Author's Note: Thank you to Tiffers who willingly betaed this story. And thanks to Ciara for issuing the comatose challenge, the one that literally wrote this story. Enjoy!
He was falling. At least that's what it felt like. He flexed his fingers, feeling the wind rush through the gaps. The wind in his hair, the feeling of his stomach being far from its normal place. Yep, he was falling. Fast at that. Gravity seemed to be mocking him as it pulled him down to his final resting place.
He wasn't sure why he was falling. Or where to. All he could remember was slipping on the rocky ledge and he had been falling for nearly forever. In fact, he was certain he should have stopped by now. Surely the pit wasn't this deep…
"Neville!" a loud voice shouted from his right. He would've jumped had he not been rushing to the ground. He knew that voice, but how he didn't know. "Neville, wake up!" Maybe if he ignored the mysterious voice, it'd go away. Maybe if he just—
"Arrgh," Neville groaned, the blankets that had been piled over his heads torn off. The sunlight from the windows glared down on him. It was horrifyingly bright. So bright that Neville was sure burning out his eyes would do no difference.
"Merlin," he mumbled, throwing his legs over the bed, glad for the soft carpet. He stood up, the feeling of solid ground quite weird after one has fallen for nearly a lifetime. He sighed as the stout old woman who had rudely wakened him folded the thick comforter.
Neville stumbled to the door, leaning against its frame. The light still seemed to be too bright. Another groan came from him as the mentioned woman ushered him down the stairs, instructing him to sit and eat something.
Neville lifted the spoon to the porridge, letting it ooze back in to the bowl with a thick plop. The woman rushed around the kitchen, pots being put into the sink while others were put into cupboard.
"I've got to get to the apothecary, I'm out of everything," the woman told Neville, who had only half a heart to listen, "Then after that we'll head to St. Mungo's, before coming home. It's the only time we can, you know," she said, getting only a nod from Neville.
St. Mungo's. Just the name its self sent shivers up Neville's spine. The sick smell of those who had been injured, the pure white palette all around and the constant moan and mumble from those who are far from saving.
Those like his parents.
His parents. That word was foreign to him. Really, he had his grandmother, but she wasn't them. He didn't know who they were exactly, but he knew they had to be better than he could ever imagine.
Neville watched as his grandmother continued to shuffle around the kitchen, tending to all the tedious tasks.
"Alice?" called a voice from somewhere in the front of the house. The woman at the sink, the one that had been Neville's grandmother only seconds before, looked up at her name. A smile came across her face, one Neville knew all too well. It was his smile.
"In here," she answered, scrubbing furiously at the pot she held. Neville could hear a small baby coo, but the particular sound had come from where he couldn't see. A moment later the man who had called stepped through the doors, looking unkempt.
"Horrid day?" Alice asked, the smile fading once she caught sight of him. He nodded, slipping into the one of the chairs to Neville's right. He watched his father reach towards something he couldn't see, something that giggled. Whatever it was made a smile appear on the wizened face.
"It'll be over soon, Frank. It just has to be," Alice told him, sitting down across from him. The smile she once had was now gone, replaced by sad eyes. She reached over to grip lightly on his shoulder, barely giving it a soft squeeze.
"If only it was over now," Frank Longbottom said, lifting the cooing object into Neville's vision. It was a small infant, peach fuzz along his head and eyes Neville knew all too well. He had seen this baby in pictures of course, which was the only way he could imagine this particular child.
Neville's father rocked the child in his arms but it didn't seem to distract the boy. His blazing eyes seared into Neville as if he knew the teenager sat across the table. It was quite mad to be staring at himself years younger let alone having those same eyes peering back at him.
Maybe it was the fact that they hadn't noticed or the fact that they didn't care why the baby was staring at an invisible man but both Neville's parents continued to talk.
"We can only try and change the present—you know that. But we can't do it mopping around," Alice told her husband, standing up. She brushed off her hands on her apron before slipping it off her head. All the males sitting in the room watched her push in her chair.
"Neville agrees, don't you?" Alice cooed, taking the young boy from his father. She lifted him high above her head, laughing with his squeaks of delight. Neville watched as his tiny arms waved around in his mum's face, begging her to never let him down.
"The both of you are mad," Frank laughed, leaning back in his chair. Alice lowered young Neville, much to his disappointment. She poised him on her hip, a broad grin across her face, "Do you love us anyway?"
Crash.
The sound hit Neville's ears seconds before he could hear his father's answer. Both he and his mother vanished before his eyes, the only thing he could see was his grandmother, crouched low and snatching up the pots that had fallen.
"You look dreadful, dear," His grandmother told him as she stood, frowning at the constant movement of his spoon. She dropped the pots onto the table top, picking up the one full of mush from the stove. Neville nearly sighed as he watched more tasteless food plopped into his bowl.
"There—eat up!" Neville's grandmother said cheerfully, turning her back from the teen.
Neville lifted the bowl as he stood, a bit sickened by the lack of movement by the thick mush, "I'm not hungry," Neville tapped the bottom of the bowl as the food slid into the black rubbish bin. He set the bowl in the sink, leaving the room seconds before is grandmother could scold him for not finishing.
"—then he tackled Remus and the two went flying into the lake. There was water everywhere," The room filled with laughter the minute Neville stepped into the living room. A black haired man who looked quite like someone he knew was talking, waving his arms wildly, and obviously telling the ending a great story.
"I had water in my trainers for ages," Sirius Black barked, gaining more giggles from both Lily and Alice that sat on the floor. Neville scanned the room, spotted a blanket next to his mum and Harry's with two infants banging on the ground with tiny fists.
Neville's eyes stayed fixed on himself and his future mate as he slipped into the seat between Remus and his father. He may have seen himself in pictures but how could he possibly imagine Harry Potter at age one? It seemed impossible.
Young Neville's hands pounded wildly, grazing Harry's plump cheek. There was all be a second when the green eyed boy was silent before a hair raising cry erupted. Every adult turned towards the kids, tears rolling down Harry's face. Neville stared at his friend before bursting into his own screams.
Before any of the parents could spring forward, Sirius snatched up the two boys. Bouncing them, Sirius stuck his tongue out at the two babies. He tapped their noses, tickled their toes and even spun them in circles. But nothing worked—they just kept screaming.
"Ooh Harry, Neville! Maybe if Mr. Prongs did a trick, you'd feel better!" Sirius grinned, moving towards his fellow Marauder, "What do you say Prongs? Will you do a trick for Neville and Harry?"
The tears stopped the minute a stag appeared before their eyes, bowing its head to the ground. Neville watched as Harry and he clapped their hands, eyes full of enjoyment.
If only it had lasted.
Neville sat outside a muggle shop, not far from St. Mungo's entrance. The wooden seat beneath him was uncomfortable and the perfumed smell of the boutique behind him irritating his nose. He knew his grandmother would be standing at one of the racks, allowing herself to be pulled into the salesmen's bargain.
In the distance, Neville spotted the tips of brightly colored rides of the local carnival. Above the rest of the rides stood a gigantic coaster, rolling forward as if the world was going to stop. Even from far away, Neville was sure he could hear the delighted laughter from those atop the ride.
"Don't be scared Neville, it'll be fun," Alice stated, looking over at her son. Neville smiled, looking quite green, "It's not that high, you know. Not nearly as high as a broom," she told him as they slowly moved up.
"Not nearly," He said, staring high above the ground. He felt his stomach drop as the buildings of London became the size of a childhood toy. Neville gripped the metal handle, barely noticing his mum's hands covering over them.
"Breathe, honey. Breathe and you'll be fine," Alice patted his hand as they reached the top, the cars teetering over the edge. Neville groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. Even the sound of his mother's voice wasn't helping.
"In and out, don't forget that. In and o—" Alice interrupted herself as they flew forward, a scream billowing from her as they sped towards the ground. Neville felt her hand tighten atop his as he let out his own frightened cry.
Neville bit his lip, once again sitting outside a door while his grandmother stood inside. Yet this time it was the last place he wanted to be. As much as he loved his parents, he'd much rather see them in his daydreams than on crisp white sheets.
He stared forward at the room across the way—he had been in that room once after getting the courage to ask a nurse why he was there. He had felt even worse to be in the hospital that day after seeing another like his parents. Ever since, Neville had steered clear of all the rooms along that particular floor.
The door next to him opened, his grandmother motioning for him to enter before leaving herself. Neville shut the door quietly, his hand lingering on the knob for a second. He stared at them, his father gazing at the ceiling and his mother asleep on the sheets.
Theses were his parents, the very same who had been laughing at James Potter only hours before. The very same who had talked of making life better for themselves. The very same who loved their baby boy, even if they didn't know who he was.
"Morning," He told his dad before slipping in the chair beside his bed. Each time he came, he would often just sit quietly, words failing him. Neville would watch his father, the same look never faltering as he never noticed his son.
He sighed, stood and shuffled over towards his mother. Neville stood next to her bed, gripping the bed rail, "We went to the fair, remember Mum? I was going mad yet you were so calm," Neville smiled softly, lifting one of her hands that rested against the white, "Not even your words kept me from nearly fainting,"
He placed her hand back onto the bed, rubbing the cold rail with his thumb, "Then we were plunging downward. Remember how you just screamed, more terrified than I ever was. If I hadn't thought we would die, it would've been the funniest thing ever," Neville paused, tapping his fingers on the rail,
Her chest rose and fell, a steady rhythm following with his own breaths. He stared at his mother's face, once again his, "I love you Mum," he ended in a whisper. Neville turned away, unable to bare standing there. But before he could reach the chair beside his father, a soft mumble came from his mum's bed.
"I love you too Neville," she whispered, turning slightly in her bed.
He stopped, staring over at the sleeping woman. Seconds passed before a single word could escape him.
"I know, Mum. I know." he answered, sinking into the chair with a wide smile across his face.