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What Would Slytherin Harry Do: The Remem-brawl

Disclaimer: Not Mine. No Profit. No Shit.

by Big D

AN: This occurs a few hours before “The First Year Duel"




Neville rubbed his still-sore wrist as he left the hospital wing and began to make his way towards the Great Hall. Glancing out of a narrow window in the corridor, he took note of the deepening gloom outside as the sun dropped down below the horizon. If he hurried he might still make it in time to finish dinner with his housemates.

His first flying lesson had been an complete disaster, as he had known it would be. It had taken him longer than anyone else in the class to get his broom to leap into his hand, and once he had finally gotten on the stupid thing, it decided to take off underneath him, sending him hurtling headfirst into a wall, then plummeting to the ground. Madam Pomfrey had been amazed than he’d managed to walk away from a crash like that with nothing more than a fractured wrist.

His ears burned as he remembered loud guffaws of the first year Slytherins. Even worse than that was the superior smirk that Harry Potter had given him as he had been led away by the Flying Instructor. How had the Boy-Who-Lived ended up in Slytherin anyway? Shouldn’t the person who defeated You-Know-Who be a little... nicer?

For that matter, shouldn’t his classmates have stood up for him a little more? None of the other Gryffindors had even tried to defend him. They just hid their snickers behind their hands, which for some reason seemed nastier than simply laughing in his face. At least the Slytherins were being honest about how they felt.

He reached the stairs leading down to the Great Hall and stopped with one foot on the first step. What was the point of having dinner with the other Gryffindors if they were just going to laugh behind his back? Maybe he should just go back to his dorm and go to bed. Maybe he could just pretend that this entire day was nothing more than a bad dream.

“Pssst!”

Neville blinked and glanced around at the sound. There was no one there.

“Pssst!”

There it was again! Was someone trying to pull a trick on him? He gulped and drew his wand, looking around, his heart fluttering slightly.

“Up here, chubby!” someone hissed quietly at him.

Neville looked up and saw Harry Potter standing with his hands on the rail of a landing the next floor up. He glanced around to make sure no one was looking, then jerked his head, indicating that Neville should join him.

Neville scowled at the other boy and turned away. There were two sets of steps that led from the landing he was on. One went down towards the Great Hall, the other went up towards his dorm. Neither led towards Harry, and for that he was grateful. He didn’t want anything to do with him or whatever mean thing he was planning, particularly not right now. He quickly started up the second set of stairs, intent on getting this day over with as quickly as possible.

He was halfway up when the stairway began to move. He held on tightly as it shifted to press up against the far wall, leading towards Harry’s platform. He glared up at the smiling Slytherin boy, who had moved to lean against the top bannister.

“Go away, Potter,” Neville said, hating how frightened and nervous his voice sounded as it left his throat. It sounded more like a plea than a demand. “Just leave me alone!”

“Calm down, fat-boy,” Potter answered smoothly. “I’m not here to pick on you.” He reached into his robes and produced a small glass ball, about the size of a very large marble. “I just thought you might want this back.” He held Neville’s Remembrall out towards him.

Neville wondered for a moment how Potter could say that he wasn’t there to pick on him, then call him “fat-boy” in the same breath, but ignored that thought in favor of cautiously mounting the steps and taking his grandmother’s gift back. He was half expecting Potter to hex him as he approached, or at least toss the fragile glass ball over the railing just as he was about to reach it, but he did neither.

The Remembrall went from crystal clear to bright red as Neville touched it, but he ignored that in favor of slipping it into his pocket and taking a couple of hasty steps back as soon as Potter handed it over.

“We–well, thanks,” he mumbled, still on guard for whatever trick the other boy was planning. He continued to back down the stairs one at a time, not taking his eyes off of him for a second. “I really appreciate it.”

Potter just watched him, amusement dancing behind his eyes. “It must have fallen out of your pocket when your broom took off on you,” he said.

Neville flushed, but nodded. “Well, th–thanks for pi–picking it up.”

“Oh, I didn’t,” he said causally.

Neville had backed halfway down the stairs by now, but he was pretty sure that Potter wasn’t setting him up for some kind of trap, so he stopped. “How did you get it, then?”

Potter shrugged. “Malfoy found it on the ground after you left. He said something about how appropriate it was for you to fall on your fat arse, considering that your fat head must be empty.” He cocked his head to the side. “You know, for him, that’s actually witty.”

Neville’s blush deepened until he thought he might ignite, but Potter continued on as if he didn’t notice.

“That’s when what’s-her-name–the cute little curry-muncher...” he snapped his fingers, “Patil–that’s it! That’s when Patil tried to stand up for you.”

Neville blinked and looked up hopefully. Maybe the other Gryffindors weren’t so bad after all!

“Of course, she shut up as soon as Parkinson accused her of being your girlfriend,” Potter continued, dashing Neville’s hopes and making his shoulders slump again. He frowned slightly. “She actually looked a little green at the idea. You don’t suppose she keeps for the other side, do you?”

Neville didn’t really know what that question meant, so he ignored it. “So how did you get it?” he asked, more to divert Potter from delivering a full blow-by-blow recount of all the insults that he had missed out on than anything else.

“Oh, I nicked it out of Malfoy’s pocket when he wasn’t looking,” Potter said proudly. “He said something about sticking it up a tree, but I think he was just planning to keep it. Stupid git probably doesn’t even know it’s gone.”

Neville nodded gratefully. “Well, thanks again,” he said, then turned to leave.

“So you’re just going to let him get away with it,” Potter asked offhandedly.

He stopped and turned back. “What do you mean?”

“Malfoy tried to steal something your grandmother gave you, and called you every name his dangerously low IQ level would allow him to, and you’re not going to do anything about it?”

Neville shrugged ashamedly. “What can I do? He’d just hex me into next week.”

Harry chuckled and shook his head. “I think you might be overestimating him. Trust me, I go to class with the little turd.”

That made Neville smile for a moment. “But even if I tried, Crabbe and Goyle would knock my head off,” he countered.

“So?”

Neville glared at him. “What do you mean–so? I’d much rather finish school with all the limbs I started with, thank you very much.”

Potter chuckled. “Well then you’re probably going to the wrong school,” he sagely pointed out.

Neville didn’t answer and Harry sighed in disappointment. He climbed down the stairs until he was just above Neville and sat down. “You know what your problem is,” he said, “You worry too much.”

“What, just because I don’t want to get beat up?”

“Better that than being a chubby doormat for wankers like Malfoy,” Potter scoffed.

Neville was starting to get angry. “That’s easy for you to say. Like you would even understand.”

Harry head snapped towards him, eyes glinting dangerously, and Neville took an involuntary step back. “Here’s what I understand,” he growled. “No one’s ever gonna stand up for you if you don’t have the balls to do it yourself.”

Neville opened his mouth, but Harry rode right over him.

“I saw you when Hooch led you away, sniffling like a little girl and hoping no one would notice.” He stood up and glared at Neville. “You know why no one likes you,” he sneered. “You know why everyone–and I do mean everyone in this entire school, including the teachers–makes fun of you behind your back?” He stepped even closer, and Neville felt his back strike the wall behind him. “It’s because you’re a sad, pathetic little nothing and you deserve it.”

Potter’s words were like body blows, coming one after another, and Neville hunched over as if to protect himself from them. The other boy shook his head in disgust, then said something that caught Neville by surprise.

“You know, I used to be just like you. Scared of my own shadow, always thinking that other people were better than me. Too worried about getting in trouble to realize just how much my life sucked.”

The anger seemed to go out of him somewhat, and he sat back down on the steps. Neville felt an urge to run, but forced himself to sit down as well. Almost a full minute passed, with Harry staring off into space and not saying a word.

“Everyone around here thinks I grew up like some little prince,” he snorted, then flashed an wryly amused glance at Neville. “Too bad for them I didn’t.”

Neville had no idea what the other boy was talking about, but nodded anyway. It seemed like the safest course.

“When I was eight years old,” Harry continued, leaning in a little closer and speaking in a soft voice, “I found a little baby bird laying in our neighbor’s garden. I reckoned it must have fallen out of it’s nest, but I couldn’t see where the nest was. So I picked it up and stuck it inside my jacket. For three days I hid it from my relatives, sneaking it food and water when I could. I thought that if I could nurse it back to health, I could set it free and no one would ever know.”

He stopped and frowned to himself, then shook his head.

“What happened?” Neville prodded.

Potter shrugged. “My aunt found it, of course. Baby birds aren’t exactly known for their ability to keep quiet. While I was at school, she wrapped up in a towel and stuck it out on the back patio. Do you know what she did with it?”

Neville shook his head.

“She waited until I came home, screamed at me for about an hour, then dumped in on the ground, right in front of me, and crushed it flat with the heel of her shoe.”

Neville gaped at him.

“And then she made me clean it up.”

Neville thought he might be sick.

“I learned a very important lesson that day,” Potter finished. There was no particular inflection in his voice. No horror, no sadness, nothing except a calm recitation of fact. “You know what it was?”

Neville shook his head.

“That it’s better to be the shoe than the baby bird.”

In spite of himself, Neville snorted a laugh.

Harry leaned in close again. “So let me ask you this... which one do you want to be?”



Blaise glanced around as he left the Great Hall. Harry had mentioned something about needing to run an errand and had taken off without eating dinner. He jumped when a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him behind a nearby suit of armor. His wand was halfway free before he realized that it was Harry.

“Where did you go,” Blaise asked, but Harry just put a finger to his lips and pointed at the door leading from the Great Hall. Malfoy was leaving, his twin shadows still stuffing their faces back at the Slytherin table.

“Watch...” Harry whispered.

Blaise looked over at Malfoy and grimaced. “It’s Malfoy,” he said derisively. “I’ve seen him bef...”

He stopped and gaped as someone pushed through the crowd and slugged Malfoy right in the mouth. He gaped even more when he realized that it was Neville Longbottom.

“I WANT MY REMEMBRALL BACK, MALFOY!!!” Longbottom shouted, jabbing his finger angrily at the fallen Slytherin, who was holding his jaw in complete shock. “I BETTER HAVE IT BY BREAKFAST, IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU!!!” Without another word, the pudgy Gryffindor turned on his heel and stormed off.

Blaise glanced at Harry, who’s mouth was set into a wide grin. “What in Merlin’s name was that?!?” he asked, then frowned briefly. “Wait, I thought you had Longbottom’s remembrall?”

Harry shrugged. “I gave it back.”

Blaise shot him a confused look. “Hold on... if you gave it back, then why did...” His eyes widened in realization and he barked a laugh. “Oh, I get it... Longbottom shows up in the morning with it, and everyone thinks that Malfoy messed his pants and handed it over.” He shook his head. “That’s genius... evil genius, but genius all the same.”

Harry made a mock bow. “I try.” He jerked his head to the side. “Come on, let’s be neighborly and go check on our housemate.”

Malfoy was still brushing himself off and muttering dire promises under his breath as they approached. A slight bruise was beginning to form on his jaw, but that had more to do with his lack of skin color than how hard Longbottom had hit him.

“What do you want, Potter,” he spat as they approached. “Why don’t you take your pet monkey and get out of my face.”

Blaise’s eyes flashed in anger, but he gave no other sign that he had heard Malfoy. One of the first lessons his mother had ever taught him was that revenge was a dish best served unexpectedly. He filed the comment away and let Harry do his thing.

“That’s tough talk for a guy who just got smacked around by an ickle Gryffie, Malfoy,” Harry said.

“Don’t you worry, Potter,” Malfoy shot back, “That fat-arse is going to get exactly what’s coming to him.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Just as soon as you tell daddy, right?”

“I don’t need my father to handle him,” Malfoy snarled. “And I certainly don’t need him to handle you!”

“Is that right?”

Malfoy stepped closer and tried to stare Harry down. “You better believe it. In fact, I’ll prove it to you–tonight. You and me, wizard’s duel. Midnight, in the Trophy Room... or are you too scared?”

Harry pretended to mull it over for a moment, before leaning forward and staring Malfoy right in the eye.

“You’re on.”

(End)