before he opened his mouth and above all he was that coward. He couldn't think of a way this would end well, didn't even know if he wanted it to. Sooner or later Longbottom was going to remember why he had punched Zach in the face in the first place. Zach hoped it was sooner, because he was terrified of that little remaining spark, a little like hope and a little like happiness that had left itself buried in his chest.
If he were the romantic sort he might've stood in the hall for a while longer, maybe run his fingertips over his lips. Instead he was Zach, so he just rubbed his face and sighed, then picked up the papers and returned to the task of trying to fix them. One good thing had come out of the encounter, though, for he suddenly remembered a spell that would straighten them out easily enough. If he perhaps brushed his fingers across his still tingling lips once in the lonely hall, who was to know?