Author's Note: This is my first Harry Potter fanfic, although I have another one coming soon. After Deathly Hallows I started obsessing over everything Harry Potter so I figured I might as well write for it. Plus I love this song, Proud of your Boy. I was gonna originally do this song centered on Harry but I decided it fit Neville better.
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry and Friends, Alan Menkin and his buddies at Disney who helped make Aladdin own the song Proud of Your Boy.
He watched as parents flooded the Great Hall soon after the battle's end, the demolished room filling with happiness, tears, embraces, relief, and in some cases, grief.
Each one had their separate world, separate family, and no one had a care in the world for anyone outside their little bubble. He dazedly sunk back against one of the still-standing walls and fell into a sitting position, watching but not seeing, listening but not hearing.
He thought of his parents at St. Mungo and wondered – doubted – if they knew or cared. The war was over, and he, Neville Longbottom, had played his part by killing the snake, but the next time he saw them he would be greeted with nothing more than the same wide-eyed looks of terror and perhaps another Drooble's Best Blowing Gum wrapper from his mum.
Neville supposed Gran might show up soon, and he should probably keep an eye out. Finally he brought himself out of his thoughts and as he did, he heard nearby a tearful Mrs. Weasley telling all her children.
"I'm proud of you."
Proud of your boy,
I'll make you proud of your boy,
Believe me, bad as I've been, Ma,
You're in for a pleasant surprise.
He remembered the only time he reckoned his Gran had been proud of him, and that was after the incident in the Department of Mysteries at the end of his 5th year. She hadn't said it, of course, that wasn't the way Gran worked, he didn't think she had ever told him she loved him, or anything of the sort, but by the way she bragged about it, he knew, and it made him happier than he could have ever dreamed of being.
During his years at school, he knew he had never had much to pride in. His grades in many classes were sub-par, he had no talent on the Quidditch Pitch, and Merlin knows he wasn't popular.
Though he never, never, never would have voiced this, sometimes he felt a little bit glad that his parents didn't have to witness their disappointment of a son.
But now he wondered…
I've wasted time,
I've wasted me,
So say I'm slow for my age,
A late bloomer, Okay, I agree,
That I've been one rotten kid,
Some son, some pride and some joy,
But I'll get over these lousin' up,
Messin' up, screwin' up times.
He had done as Harry had told him. Killed the snake. Helped vanquish You-Know-Who…No, Voldemort (What was the point in fear now that he was dead and gone?).
But they had escaped him three times over. He would never achieve that, never be as good as Frank and Alice Longbottom, Aurors, loved by all. He had his chance to be a hero, and he knew it wasn't who he was. He would never be surrounded by gracious admirers like Harry was at that moment.
He couldn't help feeling a little bit resentful of Harry which he knew was incredibly stupid considering his friend had just saved the fate of the entire Wizarding world. But all the same, he knew no one was going to make a big deal about Neville Longbottom risking his life to kill a snake (Which, to most of them, didn't seem that important. Neville himself didn't yet know the full story of why it had needed to be done) when Harry Potter had willingly stood before Death to save them all.
He saw something glinting red in the dust of the debris that was scattered throughout the Great Hall. He reached over and picked it up, and saw that it was a small ruby, having, as he now realized, escaped from the now-broken Gryffindor hourglass on the other side of the hall. He wondered how it had traveled all that way.
As he turned the small stone over in his hand, he realized that maybe his chance for glory wasn't over. He had proved that he could be a true Gryffindor, and as he looked back, it wasn't the first time. He remembered back to his first year.
"It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom."
Funny how that simple act had made him more of a hero then than he was now. But the little ruby he now slipped into the pocket of his tattered robe was a reminder that it wasn't too late to earn some worth.
You'll see, Ma, now comes the better part,
Someone's gonna make good,
Cross his stupid heart,
Make good and finally make you,
Proud of your boy,
It was over, the war was over, and he didn't know where to go from there. For the past year, all he could imagine was dedicating his life to the fight against evil as he reinstated the DA, defied the Death Eaters, got tortured by his fellow students, and was very nearly forced to do the same to them.
An involuntary shudder ran down his spine at the memory. In the evenings and on weekends screams could be heard throughout the castle from those serving their detentions. He never got used to the horrible cold feeling it had given him, and more than once it had made him physically sick to walk past an open classroom door and see one of his friends writhing on the ground in pain, under the Cruciatus curse from a fellow classmate or a teacher. He had nightmares about people coming away from those detentions, pale-faced, white-haired, terror-struck, and insane just like his mum and dad. Some of the younger students had been traumatized beyond belief, sticking close to older friends or siblings, rarely speaking, rarely blinking, as if one of the Carrows would jump out and curse them if they let their guard down.
Neville knew he would have rather been tortured into insanity himself than inflict that pain and fear into anyone else.
Despite his first six years loserdom at Hogwarts, wasn't that mindset something to be proud of?
Tell me that I've been a louse and loafer,
You won't get a fight here, no ma'am,
Say I'm a goldbrick, a goof-off, no good,
But that couldn't be all that I am.
"Hello, Neville."
He didn't even have to turn and look to recognize the airy voice of Luna Lovegood sliding down beside him. He turned anyways, and gave his friend a weak smile.
"Is your grandmother not here yet?" Luna asked, and both pairs of eyes swept the Great Hall. He shook his head.
"She must not have heard. What about your dad? Is he out of Azkaban yet?"
"I just got word from him, some of the Order members are setting up a portkey to take away all the prisoners because you can't apparate to or from Azkaban, obviously," Luna replied, "He says he'll be here soon if he makes it out past the Eleven-Finned Weffglers in the waters around the prison, they're not very keen on the prisoners leaving."
Neville found himself suppressing a smile.
"He's so happy the war is over, and that I'm okay, and he's very proud of me."
Proud. That word again. He no longer felt like smiling. Luna was one of the few people who he had confided in about his parents' state of mind. He stared at his shoes and sighed.
"Luna, D'you think…?" But before he could finish, Luna realized what he was asking.
"I'm certain your parents would be proud of you, too," She answered his question, "I know my mum is proud of me."
"But I'm still just untalented, uncoordinated Neville, that hasn't changed!" He said fervently.
"Hasn't it?" Luna asked, "What you did was even braver than when Ferevus Belgmer saved that Muggle school from an invasion of Ungubular Slashkilters! And just like Belgmer, not everyone is realizing that what you did really mattered."
Despite her usual nonsense, Neville understood what she was saying.
Water flows under the bridge,
Let it pass, let it go,
There's no good reason that you should believe me,
Not yet, I know, but,
Someday and soon,
I'll make you proud of your boy,
Though I can't make myself taller,
Or smarter or handsome or wise.
"You really think so?" He asked her softly.
"And I'm not the only one," Luna told him matter-of-factly, "Harry has been telling everyone that he couldn't have done it without you killing that snake."
Neville felt his chest swell with happiness, and suddenly he was very eager to join in with the post-war celebration. He stood up, and Luna followed suit.
"Thank you, Luna," Neville said sincerely. He did not need to tell her what for. Her slight smile as her wide gray-blue eyes met his brown ones told him she knew. He felt himself almost blushing under her intense gaze.
"Thank you, Neville, for helping save the world from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," Luna replied.
"'Save the world'? Well, when you put it like that…"He did not get to finish. He heard a voice screeching his name, and he turned to see his grandmother running towards him. She threw her arms around him and pulled him into a hug. His body tensed under her grasp at first, then relaxed after a moment. He could never remember her being this affectionate. She definitely had not been the hugging type.
"Oh, Neville, I heard what happened. You were so brave! Risking your life to kill that snake…" She cried, "I'm so proud of you! If only your parents knew…"
Neville caught Luna's gaze over his grandmother's shoulder. They smiled at each other, and Luna's seemed to say "I told you so".
"I have a feeling Mum and Dad would be proud of me too."
I'll do my best, what else can I do?
Since I wasn't born perfect like Dad or you,
Mom, I will try to,
Try hard to make you,
Proud of your boy.