The Longbottom Way
"Oy, Fatbottom. You should think about going on a diet!"
Laughter followed in his wake as Neville Longbottom gritted his teeth against Malfoy's spiteful remark and trudged by the pointy-faced Slytherin into his least favourite class: Potions.
He slid into an empty seat next to Dean and pulled his much abused cauldron from his bag, wishing Malfoy would swallow his tongue.
"Oy, wide arse; I'm talking to you!"
"Ignore him, Neville. He's only being a git because Snape's not here yet," said Dean, scowling at the blond boy.
"Malfoy's a git even when Snape is here," muttered Neville, sticking his school bag under the desk. "He's just a bit more subtle about it. Not that he needs to be: Snape's not likely to take points away from his own House just because Malfoy badmouths the odd Gryffindor."
Especially when that odd Gryffindor was Neville
Longbottom.
He snuck a quick look at the professor's desk, wondering where his hated teacher was. It wasn't like the horrid Potions Master not to be gleefully awaiting his victims as they arrived for the slaughter.
"Where d'you suppose he is?" he asked of Dean.
The handsome teenager shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe he's finally decided to wash his hair - though if he has, we won't see him again 'til Christmas. It'll take that long just to get the grease out of it, never mind the dirt."
They shared a smirk, and Neville felt grateful to his friend for lightening the mood a little. But his good humour was quickly ruined by another shout from Malfoy.
"Hey, Bigbottom! Catch!"
Neville turned just in time to get hit square in the face by a clod of wet dirt the Slytherin had conjured and sent sailing his way. It took him completely by surprise as it smacked into his nose; his flailing arm clipped his cauldron, sending it flying, and he stumbled into Dean when he jerked backwards. They tumbled to the floor in a tangle of robes and limbs.
"You're a right foul git, Malfoy!" yelled Ron Weasley behind the fallen friends as the left-hand side of the classroom broke into fits of laughter. Neville scrambled to his feet and wiped his flaming face with the sleeve of his robe. He glared at the sniggering Slytherin, wanting nothing more than to march over and thump him. But he wasn't the type to indulge in pointless violence, and even if he had been, he wouldn't have dared; with his luck, Snape would waltz in just as he was pounding the rotten sod into a pulp. So he resigned himself to no more than a glow of mortification as he mopped the muck from his cheeks and hair.
Dean hauled himself up from the floor and scowled at the laughing Slytherin.
"One more time Malfoy, and I'll come over there shove your wand down your throat," he promised darkly.
Malfoy sneered. "Ooh. Did you hear that? Thomas is going to shove my wand down my throat. I'm so scared!" The blond shivered theatrically and Crabbe and Goyle guffawed like the good little sycophants they were. Then
Malfoy's face hardened. "Think you can get my wand off me, do you?"
He twirled it casually in his hand.
"'Cos you'll need to get past these lot first."
A nod of his head towards the jeering Slytherins brought his point home. Growling, Dean turned away, muttering insults beneath his breath.
"That git's going to get it one of these days," he hissed, stooping to scoop Neville's cauldron off the floor and place it back on the table. "I only hope I'm there to see it when he does."
"Me too," agreed Neville, pulling another wet clump of dirt from his cheek. "But don't let him provoke you. He'd love nothing more than to see one of us get into trouble with Snape."
He was just about to brush down his cape when Malfoy spoke up again.
"Oy, Smellybottom! You still ignoring me?"
Neville gritted his teeth against the raucous laughter and swallowed a sharp retort. He could almost hear his grandmother lecturing him about not rising to insults.
"Don't give them the satisfaction, boy! You'll only end up making a fool of yourself, and that will only encourage them all the more! Grit your teeth and bear it the Longbottom way - at least until you're able to deal with them in a more constructive manner."
The Longbottom way! It wasn't the Longbottom way to stand and take abuse, was it? Gran didn't. His parents hadn't. Was he supposed to be the exception to the rule?
If he was, then he was getting really fed up with it! Ever since he came to Hogwarts, Malfoy had been picking on him - when he wasn't picking on Harry, that was. Snape used him as a verbal punching bag too. And last year, that bastard Crouch Jnr had actually made him watch as he Crucio-ed a spider. Made him watch as he demonstrated exactly how he'd tortured Neville's own parents!
Well, this Longbottom wasn't prepared to put up with abuse for much longer. One of these days, he'd …
Whack!
Another clump of muck smacked him on the head.
"That's what you get for ignoring me, Spottybottom," drawled Malfoy lazily as Neville quietly wiped muck from his hair yet again. Ron and Dean were livid - as were all of the Gryffindors. Harry had quite the job of restraining the youngest Weasley boy, who was scarlet with anger.
Hermione rushed over to help her stricken Housemate.
"Here, Neville," she fussed, "Hold still a minute. Tergeo!"
She muttered the soft incantation as she waved her wand over his face. The dirt was siphoned off into a waiting handkerchief, which she pocketed.
"Thanks, Hermione," he mumbled, embarrassed by the necessity of her ministrations, yet grateful for the kindness.
"Oooh, look! Softbottom's got himself a girlfriend!" squealed Pansy Parkinson in delight. She cast an adoring gaze at Malfoy. "Did you hear that, Draco? Softbottom!"
Malfoy was only half-listening; his thoughtful gaze narrowed on Hermione. He sneered at her maliciously.
"Look at Granger, desperate to wipe her shameful stain from sight."
Neville frowned in confusion, but Hermione clenched her jaw in irritation.
"What on earth are you gibbering on about now?" she demanded, facing him with hands on hips.
Malfoy smiled coldly. "Well you were wiping muck from his face, weren't you? Cut yourself pulling your Potions knife from your bag, did you? Bleeding all over Saggybottom's face were you … Mud-blood?"
Icy outrage gripped Neville at the insult. Hermione had been helping him - helping him! - and now Malfoy had gone and made a target of her with his vicious tongue! It was one thing for the git to insult him - he was used to it.
But to insult a friend for doing nothing more than coming to his aid?
Raucous laughter echoed from the Slytherins' side of the classroom, and Pansy Parkinson's shout of 'Oh, you're so clever, Draco!' stoked the fury boiling in his veins. Beside him, Hermione stifled a sob, angered almost to tears by the cutting remark. Ron was being subdued by both Harry and Dean, his livid face almost as red as his hair.
"Snape'll be here any minute, Ron," he heard Harry hiss at his enraged friend, "and Malfoy knows it. He's only trying to stir things up."
"H-Harry's right," stuttered Hermione, trying to keep a brave face despite the loathsome cackles from the other side of the room. "Don't give him the satisfaction. We'll only lose more House points - which is exactly what he wants."
Malfoy heard her warning. "Lose more House points? Is that even possible? Oh, wait - you've got a whole twenty left, haven't you?" He swapped an amused glance with Crabbe. "Well then, we'll have to do something about that, won't we?"
He twirled his wand carelessly between his thumb and forefinger. "Let's see … what could we deduct them for? Letting old Lardbottom ruin another cauldron? I mean, we all know he will, so why wait for the inevitable to happen before we punish him …"
Derisive snorts from the Slytherins, and Neville gritted his teeth. He would not let Malfoy get a rise out of him just for another tired insult.
But Malfoy had just thought of something better. His speculative gaze drifted away from Neville and landed on Hermione instead.
"No," he drawled casually, "I have a better idea: twenty points from Gryffindor for allowing a Mud-blood into their House, and therefore sullying the noble institution of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry."
There was a collective intake of breath from Neville's side of the classroom. Neville could hardly believe what he'd heard. Had Malfoy actually deducted points from them based on nothing more than blood-status?
"You can't do that," gasped Hermione in mortified shock as the Slytherins chortled in delight. Her fellow Gryffindors seethed in fury.
"Oh, can't I, Granger," sneered the blond, leaning back on his desk with both elbows and clearly enjoying himself. "That's where you're wrong. I am a Prefect."
"That doesn't give you the right to abuse your position," she snapped shrilly, clearly upset at losing Gryffindor their last remaining points simply for being a Muggle-born. "Professor Snape would never approve!"
"Think you know our Head of House better than us, do you? Professor Snape won't care a bit. What's more, I'm also a member of the Inquisitorial Squad, and I'll bet Headmistress Umbridge would award me fifty points just for sheer ingenuity - we all know how much she loves half-breeds and Mud-blood filth."
He smirked at her victoriously.
Ron wrenched himself free from Harry's grip, and struggled to yank his arm free of Dean's in his haste to attack Malfoy.
"I'm gonna smack him into next year!" yelled the livid teenager, trying desperately to shrug off Dean's iron grip.
"Ron, NO!" squealed Hermione, grasping onto the back of his robe and tugging him back.
Harry grabbed his other arm and they soon had him subdued again. Lavender Brown, Seamus Finnegan and many of the other Gryffindors were aiming their wands at the Slytherins and scowling fiercely. Insults began to fly back and forth as the two Houses faced off.
Neville watched and listened to it all, still shaking with quiet anger at the blatant bigotry displayed by Draco Malfoy. The Slytherin was busy being congratulated on his cleverness by his equally loathsome friends - and accepting their praise with a self-satisfied smirk. The smarmy grin on his pointy aristocratic face made something inside Neville snap.
Sparing no time to weigh the merits of his decision, he calmly sidled around the desk, pushed his way through two of his angry Housemates, stormed over to the sniggering teenager, raised a fist, and punched him square on the nose.
Malfoy, caught completely off-guard, doubled over instantly. He clutched at his face, shouting in pain. Blood seeped through his fingers and dripped onto the floor as he screeched in agony. A sudden silence fell as students from both sides of the class stopped laughing and shouting to stare in absolute shock at the usually quiet Gryffindor, who now loomed menacingly over the whimpering Slytherin. Ears strained to catch his words as Neville opened his mouth and spoke.
"You're lucky I'm not a Prefect, Malfoy," he growled softly, "because if I were, I'd take a hundred stupid points off Slytherin simply because you exist. What's more, if you call Hermione - or anyone else - by that filthy name again … well, let's just say it'll be worth losing the House Cup just to pound you into mince."
He glowered down at the blubbering youth. Malfoy was torn between pain, anger and incredulity, but his breath still hitched visibly at the dangerous edge to Neville's voice, and Neville knew that his message had been received and understood.
Despite his newfound bravado, Neville's heart was banging against his ribs and he could barely believe what he'd done. Not that he wouldn't do it again if Malfoy insulted another one of his friends. Maybe this was what Gran had meant by doing something constructive?
The adrenaline was slowly ebbing away, leaving Neville feeling slightly ill as he looked at the squatting blond.
He'd just punched Malfoy.
He'd just punched Malfoy!
From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Crabbe and Goyle moving to retaliate against his unprecedented attack; their meaty arms flexing enthusiastically as they lumbered towards him. But before the outnumbered youth could contemplate the not-so-insignificant threat they presented, half a dozen Gryffindors flocked around him brandishing their wands. They offered him encouraging grins and appreciative looks.
Dean shook his head in amazement. "I didn't think the stupid git would be getting his come-uppance so soon, Nev. And definitely not from you. No offence."
Neville quirked his head to smile at his friend. "At least you got your wish: you were here to see it, weren't you? We both were." Dean laughed, and Harry Ron, Hermione, Lavender and Seamus joined in. Their support gave him a sudden glowing warmth which chased away the nausea that had so recently threatened to grip him.
"Bloody hell, Neville!" said Ron, grinning in admiration, "I'm supposed to be the redhead around here. You haven't got any Weasley blood in you, have you?"
He shrugged. "Pure Longbottom, as far as I know, Ron."
"Nothing wrong with that, mate," laughed Ron clapping him on the back. "Nothing at all."
Neville returned his attention to Malfoy: Crabbe and Goyle were hauling Draco up by the arms. The blond's face was wet with blood and tears of pain, but for once, Neville's inherent sympathy deserted him, and, feeling nothing but contempt for his enemy, he gave him a long-overdue piece of his mind.
"Seems like you're not the only one with friends, doesn't it?" he said as Malfoy's cronies scowled at him. "Only I don't have to pay mine to keep them."
A wave of chuckles swept the Gryffindors and Malfoy glared at Neville in hatred.
"You'll bay for dat, Wideboddom!" he hissed.
Neville watched him calmly, evenly. He raised a hand to flick imaginary lint from his shoulder and tried not to smirk when Malfoy flinched.
"You've got a really unnatural fascination with my arse, haven't you, Malfoy? Maybe you'd like me to turn around and bend over, so you can kiss it? And wouldn't that be a nice change - a Malfoy kissing someone else's arse instead of paying others to kiss their own?"
The Slytherin Pure-blood flushed in anger, and from the glowering look he aimed at him, Neville knew he'd made an enemy for life.
But he didn't care. Because now Malfoy knew he couldn't attack him with impunity. Now he knew Neville was a force to be reckoned with. And better that Neville endured the grudging respect of an enemy, than the malicious scorn of a cowardly bigot.
That was the Longbottom way.
"Neville!" scolded Hermione, trying to look horrified, but failing miserably, going by the twitch of her lips. Ron, Harry and the rest of his fellow Gryffindors had no such compunction - they roared in hilarity.
Their fun could not last forever.
"What exactly is going on here?" demanded a familiar cold voice, the sound of which had the immediate effect of sucking the righteous anger from Neville and all the amusement from his Housemates.
Slowly, he turned around, his eyes settling on the bat-like figure of his hated Potions professor. Snape's gaze roved the assembled students before landing on the bloody face of Malfoy, then flickering towards the Gryffindors.
"Id was Longboddom!" whined Malfoy dramatically, encouraged by the sight of his Head of House. He pointed an accusing finger directly at Neville. Snape's brow rose in disbelief until several Slytherins nodded in support of his claim. The professor's hard eyes fixed on Neville, and the youth sighed, knowing he was in for the mother of all detentions.
Snape confirmed his suspicion by smiling dangerously, and students scattered in every direction as he stalked towards the unfortunate boy. Neville sighed again.
Yet, oddly enough, he wasn't as terrified of his teacher as he would've been five minutes ago. Whatever Snape did, he couldn't kill him - Headmaster or no Headmaster, Dumbledore would skin him alive. There was also the comfort to be had in the fact that Gryffindor House had no more points to lose.
And from the fact that Malfoy had finally gotten his name right …
FIN
The Longbottom Way by Cannae be Kenobi
Story Notes:
DISCLAIMER - Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, etc. All recognisable characters, settings, etc. belong to J K Rowling, etc. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made from their use in this fanfiction.
Chapter Notes: Nods to Harry Potter Wiki