Characters: OC, Neville, others mentioned
Summary: What Neville has nightmares about.
Pairings: None
Author's Note: Okay, it's been documented that Neville has been subjected to a life-threatening experience by a relative at least twice in the attempt to get him to display magic: Uncle Algie dropping him out of an upstairs window and pushing him off a pier (Neville reports that he nearly drowned; he probably can't swim). I doubt those are the only times though, and to be honest, I don't think his relatives were doing this with the intent to kill him, whatever the psychiatrist might think; they were trying to force magic out of him, more than anything else.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
It's widely accepted among the medical community of the Wizarding World that the application of the Cruciatus Curse can have long-lasting, even permanent psychological effects on victims, even if they are not yet old enough to remember having suffered it. It can also, among other things, retard the development of magical abilities in children; a child who otherwise would have had normal capacities may regress to the levels of a Squib after being struck with the Cruciatus curse enough times.
Frank and Alice Longbottom, two of the most respected up-and-coming Aurors of the British Wizarding community, were tortured into insanity seven years ago by a group of four Death Eaters with Bellatrix Lestrange as the ringleader and principal assailant, in a fruitless attempt to gain information as to Lord Voldemort's whereabouts. What so many tend to forget is that their young son, Neville, was present during the attacks. Though it has never been and can never be proven, there are none who would even entertain the thought that Bellatrix Lestrange might deny herself a victim on account of the victim's age.
The psychiatrist waits in her white-washed office and wonders if Mrs. Longbottom has forgotten the time of her grandson's appointment.
What she knows of the child she will see today is that he has only recently manifested any sign of magical ability, despite having been put in potentially life-threatening situations by various members of his family multiple times in the past (And if it weren't for the influence of the Longbottom family, the psychiatrist suspects that Neville would have been placed with a different family long ago). Neville Longbottom displays a complete lack of confidence and is a near-chronic stutterer. He has trouble remembering things. He is cripplingly shy.
As the psychiatrist understands, Mrs. Longbottom couldn't be persuaded to allow Neville into counseling until her brother started to talk to her about "in the best interests of the family". Mrs. Longbottom, to her, sounds very much as though she would rather her grandson just toughen up. Scheduling future appointments may be difficult.
A tremulous knock on the door alerts her to the (possible) presence of her patient. "Come in," calls the psychiatrist, and the door creaks open.
In steps a young boy, gently pulling the door to behind him. He is slightly plump (probably baby fat more than anything else) with fair hair and dark eyes in a round face. He murmurs "Hullo" without meeting her eyes.
"Hello, Neville," the psychiatrist greets him kindly; the boy's face reddens. "Why don't you sit down?" she asks, gesturing to a chair in front of her desk.
Neville does so, plainly relieved by the pleasantness in her voice. He still finds himself staring down at his shoes instead of at the psychiatrist's green eyes, shoulders hunched. It's almost as though he's trying to shrink into nothing or make himself invisible.
"Your name is Neville Albert Longbottom, is that correct?"
"Yes ma'am."
"And you were born on the 30th of July in—" she flips through the file (St. Mungo's uses Muggle paper for their information gathering; it makes storage easier) out on her desk "—in 1980, right?"
Neville nods. "Yes ma'am."
The psychiatrist nods, hoping she isn't showing too many of her teeth as she does so. "Now, Neville, your uncle dropped you out of a second-story window last week and you bounced. Am I right in assuming that this is the first time you've ever displayed magical ability?"
"Aunt Enid called him away with a meringue, and he dropped me by accident," Neville mutters, face going the same shade of red as a Macintosh apple, still refusing to look at the psychiatrist.
"Of course he did, Neville," she replies reassuringly. "I never said that it wasn't an accident." Even though, frankly, she doesn't hold that view herself; too many "coincidences" that have involved attempting to inflict harm on Neville have gone on for her to think that they're all accidents. If anything, the psychiatrist suspects that the alarmingly regular attempts on Neville's life might have more to do with the Pureblood community's opinions on Squibs than it does with trying to see if Neville might display accidental magic.
"Now, Neville," the psychiatrist goes on, smiling and again hoping she isn't showing teeth. "Do you have many friends that you play with?"
He shrugs in such a way that she immediately knows the answer to be 'no'. "No ma'am."
"Why not?"
Neville is practically squirming in his seat now. "Gran doesn't let me out a lot. She doesn't want me playing with any of the Muggle children in our neighborhood—we live downtown—and she won't let me play with any of the Wizard children either."
"Do you know why?" the psychiatrist probes, fingering the quill in her hand, poised to write.
Neville eyes the quill cagily but goes on. "She says she doesn't want me playing with them. I don't ask why."
That isn't exactly straightforward, but the psychiatrist knows that now is neither the time nor the place to ask Neville why he thinks his grandmother doesn't want him playing with other children. That is another question for another day. She needs to stick to the matter at hand.
"Neville…" She knows this is a delicate question, one likely to offend even this shy, quiet boy "…have you ever wet your bed, at any time that you can remember?"
"No!" The fact that he leaves off "ma'am" indicates that Neville is highly offended indeed.
"Alright, alright," the psychiatrist waves one hand to calm him and diffuse the hot flush in his cheeks. "Do you have a great many nightmares, Neville?"
This question has a different effect. Instead of blushing hotly and near-shouting, Neville pales and grows quiet, again with the added effect of squirming in his chair. "Yes, ma'am."
"What are they about?"
The boy refuses to answer.
The psychiatrist smiles encouragingly at him, not realizing that this has the effect only of discouraging Neville from answering. "Are they about monsters or going to school naked or…" One by one, she rattles off the things that she thinks an eight-year-old boy might have nightmares about.
Then, Neville shakes his head.
"Well then?"
Neville doesn't look at her. This time, he stares at the window beyond her. "I have nightmares," he says, very softly, "about living."
Interesting.
Needs further study.