When the Stars Align (Neville Longbottom)

Chapter Eleven

Dahlia

Life at Hogwarts had become taxing. It was starting to feel more like a prison rather than an escape that Dahlia had been looking forward to. During the insufferable summer, Dahlia spent days dreaming of nights with the secluded amity of the grounds. Regardless of the piling homework, she felt it would be better to be immersed in the coverage, not on the outskirts of publicity. However, the inflicting rules of the new High Inquisitor left a desolate mark on the students. One she wishes she could slap into Umbridge herself, payback for the fear she's instilled in Nathen and the other fragile first years.

As the seasons merge, autumn becoming fridged, the grounds dying, students still find ways around the new customs added to their life. There was talk of a party the first weekend of November, the first quidditch games soon to be in play, hopefully bringing in some sort of unity. A distraction. Only that's three weeks away. Until then, Dahlia found herself people-watching in the common room, the Great Hall, corridors. At first even she thought it was weird, but after a while, Dahlia discovered it to be reassuring. Listening into people's lives and watching how they interacted no differently than herself made the entirety of these confusing times infinitely more bearable. Finding comfort in the idea of a tethered continuity.

Neville was taking this change oddly. In her people observing, she portioned a chunk of attention to him. He was different, almost restless. On the brink of melting. Dahlia couldn't figure out why. Perhaps he handles oppression separately than others. He mostly kept this newly found uneasiness to himself, but it slipped in times of annoyance, she could see it bothered him. More than she'd like to accept.

More troublesome was the way their friendship had morphed, making Dahlia question if it can be called a friendship at all. A fork had been stuck into Dahlia and Neville's relationship. As much as Dahlia tried to ignore it, as hard as she tried to shove it into a box, bury the suspicion, there was no denying Neville's behavior. They hadn't talked of the night at the lake, and Dahlia has welcomed a new friend of guilt to rest upon her shoulders. Springing I love you on someone is hefty, whether it's platonic or not. She had set out to confront him about it, but Umbridge, keeping Nathen happy, and the colossal amount of homework clouded her plans.

Within the distraction of her surroundings, she has found herself empty of emotion. Pulling all of her energy to focus on material things, rather than the intangible. While her environment was different than the years before, tension rising like a leak, cracking a foundation, she could never feel burdened when Neville was present. Dahlia felt that her troubles were shared, that he carried some for her, and she did the same for him. But now, she felt her load was slipping, that she wasn't holding up her end of the deal. The balance that once graced their arms were now unjust with the cruel pressure of obscurity.

Every time anyone talked to her or tried to make conversation, she could feel how distant she was, but she couldn't figure out how to correct it. It hurt the most when she realized she was doing it to Neville and Nathen. Nathen, being blunt in his efforts to understand, pointed her out for it the last time, making her come to terms with the misfortune. Neville on the other hand, was patient, she could tell. He would kindly dismiss a question or tell her not to worry about it, in some ways he was shielding her from the confrontation that Nathen had brought on. Almost as if he already knew her struggle, like he was already sharing the trouble.

Dahlia knows she shouldn't feel like she's the burden, she knows relationships aren't always fifty-fifty, but it's stressful on everyone, not just her, and she feels selfish. Neville, although dealing with wars of his own, kept his normal composure around her. There was a tone of sourness she could only assume was the growing tension of her occupying yearning.

It was becoming stale to have to keep her emotions in check. There was nothing more she wanted than to be in Neville's stable embrace, wrapping herself in a blanket of his scent, to wear his love like a well worn coat. There were movements where she could slip inside the jacket for a heartbeat, a shared one where their hearts thumped in unison, before the blood thick with apprehension would push her out. Neville, as opposite as you would think, is distributive with his empathy, commonly hard to read. He sent mixed signals, ones she didn't dare open.