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“I’m just saying, Ronald, it wouldn’t kill you to be a little more—”
“Ronald, it wouldn’t kill you to be a little more—”
“Oh, mocking me again? Hilarious, really. That one certainly never gets old.”
“It’s not my fault you’re too bloody uptight to take a joke!”
“And it’s not my fault you’re too empty-headed to come up with anything original!”
Harry sighed as Ron and Hermione descended into yet another petty fight. They’d been at each other’s throats for months now, ever since Lavender had attached herself to Ron’s side (and attached her mouth to his mouth, constantly), and Harry was getting quite tired of it.
It was Saturday morning—the morning of their second Apparition lesson—and despite the fact that the three of them had walked down from Gryffindor Tower together, Ron and Hermione were so busy having a spat that they hadn’t said a single word to Harry. Once they’d entered the Great Hall, he wasted no time breaking off from their side and swiftly heading in the opposite direction, which, unsurprisingly, neither of his friends seemed to notice.
Harry loved Ron and Hermione dearly, but if he had to listen to them squabble for a single moment longer, he was certain he’d go insane.
The wooden hoops were already spread out across the floor of the Hall, and the other sixth years chatted amongst themselves as they filtered in through the open doors and found their places. Harry was careful not to trip as he weaved through the room, scanning his classmates for a head of white-blond hair. He’d been lucky enough to snag a spot behind Malfoy and his cronies during their first lesson, close enough to eavesdrop on their conversation, and Harry hoped that he could catch them unaware once more, but the Slytherins were nowhere to be seen.
“Oh, hello, Harry!”
Harry turned to find Neville waving happily at him. You were stood at Neville’s side, as you often were, and you sent Harry a smile. Harry let out a breath, casting one last glance across the Great Hall and still not finding Malfoy. He shouldn’t have expected the same trick would work twice in a row. Malfoy would be on the lookout this time around, surely.
Harry gave up his search and walked over to the two of you. “Morning. Mind if I stand with you guys?”
“‘Course not, you’re always welcome. Are Ron and Hermione still…?” Neville trailed off with a grimace.
“Being complete dunderheads?” Harry filled in. “Yes, unfortunately.”
You and Neville peered over Harry’s shoulder, where said dunderheads were still arguing. Ron’s freckled face was flushed red with anger, and Hermione’s hand gestures had become increasingly animated. People were starting to stare, and Professor McGonagall was approaching the pair with a stern expression.
“Goodness. They fight like an old married couple,” you commented.
“A miserable old married couple,” Neville said.
Harry thought the comparison was a bit ironic. If anyone in their year acted like an old married couple, it was you and Neville, just without the miserable part. A cheerful old married couple, then.
So cheerful that it was a little sickening at times.
Neville made your tea for you each morning at breakfast, just the way you liked it. You straightened his tie and fixed his hair without being asked. You finished each other’s sentences and cry-laughed at inside jokes no one else could ever hope to understand.
Frankly, the fact that you and Neville weren’t dating was one of the world’s greatest mysteries. It was obvious to anyone with a working pair of eyes that the two of you were completely gone for each other. Hell, Harry’s eyes hardly worked—the emotional range of a teaspoon, he recalled Hermione once saying to Ron, which felt rather fitting—and yet, Harry was certain he would be able to see it from a mile away in the dark with no glasses on.
Some of your classmates enjoyed teasing you and Neville for your close relationship, but Harry, however, had decided that it was simply none of his business. He already had to deal with enough unresolved tension on the daily just by virtue of being in proximity of Ron and Hermione.
“Do either of you reckon anyone will actually manage to Apparate today?” Harry asked conversationally as Professor Sprout, one of the roaming Heads of House, stood at the front of the Great Hall and called for everyone to ready up.
“Well it certainly won’t be me. But Padma told me she felt a ‘tugging sensation’ during the last lesson. She seems really determined,” you offered. “What about you, Harry? Nev said you’ve done it once before. Maybe you’ll pick it up quicker since you already know what it feels like.”
“Cutting it close today, are we, Mr. Malfoy?” Snape’s drawl reached Harry’s ears. He turned his attention towards the entrance, and sure enough, there was Malfoy, slipping in with Crabbe and Goyle at his heels just as Snape had moved to close the doors. Malfoy muttered something quietly to Snape before his eyes caught on Harry. They each glared at one another before Malfoy stalked away to a free set of hoops at the opposite end of the Hall.
Damnit.
“Only a Side-Along,” Harry clarified distractedly, forcing himself to tear his gaze away from the Slytherins. “I’m not keen to do it again, honestly. It felt awful. I’d rather take a broom if I need to go anywhere. Or, y’know, use my legs.”
You huffed a laugh. “That’s understandable. I’m still excited to learn how to Apparate, though. It must be so useful to pop from one place to another just like that,” you said with a snap of your fingers.
“I just hope no one gets Splinched again this time around,” Neville said with a little shudder. “Seeing Susan’s leg like that was—”
“—ghastly,” you finished, Neville nodding in agreement. “Poor Susan.”
The sixth years in the Hall quieted down as Wilkie Twycross, the Apparition instructor from the Ministry, stepped forward and welcomed everyone to their second lesson. Without any more preamble, he dove straight into the same lecture he had given a week before. Remember the three D’s! Destination, Determination, Deliberation!
Neville sarcastically mouthed along with a funny little flourish, making you giggle, which then made Neville beam at you like you’d hung all the stars in the sky. And Harry, watching the whole display, didn’t know whether the sugary sweetness of it made him want to smile or throw up.
Like the week prior, the first few Apparition attempts yielded a great deal of staggering and stumbling, but nothing more. Harry wasn’t even sure he was doing it right; other students seemed to be tiring themselves out from the magical effort, while Harry just felt a bit silly, staring at a wooden hoop and spinning in place time after time to absolutely no avail.
“Merlin!” you exclaimed after the seventh attempt, a light sheen of sweat on your brow. “Why do we even have to twirl like this? I swear I’ve seen people Disapparate without twirling.”
Standing between you and Harry, Neville had squeezed his eyes shut and bent forward to rest his hands on his knees, trying to ride out his dizzy headache. “I dunno. Aesthetic and flare?” he guessed.
You snorted. “Imagine!”
“Determination!” Twycross was reminding everyone from the front of the Hall. “Feel the yearning to occupy the hoop throughout your body, mind, and soul! Let it overcome you!”
Nearby, Seamus had sprawled out on the floor with a defeated expression, and Professor Flitwick was worriedly holding a bin in front of Terry Boot’s face, which had turned a concerning shade of green.
After a short recess, the sixth years collected themselves as best they could and readied up for another go. There was a distinct, mounting tension in the air. This would be the class’s eighth attempt. Nothing had happened yet, but the stalemate had to end at some point.
Harry really, really hoped it wouldn’t be him. He would be just fine if he never Apparated again in his life, thank you very much.
“Alright, students. Once again, on my count,” Twycross announced. “One… two… three!”
There was a loud crack, followed by a shriek of pain.
Harry whipped around to see you standing in your hoop, teetering in place, with one of your shoes sitting a short distance away. But it wasn’t just your shoe; it was your shoe with the foot still inside, severed just above the ankle.
Neville shouted in alarm. There was a second crack. And suddenly, Neville was also standing in your hoop, wrapping his arms around you to keep you from toppling over.
“Professor!” he yelled as you cried into the front of his sweater.
It was unclear which professor Neville was calling for, but it didn’t seem to matter. Out of the four Heads of Houses in the Great Hall, Snape happened to be the closest, and he quickly strode over in a great billowing mass of black robes. To general astonishment, Neville didn’t flinch or shrink away. He barely even glanced at Snape. All of his care and concern was focused on you.
With a sharp wave of his wand, Professor Snape cast the proper spell, which shot off with a bang and a puff of purple smoke. Once the smoke cleared, Harry saw that your foot had been firmly reattached to your leg, though you still whimpered and clung to Neville.
The rest of the sixth years in the Hall, who had all been watching in silent shock, started to murmur. Harry finally managed to kick himself into gear and rushed over to you and Neville, though he was stopped short by Snape stepping into his path.
“Your assistance is not needed, Potter,” he said with a scathing glare, but before Harry could argue, Professor Flitwick had appeared with a more charitable attitude.
“Goodness, what a sight that was!” He addressed you. “Are you feeling quite alright? Any tingling? Numbness? Missing toes?”
“Um.” You gave a wet sniffle, still trembling rather fiercely, and looked down at your foot. Everything appeared intact, the only remaining evidence of your Splinching being the frayed ring of cotton where your sock had been bisected.
“Ah, best to get checked by Madam Pomfrey, anyway,” Flitwick said. “Thank you, Mr. Longbottom, but we can escort—”
“No! No, I’m fine,” you protested, your grip tightening on Neville. You wiped at your face and took in a shaky breath. “I think I just ought to sit down for a moment.”
It took a few more assurances, but Flitwick and Snape eventually departed, and Neville wasted no time lowering you to the floor, ignoring the gawking and growing chatter of the other sixth years. Harry finally approached and followed suit, dropping to his knee as the three of you huddled together.
“Are you okay?” Harry asked rather uselessly. He felt like he should do something, but he didn’t know what. He settled for placing a hand on your shoulder, giving it a supportive little squeeze.
You nodded, but that didn’t seem to appease Neville.
“Are you sure?” Neville asked worriedly, patting you down as if checking for any missing pieces. “We could still take you to the hospital wing, even if it’s just for a Calming Draught.”
“I’m sure—” you started to say, but you were interrupted by a raised voice from the crowd.
“Sir! I think Longbottom just Apparated!” someone called out to Twycross, and the chatter in the Hall exploded into an excited cacophony.
“Longbottom? No way!”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Oh, come on!”
“I saw it! He Apparated!”
“It’s true, Longbottom Apparated!”
Neville frowned and glanced around at the crowd as if he were noticing them for the first time. “I— What? No I didn’t!”
“Yeah, you did, mate,” Harry said. Despite the fact that he still felt rather shaken by the whole ordeal, a grin had worked its way onto his face. “You didn’t even have to do a spin.”
You laughed wetly in Neville’s arms. “I knew it. The twirls are useless.”
Twycross had wandered over to peer at the three of you on the floor, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Ah, yes, an excellent example of Determination at work!” He turned to address the other sixth years. “You must want to move to your desired location with your entire being. Hesitation gets you Splinched, ladies and gentlemen. Now, while Apparition may come easier in moments of high emotion, it will do all of you well to remember…”
Harry tuned out the rest of Twycross’s lecture, suppressing an eye roll, and looked back to you and Neville.
Neville had turned quite pink, and the enamored smile you were directing his way certainly didn’t help matters. Harry’s own face heated in embarrassment at the sight, feeling as though he was suddenly intruding on something private. He quickly removed his hand from your shoulder. You didn’t seem to notice.
“You’re amazing. You know that, right?” you said to Neville.
“I’m— I didn’t really do anything,” he said a bit helplessly.
“You did,” you said, and reeled him in for a hug. Harry heard you repeat once more, you did, muffled against Neville’s shoulder. Neville took in a shaky breath and held you tighter in response.
Harry stood and returned to his own hoop, leaving the two of you behind for a moment of privacy. He decided then and there, quite easily, that he’d had more than his fill of romantic tension for the day.