A/N: Just a bit of a theory I've had on Neville's future, but taken with probably quite a bit of AU. Not exactly a cheerful read.
And as always, none of these people belong to me. If they did, you'd be paying money to read this.
He'd never understand how he'd been made a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Yes, his parents had been. It was 'in his blood' as Lupin had put it. And sure, he'd assisted at the Ministry. And at Hogwarts.
But the fact remained that Neville Longbottom was nearly as bad as a squib when it came to magic. He was a fumbling, clumsy, and nervous wizard. Just the sight of Severus Snape gave him chills, and half the time, simple spells were out of his league.
When Harry had come to him with the proposal to join the Order, Neville had been stunned. He'd given about a dozen reasons why he wasn't the type. He knew about the Order, of course. Gran had told him time and again what an amazing auror his father was and how much supporting the Order of the Phoenix had meant to him. And he'd figured out about the Order reforming during the battle at the Department of Mysteries. But to be asked to join?
It had stunned him to the point of refusing the offer. Harry had seemed more than a little shocked. Apparently, turning down such an offer was unheard of. But they couldn't know what they were doing or they'd never have asked.
It was the support of his friends, though, that changed his mind. Ron had said, "Mate, it'll be good for you, get out a little, get some practise in." Hermione had, of course, taken the more practical approach. "Neville," she'd said in a very matter-of-fact tone, "you're one of the most skilled Herbologists we know. The Order needs potions, salves, the works!"
But it was Harry who'd made the final call. He'd looked into Neville's eyes and informed him, finally, of the prophecy. Told him how it could've been either of them about to face the Dark Lord. As he finished, he said three simple words that made Neville's choice obvious. "I need you."
Gran had been ecstatic. Finally, Neville was getting a chance to prove himself, to be like his parents. But he wasn't Frank or Alice Longbottom. He was Neville. And that's why he was sitting in his room in the Leaky Cauldron, contemplating whether or not he should even be there.
He had found another use for his beloved Mimbulus Mimbletonia. When blended with wormroot and bicorn hair, it had the ability to conceal the Dark Mark. The problem was, the Death Eaters had found out that fact first. They were using it to go through town unspotted. Neville's task was to figure out a way to uncover it. Without Snape around, he'd proven to actually be all right with simple potions, along with Hermione's help.
He'd had a theory. They were trying to learn a way to uncover the concealment. It would assist aurors in deciding who was doing You-Know-Who's bidding under the Imperius curse, and who was a bona fide Death Eater. The cream the Mimbulus made didn't come off with simple soap and water. They'd been using a reluctant Draco Malfoy, and an even less willing Snape as their testers. So far, all he'd managed to do was to turn Malfoy's arm purple, much to the Slytherin's dismay, and he'd burned Snape before the man had called him a careless idiot and accused him of doing it on purpose.
Snape had brewed a base potion, and Hermione had set up several cauldrons of it in Neville's room for testing. It was there that he was trying out several variations of the counter potion. According to Hermione's analysis of it, the Mimbulus was necessary, as was the bicorn hair. It was the additional ingredient that was confusing Neville. He'd been in his small room at the Leaky Cauldron, pouring over Herbology books for days. He left the room for meals, of course, and once, Luna had actually convinced him to take a walk around Diagon Alley. Aside from that, though, he was studying the properties of every plant, herb, and flower he could think of, trying to find what, exactly, would cause the opposite effect of the wormroot.
Seated cross-legged in the middle of his small bed, Neville poured over book after book. There were several small piles around him that he'd already read, and a growing pile on the floor of those still to read. Water plants seemed to be the right path, but he'd yet to be able to narrow it down to the right one. Some he didn't have in his collection, either, and he'd had to send Ron or Dean searching for them. Gillyweed was out, as were three different types of water lily. He'd finally gotten a hold of some seaweed, but that from the Atlantic Ocean didn't seem to be doing it. It had had a much more positive effect than most of the plants he'd tried, though, so Neville had put out a search for some from the other three oceans as well.
Sand had potential as well. It had the same calcium and salt content that the seaweed did with its own properties. So far no luck with it, though. The soil from the bottom of the Great Lake turned out to have magical properties of its own, but nothing that would help him with the particular mixture. Frustrated, Neville sighed and flipped through Properties of the Ocean for the eighth time.
He was so engrossed in reading about the sand deposits of the Red Sea that he didn't hear the shouts from the first floor. The angry, or in some cases, terrified voices bypassed him completely. The thundering footsteps on the stairs never even registered in his mind. It wasn't until the he heard a pounding on his bedroom door that Neville jumped. He went to mark his page, but Ginny's urgent voice jarred him to move faster. "Neville!" she shouted, still pounding. "Neville, please hurry up."
In his hurry to get off the bed and to the door, Neville tripped over a pile of books, landing face first on the ground. His head pounding as hard as Ginny's beating on the door, he scrambled to his feet and grabbed for the handle, still hunched over.
Ordinarily, Ginny was one who would show concern for his injuries. The look of horror registering on her face, however, had nothing to do with Neville's slight limp as he ushered her inside. She was wringing her hands together, inhaling and exhaling at a much faster pace than usually necessary. Neville watched her, concern flickering through his dark blue eyes. "Gin?" he asked hesitantly, as the sounds coming from below them began to register. "What's wrong? What's going on?"
Ginny choked back a sob, the sound resulting in a firm hiccough. "Neville, I'm so sorry," she whimpered, inhaling deeply. "There was nothing anyone could do. It was too late."
"Too..." He tilted his head, studying her quizzically. "Start from the beginning, because I'm not following you here. Too late for what?"
Sitting at the edge of the bed, she dropped her face into her hands, strands of red hair falling all around her. He could see her taking several long, steadying breaths. "There was an attack."
That wasn't really anything new. They were in the middle of a war, after all. "Who was there?" he asked, suddenly a bit more worried as he thought of the Order members who meant everything to him. "Did we lose anyone? Hestia? Diggle? Snape?" Merlin willing.
With a shake of her head, she brushed back the tears in her eyes violently. "That's just it," she protested. "It was so fast. None of the Order was there. Very few Aurors. They couldn't save them all."
"All of who," Neville insisted, by that point slightly frustrated.
"St. Mungo's."
The two words resounded between them. Neville blinked once. Then twice. Ginny's light brown eyes studied him carefully. He knew she was expecting a response of some sort, but he hardly knew what to say. An attack on a wizarding hospital? But who would've done it?
His hesitancy must have registered. "Neville, it was her," she told him. "Well, all of them, really. The...the Lestranges." Her voice shook over the name as many people's did over Voldemort's. Every muscle in his body went tense. She couldn't be saying what he thought she was. It still hadn't exactly clicked inside of his mind, but the sinking sensation of dread was beginning to build in his lower abdomen.
"What did they do?" he asked softly, so softly he could barely be heard over the yells of those sharing the small motel with him.
"A fight broke out," she began, attempting to keep her voice even. "The two men-Rodolphus and Rabastan-they began hexing and cursing everyone around them. There was only one Auror on duty, and by the time backup arrived, it was too late for most of them."
She didn't have to say anything else. Neville knew. He didn't know how he knew, exactly. He simply did. And, with a wavering voice, he whispered, "And Bel...Bellatrix?"
The tears Ginny had been fighting since she'd entered the room spilled over, and a strangled sob escaped. "I'm so sorry," she whimpered.
No. No, it couldn't be happening. Neville refused to see it for what she was saying. He'd make a visit to St. Mungo's, offer his condolences and any help he could give, then visit with his parents, as he did often now that he was living in London. They'd only just begun to recognise him. He knew they didn't realise he was their son yet, but his mum actually had greeted him cheerfully the last time he'd gone. Nothing was going to change that.
Nothing except the words Ginny choked out between her tears. "She was up the stairs before anyone could say anything. No one had even noticed she'd gone. She... They heard her saying she was going to finish what she'd started."
They were gone. Neville knew it as well as he knew his name was Neville Francis Longbottom. Only son of Frank and Alice Longbottom, skilled aurors who'd been tortured into insanity by Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan Lestrange, and Barty Crouch Jr. And they were gone. "Is there..." He couldn't finish his sentence, because the next thing he knew, his knees had gone weak and sunk beneath him. Ginny leapt to her feet, helping him over to the bed.
"I'm so sorry, Neville," she continued, wrapping her arms tightly around him. He barely even registered the touch. He was barely even aware of the noises downstairs diminishing, of his friends appearing in the doorway with their condolences one by one. It didn't even occur to him that he was sitting on Properties of the Atlantic Ocean. Gran had passed only months before. Now his parents--what had been left of them--were gone, too.
Despite all the caring, considerate people around him, Neville had never felt more alone in his life.