hurricane child.
[-]
"hey, my dear son, i'm proud of you. i'll never be able to say this to you, but you are wonderful."
He rapped the blanket more securely around his son's small body. His wife looked across the room at them, a warm smile adorning her soft lips. He watched as she set down the Daily Prophet on the table beside her and cross the room towards him. She sat down on the sofa, long hazel hair tumbling from her shoulders.
"Hey," She whispered to the little one-year-old boy, gently tickling his small body. Then turning to Frank, she kissed him on the cheeks.
Frank Longbottom smiled contentedly, then continued to stare lovingly at his son. The boy gave a little gurgling noise from the back of his throat and gave a little twist to the side, and closed his eyes.
He handed the boy to his mother and Alice carried Neville into the nursery to put him in his little cradle.
Having nothing to do now, Frank lumbered into his office, grabbed quill, ink and parchment and sat down in the high back chair, facing his wooden desk.
After making sure everything was accounted for, he pulled forth the sheet of yellowed parchment towards him, readied his quill and wrote:
Dear Neville,
Footsteps sounded behind him and Frank turned around to see Alice with her are folded, an amused expression adorned her face. "What are you doing Frank? Writing an application for Nev to become an auror at the age of eleven?" She asked, teasing him.
"No, nothing like that." Frank spluttered. Although the thought might have crossed his mind once or twice.
Alice walked out of the room, chuckling to herself. Frank started again.
Dear Neville,
Your mother just came in. She said I'm writing an application to the ministry of magic to make you a auror. In a sort of way, this might actually be a application. But whatever you choose after you leave Hogwarts, we - meaning your mother and I - will always stand behind you, whatever happens.
A few weeks ago, the Dark Lord was defeated by a young boy the same age as you, Neville. And people have been celebrating non-stop ever since.
Neville, one day, you're going to go to Hogwarts, and you're going to meet him. His name is Harry Potter. And you're going to be great friends, and you're going to have many little adventures together.
Personally, I feel relieved that You-Know-Who is gone.
No longer would you have to face the threat of darkness, my dear son, and they won't ever touch you. You will live in a better world.
You know, I keep daydreaming about what you will become in later years. Maybe its a parental disease, and I'm afflicted. I don't have any idea.
You see, Neville. I keep thinking that in twenty years time, I will see a brave and loyal auror, who is brave in every single way possible. He will be kind, and he will be clever. But he mustn't be a total goody-two-shoes. To me, rules are meant to be brokened.
But to you, my boy, time with you would always be worth it.
I keep seeing in my minds eye, I see the three of us and your grandmother seeing you across the barrier of platform nine and three quarters. I see you riding the best broom ever and zooming around the Quidditch pitch of Hogwarts. You would be a keeper, a defender of your team. And then receiving your prefects badge at fifth year. And becoming a auror after your seventh year at Hogwarts and three more years of training.
But there is also a chance that my daydreams might not actually happen. Whatever happens, you must remember, that you are my son, and you have a personality of your own and remember to live up to it.
I will always love you. And so would your family.
Your father
The door creaked open yet again and Alice's head peered out into the study. "Frank. I'm going to take Neville to his grandmothers. See you later."
"Yeah." He mumbled, still sod up about the letter.
As Alice Longbottom apparated back into the porch of the Longbottoms' house, she stared up to see a emerald skull hanging like a gigantic cloud up in the air just above the cottage. All she can think of is Frank and ran into the house.
The furniture was ruined, but Alice did not care, what she cared about was her husbands life.
Whipping out her wand, she ran up the stairs and crashed into the study as she found five death eaters with their wands out and all pointing to Frank. The yells of "No" And "Crucio" filled the small room. She ran forward, shielding her husband from the flying sparks emitted from the enemies wand, only to have been hit by immense pain.
Nose bleeding, Frank closed his eyes, and added another line in the letter from him to his son: Hey, my dear son, I'm proud of you. I'll never be able to say this to you, but you are wonderful.
Never forget that.
Seventeen years later. Or was it eighteen? Neville stepped into the cottage that was once his parents'.
The floor was shrouded in dust. The sofas, books, desks and chairs laid strewn on the floor. Each room he peered into, each room had the same air of abandonment and destruction. He walked up the stairs into the study and peered around.
He approached the desk and allowed his eyes to skim over the top. And it landed on an unsent letter lying on the desk, smothered in dust.
He tentatively reached forward and brushed off the dust and begin to read. Each word sent a jolt to his heart.
This was a letter from his father to him. And it was precious beyond anything, even though he had not reached his fathers expectations. But that didn't matter.