A/N: I kind of have a thing for Neville, for many reasons. 1.) He's really sweet/timid/humble in the books. 2.) He turns out really badass in HPDH. 3.) He (Matthew Lewis) turns out pretty attractive in the movies. So here's my first Neville fic. Enjoy!
Neville Longbottom woke shivering, drenched in sweat. He gasped for air, panting, a tight, suffocating feeling in his chest. He stared up at the whitewashed ceiling, the shadows making the night feel even more ominous.
He coughed, struggling to catch his breath. His wife, Hannah, stirred beside him, but she didn't wake. Not wanting to disturb her any farther and unable to get the images that haunted him out of his head, Neville went to his one solace in his house.
It was the Christmas holidays and therefore Neville was off work for the week. However, it meant there were more guests in the Leaky Cauldron than usual. He got out of bed as quietly as he could, wincing as the floor creaked underneath him, and slipped out into the hall. He didn't worry as much about disturbing the other guests as much as Hannah. Ever since the news had come about the baby, her hormones had been very keen on making his life miserable.
His only haven in the inn was his office, a small room with a single desk, a chair, and bookshelf. Walking as softly as he could downstairs, he slipped past the barman's door and into his own. He felt the chill of December, gooseflesh rising on his neck. He shivered as he closed the door silently behind him and quickly he made to stoking a fire in the hearth. At last he sat down in his chair and moved to the pile of papers on his desk. Most were things for work, a few were bills. He stared down at the file on top and hesitantly opened it.
WANTED
Walter Travers
Contact Auror Department Upon Sighting
Sitting down, his heart no longer rapidly beating, Neville could breathe and think. Underneath the description was a grainy photograph of the Death Eater, his eyes glaring malevolently upwards at him. Neville picked the file up and moved it to the other side of his desk, not wanting to be haunted by work at home as well.
Underneath was no better. It was a letter sent from Professor McGonagall. Sighing, he opened it.
Mr. Neville Longbottom,
It has come to my attention that Madame Pomona Sprout is retiring from her post as Herbology professor at the end of term, and who can dare blame her? She has taught over thirty years and witnessed the war, and should get some well-deserved time off. She personally asked for you to take over as the next Herbology professor, but both of us-she and I-understand if you are reluctant. We give Hannah and you our best regards and congratulations concerning the baby.
Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Neville sighed again, staring at the letter. He hadn't yet told Hannah about the letter-and why would he? He had a good job, a job he needed, and a career alongside his mates from school. Harry and Ron were perfectly content at the Auror department. They loved their jobs. It was easy for them. They were good at playing hero, good at answering questions. Neville, on the other hand, felt completely shoddy in comparison. But then again, Harry and Ginny were married but didn't have kids yet. Even though Ron and Hermione had gone through a miscarriage, they had a stable financial situation. Not Neville and Hannah. Their unborn daughter was completely unplanned and they could barely afford her.
He knew, of course, what Hannah would tell him. Go and teach, if you'd like. I know you'd love it. But there were bills to pay, and they were barely getting by, and there was an unplanned baby on the way. And on top of that, Neville loved Hannah. And Hannah loved Neville. And he already loved his child, the one who wouldn't be born for another two months. And he couldn't bear to be away for more than a few days. Teaching at Hogwarts could call him away for months at a time.
He shook his head, not wanting to carry any more stress on his shoulders. His hand still trembled from his night terror as he moved the letter aside. Once, he might've thought the dreams were just that-dreams, unconnected and the invention of an idle mind. But he knew his mind was sharper than flint. Perhaps not book smart like Hermione, but he was observant. He knew that these dreams were never going to end, and he feared that one day he would hurt Hannah in a haze of red and terror.
He shook his head and began to organize the papers on his table. He left the folder on Travers on top before filing the rest. Sitting down, Neville rubbed his temples, trying to ease the headache throbbing behind his eyes. It was stupid for him to think that he was still in the War. Even so, he could see the bitch who destroyed his life, heard her insane laughter ring in his ears as Sirius Black fell through the veil, as he picked up Tonk's limp body, as Ginny stepped to avoid her Killing Curse.
Neville closed his eyes for a long moment, reliving the horrors before shaking himself and bringing himself back to his senses. He opened the folder and skimmed the Wanted photograph before flipping the page over. This was the most tedious part of his job. He, Ron, Harry, Hestia Jones, and Dawlish had just been assigned a new case on finding Travers, who had survived the War and fled to wherever it was that he deemed safe. Lucius Malfoy, who had just gotten out of Azkaban, swore up and down that he had no idea where he was, and Draco and Narcissa seemed just as bewildered. All the remaining Death Eaters in Azkaban were unwilling to tell.
Walter Travers is a known Death Eater (see Draco Malfoy's testimony to the Wizengamot) wanted for the murder of Susan Bones, plotting against the Ministry and the Bones family, the use of Unforgivable Curses, and being a Death Eater. Travers's whereabouts are unknown, and it is suspected and rumored he is in hiding in London.
The literature that goes along with every case is always dull. Neville sees the words blur in front of him, and he knows he should rest. His eyelids grow heavy and at last he relents, leans back in his chair, and allowing darkness to swamp him.
Immediately he is swept into another room, a very large and spacious one full of students staring. He is in Hogwarts again. Alecto Carrow glares at him as he stands in front of her, and Snape watched idly. McGonagall stares at Alecto with more hatred than Neville had ever seen her have.
"You broke some rules, Longbottom," Carrow growls, her lip curled back in a sneer.
"Practicing Charms? That's illegal now?" he shoots back.
"Crucio!"
He hears students behind him gasp, and he feels fire erupt along his spine and run through his veins. He bones seem to dissolve into powder. His legs buckle beneath him, and he falls to the hard stone floor.
"That's enough!" Flitwick breaks in sharply, standing, although this didn't do much to support his argument. "I'll handle this, Alecto. Detention in my office, Longbottom."
Neville feels numb as the pain subsides. Fully conscious of everyone watching, Flitwick helps him up. He meets Draco's eyes across the hall. The look of horror on his face is unmistakable, but quickly he diverts his eyes to his plate. Seamus meets Neville's eyes for a moment before fixing the Carrows with a look of undisguised fury.
"In my office, Longbottom," Flitwick says briskly, supporting him.
Once they were outside of the Great Hall, Flitwick sighs. "Good. Are you okay, Neville?"
"No," he gasps, holding his side.
"Neville, we don't have much time," Flitwick says rushingly. "You know Michael Corner?"
At mention of the name his face grew ashen. Of course Neville knew Michael Corner. He'd been killed by the Carrows after the DA tried to rescue him. "What about him?" he asked hoarsely, wondering why Flitwick was bringing this up now.
"He's living in the Room of Requirement."
"He's alive?" Neville stumbled up the stairs in shock.
"Very much so. Minerva got him there after the Carrows had the Slytherins practice Sectumsempra. Neville, I can't help you there, but you know where it is?"
"Yes."
"Good. I'll try to come by later and bring you whatever it is you need. Stay safe, and careful, Neville."
The dream wasn't as violent as some of the others that had haunted Neville before. Other nights he would see Colin Creevey die over and over and over again. The one that had woken him earlier had featured Killing Curses coming from his own wand and striking the enemy, the ones falling had been his fault, so much hatred built up in his soul, more than enough to build a Horcrux. Neville still shook when he thought about his rage that night. It was that day that he decided to become an Auror.
Barely shaking himself awake and out of the dream, he pushed himself away from the desk. His job as an Auror was splitting him open emotionally. He didn't want to have to kill anymore. He hated it.
He flinched at the sound of a door slamming. It sounded close, inside the Leaky Cauldron, at an ungodly hour like this...
He stumbled as a scream echoed throughout the building. Hannah! He raised his wand warily and cracked the door of his office open. "Hannah?" he called softly.
A jet of green light shot at him, and he barely managed to summon a Shielding Charm. "Who is it?" he demanded loudly. Everyone was probably awake now, if the scream hadn't jolted them from their sleep at first.
A ghastly face leered out of the shadows at him. The skin was churning, the eyes bulging. Neville could recognize a face under the influence of Polyjuice Potion, and it looked as if the effects were wearing well off of whoever this was. Neville holds his wand steady and dodges aside as another spell shot through the dark at him.
"Who are you?" he bellows.
The effects of the Polyjuice Potion were well gone now, and he recognizes the face with an icy shudder. It is the face from the file. It is Walter Travers.
"What are you doing here?" Neville yells. Where is Hannah? Is Hannah okay? He needs to see Hannah...
"Crucio!"
A wave of pain shot through him, and he falls, legs buckling underneath him. His vision blurs. His mind is numb of everything but pain. He cannot even think of Hannah and the baby. He can only think of pain.
"Where is my wife?"
Travers jeers at him, but Neville can't make out the words he says, for it hurts too much. He falls onto the ground, his knees buckling underneath him, his chest heaving as he gasps for air, his lungs filling with blood. Travers is now upon him, wand ready, and Neville is going to go out like his parents, he is going to go insane from the hurting, he wish he could die before this...
"Neville! Neville!"
Hands shake him awake, and he strikes out at the thing nearest to him-a dusty lamp on his nightstand. It shatters, and he feels the glass cut his hand, but he doesn't care. He is sweating, his hands trembling.
"Are you okay, Neville?" Hannah whispers.
"I'm fine," he says, but his voice shakes. Neville stares at her and feels a rush of protectiveness towards her and their unborn child.
"It was just a nightmare," he manages. It's time for a new day. Maybe the next will begun brighter.
This reminds me so much of Inception and for that I apologize, there are waaaay too many dreams in this and this is far from my best work, but please review!