hackthis_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hackthis_archive) wrote2004-10-15 03:44 pm
hackthis_archive) wrote2004-10-15 03:44 pm
Entry tags:
HP - Dearth - TN/NL
For A, who tries to stop me from going out with my bastardization of the English language showing, and for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
circe_tigana because, dude, I am *so* warming up.
Theodore Nott/Neville Longbottom
Dearth
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English derthe, from (assumed) Old English dierth, from dEore dear
1 : scarcity that makes dear; specifically : FAMINE
2 : an inadequate supply : LACK
The back of Neville's hand is rubbing against the back of Theodore's hand through two layers of woolen gloves, and there's no justifiable reason for their hands to be brushing against each other in this manner. It's cold out, true, but they're also covered up in several layers of perfectly acceptable clothing. Nevertheless, they’re standing close enough together that Theodore can count the freckles on Neville’s nose and every time one of them breathes the air around them goes white and hazy. There's far more room in this thicket than their proximity would indicate, and yet Theodore can't be bothered to step away and he knows Neville takes his cues from him, so there is that.
Theodore is simply being pragmatic; this is a matter of body heat. It would never do for them to freeze to death a few hundred yards from school.
There's a branch poking Theodore in his upper back, and his fringe is blowing in his eyes again. His hair is just at that length he's so fond of -- just a smidgen too long to be respectable but too short to be seen as unkempt.
He loves winter in Scotland, the way the wind whips through clothing and makes even the palest skin pink with color. He's grown incredibly tired of people looking as though they were dead -- they’ll have plenty of that soon enough, and he plucks off the gold leaves that have fallen on Neville's cloak absently. He can't abide untidiness.
Neville gives him that crooked grin that's made Theodore's heart skip more than once in the last few weeks, and he wonders what Alexandria would say if he were ever to introduce her to Neville Longbottom. Her first remark would most likely have something to do with the cranberries smeared across Neville's mouth like red lipstick or blood, and Theodore actually pauses before leaning in and licking a wet stripe across Neville's lips.
He’s not terribly fond of cranberries, but he did drag Neville away from his dinner, so some concessions will have to be made.
It never occurs to Theodore that this is wrong in any way, because this is what he wants, and that’s all there is to it. What differentiates him from his Slytherin brothers and sisters is that he wants Neville to be his equal, and he’s not ashamed of him as much as he’s wary of either one of them winding up on the wrong end of a wand in the immediate future.
Neville’s gloved hands slip on Theodore’s robes as he tries to pull him closer, and Theodore doesn’t smile as much as he smirks against Neville’s lips.
Neville’s one of the few boys in their year, apart from Ronald Weasley and Blaise, who are actually taller than Theodore, but this doesn’t stop Neville from resting his head on Theodore’s shoulder.
Theodore pats his head awkwardly, and a sigh escapes comes from somewhere very deep that he tries not to visit on these rare occasions.
Theodore cannot continue these assignations with this boy, and yet, he can't bring himself to say good-bye. The dearth of good things in his life right now makes letting Neville go seem like insanity, and Theodore is many things, but he is no one's fool.
-end-
Improv: off, pluck, death, wrong, slip, kiss, crooked, red
ETN: This story now has a series: The Thousandth Man
circe_tigana because, dude, I am *so* warming up. Theodore Nott/Neville Longbottom
Dearth
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English derthe, from (assumed) Old English dierth, from dEore dear
1 : scarcity that makes dear; specifically : FAMINE
2 : an inadequate supply : LACK
The back of Neville's hand is rubbing against the back of Theodore's hand through two layers of woolen gloves, and there's no justifiable reason for their hands to be brushing against each other in this manner. It's cold out, true, but they're also covered up in several layers of perfectly acceptable clothing. Nevertheless, they’re standing close enough together that Theodore can count the freckles on Neville’s nose and every time one of them breathes the air around them goes white and hazy. There's far more room in this thicket than their proximity would indicate, and yet Theodore can't be bothered to step away and he knows Neville takes his cues from him, so there is that.
Theodore is simply being pragmatic; this is a matter of body heat. It would never do for them to freeze to death a few hundred yards from school.
There's a branch poking Theodore in his upper back, and his fringe is blowing in his eyes again. His hair is just at that length he's so fond of -- just a smidgen too long to be respectable but too short to be seen as unkempt.
He loves winter in Scotland, the way the wind whips through clothing and makes even the palest skin pink with color. He's grown incredibly tired of people looking as though they were dead -- they’ll have plenty of that soon enough, and he plucks off the gold leaves that have fallen on Neville's cloak absently. He can't abide untidiness.
Neville gives him that crooked grin that's made Theodore's heart skip more than once in the last few weeks, and he wonders what Alexandria would say if he were ever to introduce her to Neville Longbottom. Her first remark would most likely have something to do with the cranberries smeared across Neville's mouth like red lipstick or blood, and Theodore actually pauses before leaning in and licking a wet stripe across Neville's lips.
He’s not terribly fond of cranberries, but he did drag Neville away from his dinner, so some concessions will have to be made.
It never occurs to Theodore that this is wrong in any way, because this is what he wants, and that’s all there is to it. What differentiates him from his Slytherin brothers and sisters is that he wants Neville to be his equal, and he’s not ashamed of him as much as he’s wary of either one of them winding up on the wrong end of a wand in the immediate future.
Neville’s gloved hands slip on Theodore’s robes as he tries to pull him closer, and Theodore doesn’t smile as much as he smirks against Neville’s lips.
Neville’s one of the few boys in their year, apart from Ronald Weasley and Blaise, who are actually taller than Theodore, but this doesn’t stop Neville from resting his head on Theodore’s shoulder.
Theodore pats his head awkwardly, and a sigh escapes comes from somewhere very deep that he tries not to visit on these rare occasions.
Theodore cannot continue these assignations with this boy, and yet, he can't bring himself to say good-bye. The dearth of good things in his life right now makes letting Neville go seem like insanity, and Theodore is many things, but he is no one's fool.
-end-
Improv: off, pluck, death, wrong, slip, kiss, crooked, red
ETN: This story now has a series: The Thousandth Man
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Page 1 of 3