Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or canonical story details. Only original characters are my creation. This story is not for financial profit.
A/N: This story is probably slightly AU in terms of abiding by the epilogue of the seventh book. However, nothing should be too out of character or far from canon. Also, I'm going to try pretty hard not to let it be obvious that this was written by an American, so if you see any glaring issues with sticking to British language or customs, please let me know in a review or message.
Chapter 1:
'Why did I do this to myself?'
Neville sighed and sank onto his too-small childhood bed as he tossed a freshly starched shirt into his open suitcase.
After three years at his job, he had finally managed to get comfortable with it. Sure, he was good enough at defensive spells to be an Auror, but he only took the position because Kingsley Shacklebolt was desperate for new people after the war. Being an Auror and working alongside heroes like Harry Potter was exciting, but it certainly was not his cup of tea to spend each day in such a high risk, constantly changing environment. However, in spite of how much the job rattled his nerves, it had become his whole life, and he had eventually gotten used to it.
'And now you've gone and muddled things up for yourself! Good job, you stupid dolt!'
"Are you finished packing yet?" Neville's grandmother called from a distant place in the house.
He tried not to let his worries sneak into his tone as he replied, "Not yet, Gran. Still working out what I think I'll need."
"Well, you couldn't need much!" Her voice was gradually becoming louder as she approached his room, "You're only going to be teaching, after all. And you can floo home whenever you need if you've forgot something."
He looked up from his half-empty suitcase as she stepped through the doorway. Her fists were resting on her hips as casually as Mrs. Longbottom ever allowed her demeanor to be, and he felt like a child again, packing for Hogwarts and terrified of the unknown journey that lay ahead.
He broke eye contact and responded distractedly, "I suppose so. Perhaps all I need is some clothes and a few herbology books. Thanks, Gran."
Mrs. Longbottom glanced into her grandson's suitcase at the practical robes and semi-casual clothing that he had bought three years ago when he was first hired as an Auror. She thought she even spotted a few shirts and sweaters from his most recent years at Hogwarts.
Her lips pursed at the state of his clothes, and she reprimanded his apparent oversight, "These garments are unacceptable for a man of your position. You're going to be a professor, for Merlin's sake. We have no idea if you'll be any good, so you need to at least look the part."
She ignored the further dropping of his expression and reached for a small coin purse that was tucked into the lining of her skirt. Waving off his silent protests, she insisted, "Let me help you start off on the right foot. Consider it my gift… but keep your choices stylish and sophisticated as much as possible."
Neville stared intently at his own knee—rather than his grandmother's fox-fur scarf or stuffed vulture hat—and managed to keep a blank face in spite of the irony of her command.
"Thank you, Gran," he said as he reluctantly took the galleons she offered.
...
"Diagon Alley!"
Neville pressed his elbows close to his body, just like his grandfather had taught him to do as a young boy, and he stepped into the emerald flames blazing below the mantle in the Longbottom family's den. Fireplaces of all shapes and sizes whizzed past him, and only a moment later, he stumbled into the Leaky Cauldron, narrowly avoiding a collision with a passerby. He stuttered an apology to Hannah Abbott, the new landlady of the establishment, for startling her and for the near-injury incident he caused.
Then, in his attempt to avoid a lengthy conversation with his old acquaintance, he said his "how-do-you-dos," "oh-I'm-fines," and "goodbyes" before quickly making his way into the main thoroughfare.
Neville walked a few meters down the path until he reached Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Robes would come first, he decided, and he would hunt down some slacks and dress shirts afterward.
One of Madam Malkin's assistants promptly set him up on a pedestal between a lanky, freckled girl who was getting her first set of school robes and a heavyset young woman with an amiable smile. As the assistant slipped a robe over his shoulders, he tried not to think about the needle that would soon be magically hemming his robe with minimal seamstress supervision. He could handle the Dark Lord, vicious giant snakes, or Venomous Tentacula any day of the week, but he firmly believed that needles required constant vigilance.
The seamstress's assistant fluidly waved his wand to take Neville's measurements, and then he casually flicked the tip of his wand to begin the needle's work before he wandered away to help another customer. The former Auror felt his breath quicken and his muscles tense at the proximity of the irrationally feared object. The needle began at the bottom of the robe, but Neville did not dare to look down for fear that it would move the robe and make the needle stab him to death.
'Stab me to death? Really? Get a grip, Neville. There's nothing to be worried about… except the pain and blood that would come with being stabbed with a sharp object.'
Neville took a deep breath and reminded himself that while there might be pain and blood, it was the sort that came from a needle pricking, not a sword stabbing. The reminder did not ease his nerves much.
The needle, oblivious to the young man's anxiety, continued its work just out of his line of vision. His whole body tensed, and his knees locked up. His legs fairly quickly started tingling, and he shifted his position slightly to ease the sensation. Unfortunately, when he shifted, he inadvertently made himself quite aware of the fact that the pedestal was not attached to the floor.
Neville's pedestal tilted and toppled him over just as Madam Malkin was passing by with a vial of bright purple fabric dye. He fell at such an angle that Madam Malkin stumbled toward the young woman standing on the pedestal to his left. The seamstress managed to catch her balance deftly enough to avoid knocking the other woman over, but she did not stabilize herself well enough to avoid tossing the purple dye into her customer's long blonde hair.
Neville gripped his hair in frustration, and simultaneous apologies and absolutions erupted among those involved in the incident.
"Oh, I'm very sorry, dear—"
"I… am… so—"
"It's alright, really—"
"so… sorry…"
"—your hair, oh no—"
"It's fine, don't worry about—"
"Madam Malkin, I'm so sorry for—"
"—quite alright—"
The frazzled young man turned to Madam Malkin and pleaded, "Do you know a spell that can—" he briefly turned to the woman with the large purple streak of hair framing the right side of her face, "—again, ma'am, I am so incredibly sorry—" he frantically turned back toward the seamstress, "—that can remove the dye?"
Madam Malkin sighed with remorse, "Unfortunately, I don't think so. The dye is meant to be permanent on fabrics, and it can only be altered by covering it with another permanent fabric dye," she turned toward the young lady and seemed relieved that she did not seem overly upset, "So if you'd like another color, I can arrange that for you, but it looks like you're going to have nearly three feet of brightly colored hair draped over your shoulder for several years to come. You have my sincerest apologies, dear."
Before the purple-haired woman could respond, Neville interjected, "No, no, no, it's entirely my fault. I am so sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am."
Madam Malkin gave him a motherly smile with more than a hint of pity and placed her hand on his shoulder before speaking to her other customer, "You really have no idea how sorry he is. Mr. Longbottom is a very genuine boy, and I'm sure he would give anything to make this so that it hadn't happened at all."
The young woman pulled a strand of purple hair into her own vision and laughed happily, "It's totally fine! You know, I've been wanting to do something fun with my hair for a while now. We could all use a little more color in our lives anyway!"
Neville immediately realized that she had actually been chuckling to herself during the entire incident. When she saw him furrow his brow at her reaction, she laughed loudly, not at the humor of anything, but as an expression of the sheer exuberance that she emanated. She was certainly rolling with the punches among all the chaos, and he truly appreciated both her attitude and the presence she brought to the situation.
Of course, her laid-back attitude and Madam Malkin's motherly assurance only helped a little. In spite of their positivity, he absolutely could not wait to finish having his robes tailored so he could move on to a new shop and pretend like he had never made a mistake in his life.
Alas, Neville Longbottom was still desperately, painfully nervous.