Disclaimer: It's pretty much a given that I don't own HP, right?
A/N: Wow, it's been a while since I've written and posted a fic in this fandom. It's nice to be doing so again! ..But anyway. Three things to mention here. Firstly, this is based on both the books and the films, but mainly the former.. Secondly: it'd be best if I reminded you that Neville nearly drowned when he 'fell' off Blackpool pier when he was young.. And finally.. Neville is awesome (obviously, but why not say it again?). :D
Outreach
What good was he?
No, really. He had never felt good enough.. Never been good enough. How could he be? From day one, it had always been the same. He'd not done this, he'd not done that. Clanging and clashing and falling and breaking everything, failure here - worthless there-
"Clumsy since the day you were born, child..!"
He hadn't been able to do anything. Nothing at all. Or very little - and very little just wasn't good enough, was it? Why would it be? Very little didn't get you anywhere. Very little didn't make you decent, didn't make you good, certainly didn't make you extraordinary-
"Your father was..-"
(Forgive me father)
"Alice was always so-"
(I'm sorry mother)
Beside them, he didn't even get a look in. Why would he? What was there to look at? Bruises and scrapes and burns and shattered bones one pain after another- Another trip another fall Neville you're so clumsy...-
Falling...
...Falling...
SPLASH he's choking, choking engulfed splutter splutter struggle flail
Tick-tock-tick-tock struggle-struggle struggle no please-
"-Please, not him NO I WON'T LET YOU NEAR MY S-"
He was dying.
He couldn't last much longer
"Amazing they lasted so long"
Neville, Neville what happened this time-
"Unlucky he couldn't swim."
Unlucky..
..Unlucky. Neville had always hated his luck.
Sometimes. When he got sick of hating himself. Because that was the real problem, wasn't it? Luck only got you so far anyway, and when it all went wrong there was only one person to blame-
-One person that everybody blamed, and.. why not?
He'd been so relieved when he had finally performed magic. Finally. Finally someone likes me, everything is going to change! After all they were in Gryffindor, that must mean something.
Father's wand in his pocket and the lion on his chest, it had given him hope.
More hope than he'd had for an age.
(Yes...)
..He really had hoped.
And tried. Honestly. But he still wasn't good enough, of course - low marks and failure and blowing up and burns and bruises and
Failure after failure...
He always forgot. He always messed up.
Worthless.
"NOTHING BUT SHAME TO OUR HOUSE--"
Again.
"-WHAT WOULD YOUR PARENTS-"
..Think..? How could they think? Their brains were GONE- no SANITY - nothing was left, nothing was there.. Just like you they thought noth-
...No. There was something. A glimmer, a ghost within the ghost, but in those split-seconds that he spotted it it was the realest, truest thing he had ever seen.
He kept the Droobles wrappers. Every single one.
They were something.
However.. Don't get him wrong, he knew. His parents..
They were beyond his reach now. Where they resided, he could not follow.
That was one thing he hated even more than his luck most of the time, but it was also the one thing in his life that he would not apologise for.
He was proud.
They were extraordinary. Even if he felt powerless beside them.
...
MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN
...Those words.
What they meant- Well.
He felt..
However unlucky he was most of the time..
Falling... Again..-
He'd take all the bad luck in the world, over that.
Not that.
(Lestrange, Rodolphus)
Not.
(Lestrange, Rabastan..)
That.
(Lestrange... Bellatrix.)
Oh, Merlin. What was he going to do? Hah, no - what could he do? He was the one always failing, he was the one forgetting and stumbling and clumsy and
He wasn't good enough...
He just.. wasn't good enough! What the hell was he-?
A terrifying moment. Heartbeats separating each space, drawing him deeper. Deeper. Down...
-Click.
...In a fraction of that pause, it had simply happened.
A.. Decision.
No.
It only took that word to sum it up.
'No'. It was true, there was a pit at the bottom of his stomach- or perhaps it was the void within his heart... Either way. He suddenly felt a strange power from within that darkness.
No..
It didn't matter. It did not matter, none of it. None of his concerns and his failures and..-
So what if he wasn't good enough? He just had to get better. Who cared about luck? Yes. He could manage without it anyway. He would manage.
He would. Because that was what he had to do. They were out there and they were going to ruin so many lives...
"-Never stood a chance-"
Well.
"-It was too late by the time they got there-"
Not if he had anything to do about it.
There was no choice. He had to get better; he had to do his best, he had to fight â€" despite the odds and the luck and the bruises, broken bones and burns..
For Hogwarts.
For his friends.
For everything he held dear.
(I'm sorry Father, I broke your wand- no, he broke your wand.. Forgive me. But I swore. I've sworn now - Not again. Not.. again. I'll make you proud; I'll make you both proud.. That's a promise.)
And years passed, difficult and terrible and people died and writhed in agony- So many broken bones and ugly bruises and scars and torture, but he was standing up. No matter what they chucked at him, he refused to be broken.
He had been injuring himself in accident upon accident since practically the day he was born, so.. What was new?
Even standing before Voldemort and the army of cronies behind him, even with all hope snuffed out at the sight of the 'Boy-Who-Lived'; ally and friend most certainly dead (beyond their reach) in Hagrid's arms..
(And the screaming was always so terrible-)
"You show spirit and bravery, and you come of noble stock. You will make a very valuable Death Eater. We need your kind, Neville Longbottom."
..No matter what that bag of slime said to him..
He knew what was important. And he was never going to stop fighting for it. Harry or.. no Harry..
Voldemort was going down.
Neville knew - he had a task to do, and he was going to complete it regardless. He was a Longbottom, after all. He was a member of Dumbledore's Army!
Bruises and scars and blood dripping unnoticed down the side of his head.. he was motionless-
(But not through fear, not any more..)
Let him burn. The lion in his heart roared..-
-And its prey was that snake.