The Battles of Love: A Neville Longbottom fanfic

Chapter 13

The Battles of Love: A Neville Longbottom fanfic  

Chapter 13

Eleanor's POV

Neville and I were walking to Potions class together. Potions was my second favorite class, because it all seemed interesting and challenging for me. I wasn't particularly the best at it, though. Everyone knows that Hermione or Draco Malfoy are the best. But Snape tells me I've been doing 'pretty well' so far. He said it in his monotone voice like usual, but I guess I could take that as a compliment.

Neville hates Potions. It took him a lot of courage to tell me that his boggart was Professor Snape. Aside from his fear of Snape, he told me that he almost failed the class. I feel sorry for him now that Potions was going to be one of his daily subjects.

"You do know what day is it, don't you?" Neville said as we walked to the classroom.

I shrugged. "It's a normal, school day," I said.

He chuckled. "That's your best guess?"

I nudged him. "Tell me already, Longbottom," I pleaded in a joking way.

He smiled. "Alright," he said. "I'm quite of nervous, actually. McGonagall's going to give back our essays."

"What's so big about that?" I asked, not following.

"The essay is counted most of our grade. She announces the names of the students with the best works," he explained.

"Wow," I said. "That is pretty big. But, is it that important if you're name is said out loud?"

He nodded. "For me it is. I just want to get noticed," he admitted.

I looked at him and he immediately looked down, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"I can't believe I just said that out loud," he said, shaking his head.

I slung my arm over his shoulder and bumped him on the side.

"Aww it's alright," I told him, and he smiled shyly.

"Anyways," he cleared his throat, changing the subject. "When's your first Quidditch game?"

"Oh yes!" I exclaimed, suddenly remembering. We've been already practicing for our game for about two weeks. It was getting more intense every time we practiced. "Our first game is next week."

"With who?"

"Slytherin," I said with the roll of my eyes.

"Whoa," he said, almost in disgust. I guess all Gryffindors have that mutual hate for Slytherins. "That's not so good."

"What do you mean?" I asked. "Or is that just your resentment for Slytherins?"

He smiled. "Probably both," he said. "It's just Slytherins are really good in Quidditch."

"And we're not?" I said in a teasing way, raising my eyebrows.

His eyes widened. "No! NO!" he exclaimed, waving his hands frantically, which mad me chuckle. "No, Gryffindor is the best, it's just that Slytherins can be really mean. And they've won a lot of games the past couple of years."

"Ah," I said. "That's understandable. And I guess now we have competition."

"You should be really careful, El," he told me with pure concern. "They're much more meaner than they are outside of the field."

"I know," I said. "I could tell from your bruise," I joked.

Neville looked down and traced the bruise with his finger. I still couldn't believe Malfoy did that to him. That was so wrong and mean. One day, I will get him back.