Title: Ways To Fill the Empty

Author: infamyxhurts

Rating: PG-13.

Characters: Neville Longbottom, Oliver Wood, Fred and George Weasley, Luna Lovegood.

Pairings: Neville/OC.

Warnings: Possibly triggering situations.

Summary: Very few things made Sam feel normal, like she had found where she belonged. Neville was always a safe place to her.

Author's Note: My first story on this account! Read and review, if you like this so far, and maybe want a little more. It's hugely appreciated.


At some point in my life, maybe during the hassle of moving, I decided the changes from here on in would be of my choosing. I'd make the decisions; I couldn't go back and mend the past by fixing the dents and fractures in my parents' relationship. But from then onwards no one else would be my compass.

Easier said than done at seven years old, when other people like to imagine they know better. My mother left for fear, and somehow still passed it off as the right decision, as though running away had become the brave thing to do. My father didn't fight hard enough to keep her, anyway. And my brother, he stayed. That was all I needed to know. Oliver stayed behind in Scotland and I was shuffled onto a plane for the first time in my life, leaving my home behind.

For a while I relished the little choices. Whether I'd have cereal or toast for breakfast; once that decision had been made it was about what would go on my toast, or what kind of cereal I'd have. I was the ruler of my own life. I spent two weeks after the move acclimating, finding a steady rhythm.

Eventually mum enrolled me in a muggle school and my independence quailed. I took instructions from teachers, attempted molding to the expectations of my peers, and did my homework every night. Rebelling earned me detentions and got me grounded, so it became simpler to be passive.

At home, though, I could still be queen. Mum spoiled me for a while, guilty for having uprooting me from my life and bringing me here, to a town called Enid—bloody Enid—in Oklahoma, where the other kids at school teased me for my accent, for the thick sound of Scotland on my tongue.

But the gifts and treats didn't last long after the first incident. My brother had been at Hogwarts when we left, a school for witches and wizards, people who were special and bright and capable. I knew that my father was magical, and that my mother wasn't, but up until it started I didn't think I had any of his magic.

The school claimed it was a freak accident and didn't put the blame on me. Toilets in the girl's bathrooms didn't often explode, at least not in such a spectacular manner. The seat rocketed off to imbed itself in the plaster of the ceiling and the cistern had been blasted into tiny bits. Mum knew I'd done it when she came to pick me up from the principal's office and saw my face.

I remember watching her lips purse until they turned white, the colour from the rest of her face then draining as she curtly thanked the principal and dragged me to the car. She was still scared, after all this time. Terrified of something that I loved so much. Magic.

It only got worse when mum met Derek Talley. He was a psychiatrist; middle-aged, still handsome despite the thinning blonde hair and frown lines. His word was law when he was at the house, and my mother stamped out any accidental bouts of magic as ruthlessly as possible. She began to defer to him in matters of disciplining me, and that was the moment when I realized I'd lost my freedom again.

Derek moved in a few months after he and my mother started dating, and a year later they were married. I lost all focus, unwilling to follow other people's demands but not able to make my own anymore.

I spent holidays with my father and brother, where I was encouraged to release my natural energy. My brother had a wand, but he couldn't use it for much away from school, though he did let me hold it a few times. It always felt warm in my hand, like an extension of my arm. Dad read me stories by Beedle the Bard and told me what Hogwarts was like; told me that I'd be a student there one day, though believing him was hard to do when I had to go home and find out all the things that had been coaxed to life had to be smothered again.

Enid became more uncomfortable as the days when past, ill fitting like a too tight sweater. I checked out when I could. My teachers noticed my listlessness as it intensified. I was nine and a half and dozing off in class, disengaged with the lessons, imagining going back to Scotland to hunt gnomes in the garden at home.

Derek had a solution, one he produced with a knowing smile and backed up by the weight of a degree hanging on the wall of his office. Mum kicked me into sessions with my step-father. He still didn't know about magic or Hogwarts or anything, and mum kept nagging at me to keep it under wraps. I said nothing to him during those hour sessions, where I had to sit in the sagging leather armchair and stare at him as he studied me in turn.

He'd scribble in a notepad almost continuously and his writing quickened every time I opened my mouth to say something. It took five of those occasions for him to come up with a diagnosis. Mum held my hand as we sat on the couch at home, waiting for him to announce it, her eyes fixed rapturously on her husband.

I didn't know what the hell was going on, but I didn't like it. I squirmed and wanted to get up and run, hide under my bed and pretend like I had Oliver's wand in my hand.

"Samantha, honey," Derek had started, and I'd bristled all over again at the infuriating pet name he'd picked up on. Only my dad called my honey; but dad had other names for me too, ones that he could fall back on when honey broke under Derek's heavy hand. "You have something called ADD. It's a disorder, but a treatable one. Attention Deficit Disorder." Derek looked at my mother with a wan smile. "There's medication to help her, Allison. I'll make sure she's taken care of."

Mum had burst into tears and stood up in a flurry to hug Derek, clinging to him as she cried. I sat alone on the couch, frowning, unsure what he meant. I didn't feel wrong or disorderly, and medication seemed like too much of an adult word.

They still forced Ritalin down my throat, regardless. I tried to fight them at first, spitting out the little pills, but Derek started to administer them himself each day, and it was harder to pry his hands off my jaw as he held my mouth closed so I'd swallow.

I slept a lot more on the pills, but never again at school. Still, I knew the feeling wasn't right. I took my dosage in the mornings and they smoothed all the edges, until the next morning when I'd wake up and feel jagged.

Things seemed to calm down for my mother. She stopped crying at random moments and took to holding my hand again, as we sat watching television in the evenings or while she helped me with my homework. Derek was the benevolent, ever-constant presence that hovered over me with medication and therapy. He let me see another psychiatrist, this one a woman. She was no less convinced about what my problem was, and after a handful of meetings with her she suggested I join some clubs at school to boost my relationships with the other students. Mum signed me up for all kinds of things; soccer, drama club, the mathletes, all of which I was terrible at. The other kids hated my contributions. I constantly tripped over the ball, I was too nervous to be any help during school productions, and maths was really not my strong point.

The other kids started to notice that I wasn't like them. I'd always known fitting in there was going to be difficult. I'd grown too tall too quickly, stretched out like someone had grabbed my ankles and then the hair on top of my head, and yanked. I had skin that never tanned, even in the summer. My face was long and my teeth were weird. And I had the magic. Maybe they could see it. Either way, they weren't my friends. I had no friends, save my brother, but he was four years older than me and bigger and people liked him better. Oliver was the golden boy; strong, athletic, and ambitious.

The year I started taking the pills, I didn't see him or my dad until it was Christmas, months later.

Dad came to pick me up a week before the twenty-fifth. Mum had given him explicit orders to come to the front door—apparating or Floo'ing was too risky around Derek, who was still clueless as to the existence of witches and wizards. I'd been waiting for the knock to sound all day and when it finally did, I ran to the door. Flinging it open, I launched myself at dad. He braced himself so he wouldn't stumble and caught me in his big arms, warm and comforting, the real deal. Not like Derek, who still called me honey but couldn't seem to look at me without it being an analysis.

"You've gotten bigger, Sammy!" dad exclaimed, his accent perfectly familiar, grunting as he stepped over the threshold and carried me back into the house. I just wanted him to turn around and take me away from there, but he seemed intent on setting me down in the foyer and holding me at arm's length to inspect me. "You're gonna be almost as tall as your brother, I think. Definitely taller than your mum."

"Jonah." Mum's cool voice met the two of us at that moment, as though drawn by her mention. I winced and looked at her with nervous eyes, dad straightening up and giving a slightly forced smile to his ex-wife. He still loved her, I knew, but she'd fallen for Derek and wouldn't be going back to dad.

Dad nodded. "Allison," he said, his eyes softening as they took in the woman's appearance. I used to think she was the most beautiful woman in the world, like she was a princess, but that was before everything. Dad still felt that way, I guess. "You look good."

Stiffening, mum cast a glance over her shoulder, reaching out when Derek came into the foyer. He hooked his arm around my mother's waist, bumping their hips together. Dad merely blinked and laid his hand on my shoulder with a gentle squeeze.

"You must be Jonah," Derek said politely, letting mum go to step forward and hold his hand out to dad. I peered up at my father, wondering what he'd do. I wanted him to roll his eyes and whisk me up into his arms, run away with me, but he merely took Derek's offered hand and gave it a brisk shake. "It's a pleasure to meet you, finally."

"Yeh, you too." Dad's smile was weak and slightly pained. He constricted Derek's hand in his palm for a moment before releasing him, the smaller man covering a flinch and tucking his hand behind his back. A silence passed where mum did nothing but press her fingers to her mouth and dad just looked between her and Derek. After a long wait, he grinned down at me. "Ready to go, bluebell?"

Beaming, I made to dart for the stairs. "I'll get my things!" I called, stomping up the stairs two at a time. In my bedroom I shrugged on my backpack and grabbed the handle of my suitcase, tugging it along cumbersomely behind me. I paused at the top of the stairs to adjust the straps of my backpack, inadvertently hearing a conversation that wasn't supposed to take place.

"Medication?" dad asked, confused and alarmed all of a sudden. "What medication? What for?"

"Oh..." Derek said slowly, his stupid nervous laugh coming out. "I thought you knew. I'm sorry, I assumed Allison had told you."

"Told me what?" demanded dad, his voice rising. I heard mum squeak in barely-concealed terror, and not for the first time I wanted to scowl. Dad wasn't scary. He was brave and wonderful and from a whole other world. Mum didn't understand that; she thought magic was dangerous. "Allison, what the blooming hell does he mean?"

"Jonah, please, you're yelling," mum said, stricken. Dad gave an angry scoff and without thinking about it, a grin leapt unbidden to my lips. This was what I wanted; fire, emotion. Mum was either sad or quiet, and Derek was too smiley. Dad was passion, and after months of being sluggish and slow, this made me feel alive.

"Yellin'?" dad said in an irritated tone of voice. "You've never heard me yell. Not once. What do you mean medication? Is my Sammy sick?"

"Your Sammy," mum said under her breath, derisively.

"Jonah," Derek began, "you do know I'm a psychiatrist, I suppose?" He paused a moment, probably for dad to give a grudging nod or maybe a shrug. I wasn't sure. I left my suitcase behind as I tried sneaking down the stairs, taking the descent one inch at a time until I could just see my dad's back and tensed shoulders. "Your daughter's a very bright girl, and I care very much for Samantha. Allison and I have been doing our best to help her through it, but she has a mental disorder. It's called attention deficit disorder. The medication she's on is specifically designed to help with her focus and keep her from getting distracted, especially at school. Learning is hard for her."

"No it ain't," dad snapped. "She doesn't need any blooming pills. Sammy's a smart kid. Allison, you know she is. She doesn't need any bloody help focusing."

"Don't fight this, Jonah," mum said, tired and strung out now. "She needs to take one pill every morning when she gets up. They're good for her."

"You've lost it," dad muttered darkly. "Blooming muggles. When're you gonna stop trying to fix things with chemicals?"

"Excuse me?" Derek sounded confused. I lowered my foot down to the next step, wanting to see the expression on his face, but my toes slipped off the carpeted edge of the step and I slid down to the one below it, gasping in surprise.

Dad whirled around and saw me, his face turning red as he understood I must've heard some of what they'd been saying. He still managed a grin. "Where's your stuff?" he asked, lifting a thick brow. I blushed and scrambled back up the stairs, grabbing my suitcase and pulling it down. I came to a stop in front of my dad, my eyes sliding sideways to look at mum and Derek.

Mum had her arms folded tight across her chest and Derek was frowning, rubbing my mum's back soothingly. When dad turned to him, gripping my suitcase handle, Derek held out a brown prescription bottle. Dad glared at it but swiped it from his hand, the Ritalin inside clattering around like a death rattle.