Set during OOTP the evening after Ron, Harry, and Hermione saw Neville visiting his parents in St. Mungo's.

GUM WRAPPERS

Neville wandered sullenly into his room at his Grandmother's house, his shoulders slumped and his eyes downcast. He looked longingly at his bed and in a few short steps he collapsed face down onto the quilted surface. He buried his head deep in the pillows willing the days events to vanish from his mind. I forget everything else so easily… why not this? For as long as he could remember Neville had always dreaded visiting his parents in St. Mungo's at Christmas. Not that he didn't want to see them, it is just that he knew they didn't care. It is easy for someone to love an idea, a memory of a person… but to love an empty shell that can neither recognize nor understand you can be so much harder. It's not fair, he thought pathetically rolling onto his back to stare blankly at the ceiling. Most other children get to go home to their families for Christmas, to receive hugs and kisses and tears of welcome. Neville could not remember, like most things, his mother or father ever hugging him… or even looking at him in the eye and understanding that he is their son.

The most that his Mother ever gave him was chewing gum wrappers. Hundreds and hundreds of gum wrappers and every time he visited her he received more. He could sit next to her bed for hours at a time, watching her eyes and lips move as it she were having a nonsensical conversation with herself in her own mind. She never acknowledged his presence until he made to leave. She would then saunter out of bed in a slow and deliberate daze and place a gum wrapper in his hand. If Gran were there she would start speaking to his Mum as if she were a toddler proudly presenting a handmade gift. However, his Mother never seemed pleased with herself when she gave him the wrappers. Though her mind was elsewhere there was something about her essence that was earnest and desperate. Neville had never left St. Mungo's without a fresh wrapper … and he saved every last one. Upon this reflection he realized that he was still holding the crumpled up piece of paper in his left hand. He inspected it carefully, turning it gingerly in his hands, trying to find something special or significant about it. Nothing… it's the same as all the rest.

With serious effort Neville managed to convince his body to comply with his brain and begrudgingly staggered around his bed to where his trunk was located and threw the wrapper carelessly on top of some spell books and spare parchment. He then pushed aside the books, the robes, and other magical trinkets to look, for the hundredth time, at the many wrappers that littered the bottom of the trunk. In his younger days, from what he could recall, Neville would carefully fold each wrapper and press them in books to keep the precious gifts from his Mother safe. He no longer thought them "precious" but rather an inconvenience and a reminder of her permanent insanity. The colorful, bright wrappers seemed to mock his downtrodden mood. His embarrassment in having his dearest friends... his only friends… discover his miserable secret was unmatched by any embarrassment he had ever felt. Though admittedly Neville was notoriously known for his tactless blunders, clumsiness, and infamous forgetfulness, Neville didn't care what "other people" thought about him, but the opinions of his friends mattered more than he could rationalize. He knew they would never laugh at him or think any less of him… it was their pity he feared. He didn't want to see "that look" in their eyes… the "poor Neville" look.

Every time something embarrassingly bad is about to happen, fate singles out Neville and makes a mockery of him. He has received the "poor Neville" look many times, beginning in first year when he lost his toad, his broom went out of control, and Malfoy stole his rememberall. Neville shifted around his trunk once more and recover the small glass orb. Once again, as always, the familiar red smoke filled the object reminding him of something he has forgotten. The smoke is always there and there is always something that he has forgotten… the password… an ingredient… a homework assignment… always something. Neville threw the glass sphere angrily back into his trunk and slammed the lid shut. Of course, Neville was never a violent person, and so the rememberall landed softly atop his robes and the lid barely made an audible sound as it collided with the bottom rim of the wooden chest.

Sadly, slowly, Neville crawled into his bed still fully clothed and tried to forget the day's events. My own Mother and Father can't remember me, and I can't remember much of them… but I still can't forget the look on Ron, Harry, and Hermione's faces today. Neville wished so much that his poor memory was selective so that he could forget all the unfavorable things that happened and hang on to all the good. He willed his mind to clear as well as it could, yet his attempt was fruitless as there was always that ever-present feeling that he has forgotten something important. It is the same feeling one would have when they are asked a person's name and they drawl a momentary blank. They know the answer is on the tip of their tongue, they know they have it, and yet the answer is lost in a mental dark void of momentary forgetfulness.

Neville's musings were cut short as his Gran called him down for tea. He slumped, once again, out of the comfort of his bed and down the houses old stairway to a lavishly, tacky, and overall poorly decorated living room. The entire house held the look of an old woman's hatbox, with flowers and feathers and beads covering every surface. Though there was something comforting in the cluttered décor, something entirely "Grandmotherly" that made him feel at home. He straitened up a bit as he entered the room where his Gran sat with a tray of tea between two moth-eaten armchairs by the fireplace. "Stand up strait boy, do not slouch. It makes a bad impression…" as she went on about appearances Neville straightened his spine and held his head up as much as he could for as low as he felt. Neville loved his Gran dearly, but that did not mean he always liked her much.

He sat down opposite her and sipped his tea. He listened to her ramble a bit, mumbling "yes Gran" and "no Gran" whenever he felt appropriate. She then inquired about his friends, especially about Harry. She seemed to thrive on the fact that Neville was on familiar terms with such a well-known wizard, even if he was the center of controversy. Neville gave her polite answers to her inquiries, going into detail only about quidich and schoolwork and never about anything personal. When this conversation died they finished their tea in a neutral silence, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. Neville gently place the teacup back on the saucer and was about to excuse himself when he heard a familiar crinkling sound. For the first time since the embarrassing incident at St. Mungo's Neville looked at his Grandmother's face and realized with a start that she had put a large piece of chewing gum in her mouth, which was now making an unattractive bulge on the side of her plump old cheek as she struggled to chew it. Neville had never known her to chew gum, and it looked a rather peculiar sight to see this proper woman, always prattling on about appearances with her mouth agape, cheeks puffed out, and making a slopping sound like a cow chewing grass.

"Uh, Gran? W-when did you start chewing gum?" Neville asked tentatively.

Though her mouth was occupied her eyes lit up with an odd sort of mirth that he had not seen in a long time.

"Oh, my boy, haven't you seen the profit today?" she said between chews.

There was a juiciness to her words due to the large amount of saliva it was taking to break down the gum. Neville found himself leaning away from her in fear of being accidentally spit on.

"Yes, yes it is all right here… lets see now… page seven I believe…" she muttered with a full mouth while flipping through the profit. "Half rubbish this paper nowadays really… however this seems a useful tip. I cannot believe I failed to mention it to you. I wish this was out years ago… it might have helped you with your schooling." Neville curiously took the paper, scanning through the headlines on page seven… and there it was in the bottom corner of the page in slightly bold print:

MUGGLE THEORY PROVES TRUE

CHEWING GUM IMPROVES MEMORY

This much debated theory has proved true in the wizarding world as well as the muggle world according to a recent study conducted by….

Neville didn't care to read the rest. He looked up eagerly at his Grandmother.

"Gran? Do you think mum knows this? Is that why she chews so much gum?"

Neville's heart was pounding in his chest. Perhaps his Mum knew she was insane… maybe she was trying to make herself better… maybe she was trying to remember him…

"Oh no no dear boy. Your mother never chews gum. The healers will not allow it… they are afraid she may choke. Your poor mother hasn't the sense to know what to do with it other than unwrap it… though she has been known to throw a fit if she does not have a fresh stock with her at all times. I imaging she likes the pretty colors… and of coarse she likes giving you her little gifts…" An unsettling smile crept onto his Gran's face, the same berating smile one would give to humor a child. The familiar dislike for his Grandmother returned full force, though he managed to politely ask to return to his room.

He eagerly walked up the stairs and walked briskly to the edge of his bed where his trunk rested. He opened the lid and pushed aside the "junk" once more to look at the numerous gum wrappers. He no longer looked at the tokens with contempt… but with understanding. He tried to rationalize his enthusiasm… to suppress his newfound idea as impossible but he simply couldn't. Suddenly Neville was filled with a comprehensive determination… Mum… she wants me to… she NEEDS me to remember something… something I've forgotten… something important…