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The Gashlycrumb Tinies. Harry/Neville. Crack-fic-ish. Rock on.

Harry Potter
L’Ennui

“’N' is for Neville who died of ennui," a male voice rasped in Neville's ear as he picked at the splintering wood on the corner of his desk.

The wood cracked loudly in Neville's ears, and for several seconds his heart stopped and he saw his life go flashing before his eyes. It was a very short and dull life, right up until the last six weeks or so, and Neville actually tapped his chest once, twice, just to make sure that his heart had remembered to start back up again.

He glared at Harry as he slid into the chair next to Neville, and resolved not to be dazzled by the smile that Harry gave him.

He was in detention because of that blasted smile, and there was no way that he was going to be so forgiving just because Mr Boy Who Lived and Actually Fancied Neville Francis Longottom had decided that he was sorry for landing them both in detention, since he couldn’t keep his hands to himself in Charms.

“It’ll be Harry who dies at the end of Neville’s wand, if you don’t keep your hands to yourself,” Neville muttered under his breath even as Harry’s hand tried to slip inside the folds of Neville’s robes.

“That’s no way to treat your boyfriend,” Harry said as Neville batted his hand away.

Neville just glared.

*

“’S’ is for Sprout who was choked by a tiny tree,” Harry muttered as he pruned the green daffodils in front of him somewhat violently. A nearby posy made an affronted noise, and Harry scowled when Neville appeared at his elbow and pulled the shears out of his hand.

“It’s not the daffodils fault that you can’t differentiate between Tanacetum niveum and Melissa officinalis,” Neville said. “Don’t blame them for you doing poorly.”

“Can I blame you instead for distracting me when I was attempting to study all this bollocks?” Harry asked.

“It’s not my fault either,” Neville retorted. “I’m not the one who wanted to shag in the greenhouse, am I?”

“Minor details,” Harry said dismissively.

*

“V is for Vector who was run over by a sleigh,” Harry announced happily as he closed his Arithmancy book and slumped down in his chair by the fire.

Ron stared over his Runes homework. Hermione merely raised an eyebrow.

“Have you always been this morbid?” Neville asked, pressing the back of his hand against Harry’s forehead to check for fever.

“You weren’t raised by the Dursleys,” Harry said, leaning into Neville’s touch nevertheless.

“Fair play,” Ron agreed.

*

"'M' is for Malfoy who was run over by a rampaging hippogriff that got away.” Harry yawned as Neville’s fingers tangled in his unruly hair, and he burrowed deeper under the duvet cover.

“Where are you getting these from?” Neville asked around the smile he tried hard to control.

Harry yawned, again, as he tucked his head under Neville’s chin. “Edward Gorey.”

“Who?”

“Muggle author of children’s books.”

“He’s a bit gruesome, isn’t he?” Neville inhaled sharply as Harry’s fingers slipped under his pyjama top.

“I quite like him,” Harry admitted.

“I’ve – wait, you said Gorey? Oh, I’ve heard about him. I think he was in the same year as You Know Who. He wanted to conquer the Muggles without bloodshed.”

Harry chuckled as he drew patterns on Neville’s skin. “That explains a lot really.”

Neville’s breathing evened out as Harry’s arms slipped down to his waist, and he felt Harry relax next to him. “’H’ is for Harry, who defeated You-Know-Who and lived happily ever after with me,” he quipped eventually.

“It’s supposed to be something a bit grim,” Harry reminded him.

Neville was quiet for several seconds. “I like my version better.”

“So do I,” Harry said. “Perhaps ‘N’ should be for Neville who saved Harry Potter from defeat.”

-end-

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