Title: Droobles Bubblegum Wallpaper and Teapots

Summary: Did the Droobles bubblegum wrappers hold a significant meaning or connection between Neville Longbottom and his mother? Or was it simple an event thrown in to make us ask questions? This is about the first one. Neville reflects on an event involving his mother, gum wrappers, and teapots…

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, I do not own Harry Potter, I do not own Harry Potter, I do not own Harry Potter, I do not own Harry Potter, I do not own Harry Potter, I do not own Harry Potter, I do not own Harry Potter, I do not own Harry Potter, I do not own Harry Potter………….

"I'm a little teapot short and stout… here is my handle, here is my spout. When I get all steamed up, hear me shout. Tip me over and pour me out"

"That's our song, Mommy!" the three-year-old Neville giggled

"Yes it is, Drooblebug" his mother, Alice, a tall flaken-haired woman, replied as she pushed her son on the swing.

"Don't you want to take a break now?" Alice asked

"No! I want to touch the sky!" Neville kicked his feet out as he swung up, attempting to push himself closer.

"I have Droobles bubblegum…"

"OOO! Break time!" Alice grabbed the swing's chains as she slowly stopped the swing, lifting his son out of the seat.

Alice unwrapped one corner of the wrapper, then the other… very slowly she did the same to the other end, then began to pull the halves apart….

"Hurry up, Mommy!" Neville squealed, impatiently.

"Alright, alright." She laughed merrily, plucking the pink cube into his mouth. She began to crumble up the wrapper to throw away.

"Don't, Mommy!" Neville shouted, lunging at her hand which contained his prize.

"Why not, sweetie?" Alice handed the wrapper to him, perplexed.

"I want to save it" he carressed the scrap of paper. "I'm gonna wallpaper my room with it"

"What would you want to do that for?" she asked,.

"I love Droobles bubblegum, Daddy loves the Droobles, you love Droobles, EVERYONE loves Droobles, and I want them around when you have to work late and Grammy has to stay with me" his voice dropped into a whisper "She doesn't like Droobles"

"Oh really now?" Neville gave a solemn nodd.

"She never EVER gives me Droobles"

"Well, tell you what, buddy… whenever I have to leave for a long time, and I can't see you… " Alice though of the few times the Order had forced her to spend more time then she would've liked, away from her son; "I'll give you a Droobles wrapper so you can make your wall"

"You promise?"

"Of course I promise" Alice gave him a hug

"Pinky swear?" Neville held out his tiny pinky. Alice looped her own around it gently.

"Pinky swear"

Neville clutched a bouquet of Tiger Lillies in his fist. He stood in front of room 111. Grammy told him Mommy and Daddy had been hurt really badly and might not remember him. He had insisted they would. Neville was not allowed to see h is father, the hospital said he was still in critical condition. So he was to visit his mother. He swallowed hard before opening the door.

His mother was sitting on the end of the bed. She was singing in her rather off-key voice, though it was music to her young son's ears.

"I'm a little teapot short and stout… here is my handle, here is my spout. When I get all steamed up, hear me shout. Tip me over and pour me out"

"Mommy?" Neville tiptoed over to the bed. Alice ignored him and continued swinging her feet and singing the same song over and over. Neville's eyes began to well with unfallen tears. She didn't remember him. Just as Grammy said she wouldn't. Suddenly, his mother stopped and turned to look at him. Her eyes were empty. Blank. Seeming to look through him, instead of at him, although her brown eyes were gazing into his own. Slowly she took his hand and pressed a small slip of purple and green paper into it. His grandmother came in and pulled him away.

Sitting in the car, the tiger lillies still clutched in his fist, Neville opened his other hand to reveal what his mother had given him… A Droobles bubblegum wrapper…

Now, at fifteen-years-old, Neville Longbottom sat on the swing, which was the very same one his mother had pushed him on all those years ago. The chains were a little rusty and worn. But it was the same one. He began to swing, singing in a low voice as he went.

"I'm a little teapot short and stout… here is my handle, here is my spout. When I get all steamed up, hear me shout. Tip me over and pour me out…."