Daisy {has a lot of feelings} Rosier (thornflower) wrote in reduxpitch, @ 2016-08-05 14:30:00 |
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Entry tags: | !game plot, !thread, character: daisy potter, character: neville longbottom |
WHO: Daisy Potter and Neville Longbottom
WHEN: Evening, 5 August 2002
WHERE: BIL Quidditch Gala
WHAT: Daisy and Neville have a Cinderella moment.
RATING: Low
STATUS: Completed in Docs
Daisy had never intended on attending the BIL’s Season Opening Gala. She enjoyed reading about it in the paper, judging players’ dresses from the glossy pages of the magazines, and if she bothered Harry about it, any gossip that might have occurred, but after mentioning how she was looking forward to reading about the event to her gentleman friend (to put it politely), Daisy had suddenly found herself with a ticket. And nothing to wear.
Well, the lack of dress wasn’t going to stop her. She spent a lunch break (and then some) flipping through a catalogue and ordering a dress and accessories. She hoped that she could sweet talk Lavender enough if she needed any alterations. Thankfully as soon as it arrived the next day via owl (thank you rush post) and she put it on Daisy did not want to take it off. She did not think of herself as much of a princess, but right now all she was missing was a tiara and her goddamn prince.
Showing up to the Gala, Daisy could not stop smiling even though she did not have anyone on her arm, not that she didn’t need one. She barely spared a glance for the man who had secured her ticket, though there was a hushed whisper and promise of a dance at some point. Daisy just couldn’t bring herself to care as she found herself almost constantly on the dance floor, passed from one quidditch star to the next. Miraculously her feet didn’t bother her at all. Whoever made those shoes needed a knighthood. Daisy would take twenty pairs.
She finally managed to take a break by begging a desperate need to get something to drink and no, she didn’t need anyone to fetch it for her. Champagne flute in hand, Daisy took a seat and watched the room around her. Oh there were so many comments to be made about some truly unfortunate fashion choices.
--
Neville wasn't one who cared to get dressed up, not when he could sit at home with his plants or his friends and just shoot the breeze in something more comfortable, but there were the occasional times that called for it. Like galas. He'd gone to the event to show his support for Harry, of course, because it was the thing that a friend would do and Harry truly was his best friend.
He hadn't expected to see Daisy there, but when he caught sight of her across the room settled at a table with a champagne glass wrapped up in her fingertips, he made a beeline for her without hesitation. Wide grin spread across his face, he slipped into a chair at her table and palmed his chin in his hands. "Daisy," he said. "What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?," he questioned, arching a brow. "And why aren't you out there dancing?"
--
Daisy was quite ready to tell whichever man had sought out her company to bugger off. She was taking a moment for herself, but when she realized it was one Neville Longbottom sitting across from her, she could not stop the smile from breaking across her face. “Well look who it is, Neville Longbottom.” She didn’t ask why he was here. Best friends with Harry? The Boy Who Lived? Of course Neville was invited.
Handing her empty flute to a passing waiter, she would find something else to drink later, Daisy leaned forward, position mirroring his. “What do you mean, a girl like me?” Quirking an eyebrow, she made a face at him. “You don’t think I can stand up to these Quidditch ladies? I’ve already counted some really rather questionable fashion choices. I can already tell you who is going to be on Witch Weekly’s worst dressed list.” He probably didn’t care, but that was the problem with coming alone. There was nobody to gossip with and Neville seemed to be the first person who had shown any inclination to do exactly that.
“And I have been dancing. I just decided to take a break.” She leveled a look at him. “Have you danced at all?”
--
He tried not to pay attention to her smile and how it was the perfect mixture between adorable and smirky. Like she had some information that he didn't. It was unfair, really, that she could make his stomach feel wobbly just by smiling at him like that. Or by saying his name. Or, you know, breathing. He pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the conversation instead of her pretty smile and pretty face and pretty… everything.
"Smart?," he offered. "Not dreadfully dull like these things often are," he answered. As for whether or not she stood up to the Quidditch ladies, he scoffed. "Please. Perhaps you should reverse the question." He leaned onto one hand and used the other to shield the side of his mouth as if he were whispering some sort of secret. "They're all terribly boring," he informed her. "At least the ones I've talked to." Save for a few friends he had involved with Quidditch, there were a lot that were just not very interesting. Or they only wanted to talk about Quidditch and nothing else. He supposed he could be that way about plants sometimes, but plants were fun. Quidditch was just something he was not coordinated enough for.
Her mention of Witch Weekly's worst dressed list made him laugh. "Well, I can think of at least one that won't be," he told her. "You look lovely." There, simple enough compliment without looking like a total dweeb.
The question about dancing got a laugh. "Me? With my two left feet? Let's not forget how terribly uncoordinated I am in all things like dancing."
--
Daisy scoffed. “You’re at a Gala, Neville. Dancing is like 90% required.” She shook her head at him, sure that he was being utterly ridiculous in that moment. His compliments passed her by without a second thought. They had grown up together and he was one of her brother’s best friends.He was being nice to his best friend’s little sister. He was not obligated to do so, but there he was. Neville was a nice guy, plain and simple. One day someone would realize that he was much more than the mantle of ‘Chosen One’ that had been thrust upon him at the age of one. And that day she will truly be fucked and there would not be a bottle of wine big enough for her.
Leaning back, Daisy crossed her arms and considered him. “You know what this means don’t you?” Not giving him a chance to refuse, argue, or find some other way out of this, Daisy stood and held out her hand. “You’re going to dance with me right now and no you are not going to step on my feet because these shoes are like gifts from Merlin himself and are my good luck charm for the evening. I’m extending that good luck to you.”
Daisy grabbed his hand and tugged Neville up and out of his seat. “Come on, now’s your chance to make everyone jealous.”
--
Maybe it was required to dance, but Neville wasn't planning on dancing at all if he could get away with it. He planned to eat and mingle and hide as much as he could. And run off to the loo any time anyone wanted him to dance because he'd much rather be seen as the boy who couldn't hold his drink than the boy who couldn't dance to save his life. "Not everyone dances at a Gala," he told her. "There wouldn't be seats if that was the case," he pointed out.
But she was already plotting. He could see it in her eyes before she even opened her mouth. Once she did, he knew that he'd have little time to refuse and he opened his own mouth to try and argue that he really, really was terrible at dancing, but she didn't seem to care much as she all but dragged him out on the dance floor.
"Daisy, I'm terrible at dancing," he told her. "And I haven't had nearly enough liquor to give me the courage and those poor shoes aren't going to last three steps if my feet have their way," he pointed out, feet still carrying him after her because, though dancing was a horrible thing, dancing with Daisy seemed so much less horrible. "I don't want to ruin your good luck shoes."
--
She had thought about getting him drunk, but that seemed rather mean-spirited to do so and also it mean that it put her at an advantage to well, take advantage of him. Oddly enough, that was the last thing Daisy wanted to do. Normally she was one to take any edge or advantage she could, but not with Neville. “They’re your good luck shoes now,” she informed him loftily, still pulling him towards the dance floor. “And you’re not going to ruin them, trust me.”
Finding a somewhat free spot with no other dancers around, Daisy turned to face Neville, positioning his hands so they bracketed her hips. “Now, count with me, not with the music. Okay?” Quietly she began to count out the 1-2-3-4 time for the box step, the first part of the English Waltz. She went extra slow until it looked like Neville had grown enough confidence for her no longer to count aloud. Instead, she kept a steady rhythm by tapping her fingers lightly across his shoulder.
“See? It’s not very hard. And now you can say you’ve danced at the Gala. I’m sure your mum will be very proud.”
--
Neville wasn't at all convinced that her shoes weren't going to be scuffed all to pieces by the time his feet got through with them. In truth, he wasn't certain that her poor little toes would live to tell the tale either, but she seemed intent on getting him to dance and refusing Daisy wasn't something that he really liked to do.
He was focusing on her back as she pulled him through the crowd, trying not to follow the lovely toned skin but it was difficult. He nearly had to shake his head to keep himself from staring too much. It also helped that the moment she turned to face him he was decidedly distracted by something else; her hands as they moved his to her hips. He swallowed, forcing his eyes to connect with hers and not with the lovely amounts of cleavage decidedly visible from the angle she'd put them in.
He nodded, looking awkward and completely stiff as he listened to her count, trying to focus on her movements and mirroring them while also trying not to step on her shoes or her dress or her in general. He felt a bit like an elephant trying to get comfortable inside of a shoebox and just as uncoordinated.
Even after her voice had fallen off, he heard her counts in his head and felt the light tap of her fingertips against his shoulder. He hadn't stepped on her, at least, so there was that. He wasn't going to admit it aloud, though, because that would surely jinx him. "If I were you, I wouldn't count my chickens before they hatch," he told her. "There's still plenty of song left for me to completely muck this up," he laughed.
--
“If you say you’re going to muck it up, you will,” she told him, slightly surprised at herself. When had she become the optimistic one? Normally she liked a bit of realism with her morning coffee. “Now tell me, who was the strangest customer you had come into your shop this week? What was the wackiest request?” Daisy leaned in, ready to listen. She freely admitted her questions were just a ploy to get Neville to relax. Talking about plants always seemed to do that with him, give him a bit of a confidence boost. If he were more confident he would make fewer mistakes. Just in case, however, she kept up the steady beat of her fingers.
It was also an excuse to get closer, smell his cologne, and see the small spot he missed while shaving. Her fingers itched to run themselves over it, but that was maybe a bit too intimate for a friend’s little sister. Still, not even Harry could object to the poor impression of a waltz she and Neville were attempting. Neville was right when he said he wasn’t a very good dancer and she wasn’t that much better as a teacher, but they were managing.
Daisy smiled up at Neville as she decreased the amount of space between them. It had nothing to do with Neville and everything to do with how one was supposed to dance a waltz. Really. If she kept telling herself that she might actually believe it. “So what do you say, Nev? I’ll trade you stories about Gringotts if you give me terrible retail stories.”
--
He was a little surprised by her vote of confidence, but he supposed she was right. If he kept being negative, things would turn out negative. The question about work pulled him easily out of his thoughts of messing things up and gave him something else to focus on. "A man came in after he lost his wedding ring trying to extract pods from a snargaluff," he told her. "Then his wife came in about an hour two later because he hadn't actually lost it at all but left it in the loo. I think she just wanted to have a laugh, though, because he was still outside in the garden fighting with the thing." It wasn't so much a request, it was just a strange and funny thing that had happened and he thought it was amusing. Enough that he grinned broadly as he told her the story. "I think she hid it from him on purpose, actually, just to see if he felt guilty enough to try and get help. Teaches him to take it off, huh?"
The closeness was as distracting as chatter about plants and work. Especially because he could smell her and she smelled lovely. She was warm and close and then she stepped closer and he was sure that if she got too close she'd be able to hear his heart thumping unabashedly in his chest like some sort of wardrum.
"Your stories are probably far better," he told her, smiling again. "Not that many wacky requests. At least not ones that I don't hear everyday which doesn't make them wacky after a while. A lady did come in the other day with a bird sitting on her head, though. I don't even know if she realized he was there."
--
She wasn’t sure what a snargaluff was, or rightly care in that moment, but Neville look rather tickled at the though so she kept the thought to herself. Still, she couldn’t help but snort at the mention of taking off the wedding ring. She was a bit familiar the the type of men who took off their wedding rings. “At least if you take it off, keep it in a safe place while doing so,” she offered instead. Because there were reasons for taking off that didn’t include sleeping with your younger coworker.
Her eyebrows raised at the next story. “How does one not realize they have a bird on their person? Those animals aren’t exactly light.” Despite what people thought. Birds were monsters… which is probably why she was never particularly fond of owls or they of her. She shook her head in disbelief.
“Truth be told, I’m not sure if I have that many stories. You wouldn’t care about who ended up hooking up on their latest excursion out in the middle of the Indian ocean.Though, to be fair, pretty much everyone had seen that coming. The unresolved tension between the pair had been almost unbearable. “Except we did find two books getting it on yesterday,” Daisy mused, “and I do mean getting it on. Once enchanted objects get to be a certain age they start having personalities of their own….I’m trying to start a betting pool as to when we end up with little enchanted pamphlets scampering around.”
--
Snargaluffs were amusing plants to him, but probably not to most people who tangled with them - quite literally, usually. "I know right?," he agreed, shaking his head at the thought of just leaving a wedding ring sitting somewhere and forgetting all about it. Really, there were plenty of safe places to keep such things if you had to take them off.
"I don't know," he admitted. "She didn't seem to even pay any attention to it. Maybe she did know it was there and just didn't care," he shrugged. Neville certainly would have realized if a bird had been on his head, but the woman had gone about her business in the shop as if nothing was awry. Strange, strange woman, she was.
He couldn't help but laugh at the story about the books. More interested in that than the couple who'd hooked up. He probably would have been more interested in the gossip if he'd known the two involved, but he probably didn't, so he didn't press her for more details. "Well, I'm sure that was uncomfortable for everyone involved," he said. "Did they stop when you caught them?"
--
“Not at all and before you ask, I didn’t try separating them either.” Daisy shook her head, ducking to avoid looking at the man who had gotten her ticket for her. Funny, she hadn’t thought much of him the whole night, and even less since Neville came to sit at her table. “I didn’t feel like losing a hand.” Alright, maybe not a hand, but there was a very large chance at a very terrible papercut. Daisy had sat backed at watch others attempt instead.In the end, they’d just left the books as they were. They seemed perfectly happy and if other tomes got in on the action what’s the worse that could really happen? A library orgy. She’d start clutching her pearls now.
As the first song ended, Daisy did not pause. She continued to sway as a new song started, silently urging Neville to stay where he was, right in her arms. Neville claimed he was a terrible dancer, but that was maybe because he lived in his head far too much. Or maybe her good luck shoes were rubbing off on him.
“How have your parents been? I haven’t seen your mum in ages.” Daisy always had a fondness for Mrs. Longbottom. Maybe because she wasn’t her mother that she could appreciate how much of a badass she could be. She quite liked Neville’s father as well, but she’d pick Alice Longbottom any day.
--
Neville laughed at her comment, but arched a brow when she ducked the way that she did. She went on with her story, of course, but he was a little distracted by the fact that she looked like she was avoiding someone's gaze. He was quite tempted to look around and see who it was that she was trying not to be seen by, but he didn't. For now he didn't mention it, but he made note to ask her once the song was over.
When it ended, though, she didn't stop dancing. A new song started and she didn't miss a beat. As little as he liked dancing, he didn't mind being so close to Daisy. And he hadn't stepped on her toes. Yet. Extracting himself from her grasp was not something that even crossed his mind, so he just stayed where he was, content to suffer through his own bad dancing if it meant that he got to hold onto Daisy a little while longer.
"They've been good," he told her, nodding. "Busy as always, of course. Mum still fusses as often as she can get the chance to," he smiled. "You should come with me when I go to dinner at their place sometime," he offered. "I'm sure she'd love to see you." Alice would have loved to see any of the Potter children, of course, but she was just as fond of Daisy as the girl seemed to be fond of her.
Remembering the way she'd ducked her head, Neville leaned in a little so that no one else could hear his question. "Is there someone you're trying to avoid?," he asked, curious if he was just a means to an end or if she'd wanted to dance with him because she'd wanted to. Being a holding place wasn't quite as lovely, but either way he got to dance with Daisy so he wasn't complaining.
--
Daisy’s face brightened at visiting for dinner. She wasn’t the most parent friendly of people, she was pretty sure most of her friends’ parents weren’t terribly fond of her, but the Longbottoms were different. Dinner at their hose was practically like having dinner at one her her uncles’. “You’ll have to let me know if I can bring anything. There’s a new apple tart I’m looking to try.” It was a tad early for apple season, but it would be delicious none the less.
“It’s no one, just someone from work.” That was not a technical lie, but Daisy still felt a little bad for saying that much. “It’s no big deal. I just don’t think he likes the fact that he has to be on his wife’s arm all evening. She doesn’t like him mixing work with pleasure.” And Daisy knew exactly why… and maybe was beginning to feel a bit bad for the wife. Fuck.
She pecked a quick kiss to his cheek, glad to see none of her lipstick had transferred. “You are sweet to check and for the record, I much prefer dancing with you than making work small talk. My prince charming.”
--
He smiled. "I doubt that any of us would refuse apple tarts," he pointed out. Least of all him because if there was one thing that Neville loved almost as much as plants, it was food and eating said food. Especially sweets.
Someone from work. Someone from work with a wife that he didn't want around. Neville really shouldn't be wondering why any of that made Daisy want to avoid the man. He wondered just how close she might be to the guy. She never really did have the best taste in men, but he might have been just the slightest bit biased and thought she deserved far better than the sort she tended to choose. She wouldn't choose a married man, though. Would she?
He was tempted to ask her, but she distracted him with the kiss to his cheek. Her lips were warm and soft and he swallowed, blushing so brightly that he felt a little lightheaded. Especially when she called him her prince charming. Her prince anything. Her anything. And she wanted to dance with him, which made him smile crookedly. "You might look like Cinderella, but I'm not really fit for Prince Charming," he pointed out. "That guy could at least dance."
--
“Wrong hair color,” Daisy pointed out with a giggle. “Prim’s Cinderella. I’m just one of the step-sisters. Though…” she trailed off, “if you’re talking apple tarts that might make me Snow White.” Except she’d never been that pure or that innocent or that into princesses. No, she’d been far more interested in the damsels that rescued themselves and the stories where the wolves weren’t the bad guys after all.
The skirt of her dress swirled around them like clouds on a stormy day and for a moment, Daisy was captured by their charms. “Who wants a prince any way? They’re not very interesting and Charming? What kind of name is that anyway?” Prattling on, Daisy talked them through another song and she dared to believe that maybe she’d distracted Neville enough to forget about how much he hated dancing.
She hoped that was the case, because she was having far too much fun right here on the dance floor. Harry was about, somewhere, and she wondered if her brother would try to break them up. Daisy hoped no because she would kick him, good luck shoes or no.
--
He shook his head. "No," he told her. "The step-sisters were wicked and ugly." Two things that Daisy certainly wasn't. Well, she could be a little wicked sometimes, but he was pretty sure that anyone could be depending on the situation. Except maybe Prim who he thought didn't have a wicked bone in her body. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen the girl angry at all.
"Maybe it was his surname," he told her. "Maybe he was Henry Charming or something like that," he teased. It was probably the most stupid thing he could have said, but he was distracted by her closeness and his brain wasn't firing on all cylinders. Yes, it was all her fault because she was so warm, inviting, and she smelled so good. Darn her.
He was forgetting mostly everything around them and barely even noticed the music anymore. His brain had settled into the rhythm of the waltz steps and he was actually doing alright. He'd not stepped on anything of Daisy's which was a miracle if there ever was one and he wasn't going to complain about it in the slightest. "So who invited you to the gala?," he asked. He'd planned on inviting her himself, but he'd never worked up the nerve and doubted she would have agreed anyway. And it probably would have been weird with Harry and all. He doubted that his friend would like the two of them canoodling if he got lucky enough to get her to agree. "Am I cutting in on all of his dancing time?"
--
“I got an invite through work,” Daisy explained exactly how she obtained the tickets vaguely. In her mind it didn’t much matter how she got where she was, only that she was there, in that moment, to show Neville that dancing wasn’t so bad after all. “I’m not promised to anyone so feel free to monopolize my time all you want.”
The hows and whys explained away, Daisy concentrated on enjoying her time with Neville. She should have known that she would have preferred his company over all others, but it surprised her that he had decided to spend it with her over his friends like Harry and Hermione. As they danced, the space between them gradually disappeared. Daisy tried not to think how well they fit together. The time passed easily between them and before Daisy knew it, the clock was striking midnight. The party wasn’t quite over, but it was as if there was a tugging right behind her navel, like a hairsbreadth away from a portkey activating. Daisy had to leave.
“I’m sorry.” Daisy pulled away, regret written all over her face. “I’ve to go.”
Not waiting for his reply, she turned and fled the room, weaving in and out of crowds. As she reached the cool night air, Daisy did not give any pause as nearly sprinted down the steps. She could feel herself step out of one of her shoes, but in that moment she could not turn around. Something was telling her to get away. So she left her good luck shoe behind as she disapparated away for parts unknown.
--
She didn't elaborate, so he didn't bother to question her response. It was plenty logical that someone at work would have given her a ticket or an invite. It happened more often than not, really. And the answer was good enough to keep him quiet once she'd told him that he could take up her time. It made him smile.
Of course a lot of things made him smile in the almost hour that they ended up dancing together. He barely even realized how much time had passed until Daisy tugged away from him at the strike of midnight. He blinked a little at her. "What?," he asked, blank and confused look on his face even as she started to run away from him, dodging the crowd in her path. He binked again, calling out her name as he followed after her. Had he said something wrong? He tried repeating what he'd been talking about right before she left, but he couldn't think of why anything he'd said would be taken badly enough to make her run away.
He moved through the crowd, looking for her, but found only her shoe. Bending down to pick it up, he looked around to see if he could figure out what way she'd gone, but there was no sign of her. "Bloody hell," he muttered to himself. A look up at the clock told him it was far too late to go to her flat, so he sighed and moved back through the crowd, shoe still in hand, with every intent on returning it to her in the morning.