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pennswoods!
You suggested Luna, Neville, Trevor, and/or Snape, with snark on top. I only have any clue how to do one out of those four, so I can only cross my fingers and hope this scores low on the suckitude scale. This is one of those 3:30-AM-god-I-should-be-sleeping ideas, but of course that's typically when Severus whispers his choicest nasty words in my ear and I have to write them down lest I forget. Hope you enjoy!
Title: The Longbottom Blues
Summary: It's tough helping Neville cope with some things.
Rating: G
Word count: 227
A/N: Not betaed.
Some days it was a little frustrating being Neville Longbottom's friend. He tried to give Neville heartfelt advice about the value of calmly collecting one's thoughts and presenting an impassive face to antagonists, but the boy was just so easily flustered by people who seemed to take delight in making things difficult for others.
Take today, for example. A typical minor disaster, and then that low, menacing voice: "Longbottom, you appalling idiot," it said. "Someone ought to slice open your head, scoop out the useless mush within like so many pumpkin seeds, and use your skull for a helmet, for clearly it is made of some mystical substance far more impenetrable than the mere bone possessed by ordinary wizards. Truly, a rare gift indeed has been bestowed upon you."
Yes, well. That was putting it a little strongly, he thought, but the big dark one was just one of those sorts of people. Poor Neville, though; he really let it get to him. In fact, sometimes he wondered whether Neville was understanding him at all.
Ah, well. It was a bit of a job, but someone had to do it. All he could do at that point was offer his condolences.
"Brrrrreeee-oonnnnnk," he croaked sympathetically.
"Trevor, shhh!" whispered Neville with a note of panic. "If Professor Snape hears I've brought you along again, I've really had it."
pennswoods! You suggested Luna, Neville, Trevor, and/or Snape, with snark on top. I only have any clue how to do one out of those four, so I can only cross my fingers and hope this scores low on the suckitude scale. This is one of those 3:30-AM-god-I-should-be-sleeping ideas, but of course that's typically when Severus whispers his choicest nasty words in my ear and I have to write them down lest I forget. Hope you enjoy!
Title: The Longbottom Blues
Summary: It's tough helping Neville cope with some things.
Rating: G
Word count: 227
A/N: Not betaed.
Some days it was a little frustrating being Neville Longbottom's friend. He tried to give Neville heartfelt advice about the value of calmly collecting one's thoughts and presenting an impassive face to antagonists, but the boy was just so easily flustered by people who seemed to take delight in making things difficult for others.
Take today, for example. A typical minor disaster, and then that low, menacing voice: "Longbottom, you appalling idiot," it said. "Someone ought to slice open your head, scoop out the useless mush within like so many pumpkin seeds, and use your skull for a helmet, for clearly it is made of some mystical substance far more impenetrable than the mere bone possessed by ordinary wizards. Truly, a rare gift indeed has been bestowed upon you."
Yes, well. That was putting it a little strongly, he thought, but the big dark one was just one of those sorts of people. Poor Neville, though; he really let it get to him. In fact, sometimes he wondered whether Neville was understanding him at all.
Ah, well. It was a bit of a job, but someone had to do it. All he could do at that point was offer his condolences.
"Brrrrreeee-oonnnnnk," he croaked sympathetically.
"Trevor, shhh!" whispered Neville with a note of panic. "If Professor Snape hears I've brought you along again, I've really had it."
