A/N Another little oneshot based off an Emily Dickinson poem. Poor Neville.
Disclaimer: Neither Harry Potter series not the poem belings to me.
"50 points from Gryffindor!"
"Way to go Neville"
Glares.
Smirks.
That was Neville's life.
I'm nobody! Who are you?
Neville sat in bed, holding his knees to his chest, in a fetal position. Neville cried, wallowing in self-pity. His sniffles were the only noise in the eerily quiet dorm room. So the crying fell on deaf ears. His dorm-mates were asleep. The silencing spell kept them all form hearing Neville's despair anyways.
But they did hear, they wouldn't care. After all, no one even liked Neville. Or well that's what he thought. His friends cared about him. But Neville's self-consciousness made him think otherwise. Neville thought that no one wanted to be friends with him. That that no one would talk to him willingly. He thought of himself as a fool.
Are you a nobody too?
No one liked him. He was just a pity case. Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Luna, and even Harry…they were just messing with him. They didn't care.
Why else didn't they stop the Slytherin's from picking on him? Why didn't they help him? I'll tell you something, dear reader, they did try, but everyone knows that that makes the Slytherins do it more.
Then there's a pair of us- don't tell!
His grades were horrible. His magic was weak. He was practically a squib! His own Grandmother was sick of him (another misunderstanding on Neville's part). And the Slytherins…The sneaky snakes. Sabatoging him in every way possible when Neville managed not to do it himself. His parents were crazy and they weren't getting any better.
He was fed up. Fed up with his life. He wiped his tears away angrily and fumbled for something in his bedside drawer.
He found what he wanted, and his hands clasped against it tightly. A pocket knife. He held it to his wrist steadily. It was now or never.
They'd banish us, you know.
Sniffs... Poor Neville. Review please!