Hello! This is a story that I thought up of while reading Realizations by Wishweaver. Except it's a bit different, same start, different direction and ending. I hope you like it! It's been a blast for me to do a bit of free writing. This story will go very slowly, not like my other story. Probably updated very scarcely, even though I enjoy it so much.

Please give me some feedback (but no flames!) in your reviews. It would mean a lot to me, I put a lot of heart and soul into this.

Thank you,

BentReeds

Never Will Give

Neville Longbottom, geek extraordinaire, stepped off the scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express for the fifth time of his life. It never felt the same, each time he left Hogwarts. He always felt like he was leaving a bit of himself behind, every year, only to be reunited with himself at the beginning of the school year again. His only true home was Hogwarts. He did have a decent family, but it wasn't the same feeling he got, traveling through the labyrinthine halls, walking through towers, eating in the Great Hall. No place would ever compare to Hogwarts. No sir-ree, not ever.

He picked up his suitcase and attempted to smooth his hair out. Later in the school year he had gotten Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, two Gryffindor girls, to give him a hair cut. They had ended up, instead of giving him a haircut, giving him a shaggy look that his Grandmother would in no way approve of. She liked the school boy haircut that Neville absolutely hated. He almost cherished his hair now. It was one of the few things that he had done on a whim, and he actually liked it.

Neville waved to Harry, now a good friend of his, and walked over to join his group of friends in the crowd. Wheeling his suitcase after him, Neville reflected the past events that had brought him closer to Harry Potter, The Chosen One, and The Boy Who Lived.

Neville would never have believed anyone if they had told him that in his fifth year he would be in the Department of Mysteries fighting Death Eaters, but it had happened. The Department of Mysteries had happened. He had fought Death Eaters alongside Harry Potter. He had fought with the Golden Trio, and he had lived. The time spent there in the Ministry was painful, but it would always hold a place in his heart.

It had been the first real time that he had put his life on the line and his skills to the test. Really put them to the test, the exhilarating feeling of being face to face with a Death Eater. He wouldn't trade it for the world. His grandmother had always told him about his father and mother being great Aurors. When he was little he had always thought that that was too dangerous for him, too reckless, why would anyone do that? At least now he understood why they enjoyed it, no matter how much they had paid for it.

"Hey, Neville," Harry said. He looked tired and a little worn out. Sirius's death had had a bad effect on him. "Have you seen your grandmother?"

"Hi, Neville!" Hermione chirped, attempting to brighten Harry's dark spirit.

"Neville," Ron said, inclining his head ever so slightly toward him.

"I—I haven't seen my grandmother yet," he said, slightly confused now. Harry was right; his grandmother would be all over him right now. Worrying and fussing and telling him about what his crazy uncles had done. "Have you?"

"Don't worry, Neville." Hermione said, "I'm sure she'll show up eventually. It's not like her to forget you."

Neville noticed the jibe at his memory but brushed it off. Why did everyone always remind him about how much he forgot? It's not like he forgot anything of theirs. He forgot everything of his. The Remembrall incident still burned in his mind as clearly as ever. He still felt slightly hurt and resentful; his memory had gotten better, if any of them had remembered to notice. Neville began to regret coming over here.

"Hello!" chirped the infamous Mrs. Weasley, who had appeared behind Hermione. "Are you ready Ron? You didn't forget anything, did you? Fred! George! Stop that!"

Fred stood up indignantly from where he and his twin were giving prank candy to some first years. "Goodness, you call yourself our mother? I'm George!"

"I'm too old to fall for that, Fred," Mrs. Weasley sighed. "Stop bribing those children."

Fred and George rejoined the group with wide grins that only faltered slightly at Harry's crestfallen face. Neville saw them stash a pocketful of Galleons before turning toward their mother and giving her an innocent face. Neville was reminded of when the Weasley twins had flown out of the entrance hall on their brooms, leaving a stunned Umbridge in their wake. He held them in the highest regard for giving that witch what she deserved.

"I suppose you're going to join us the second half of the summer, Harry? I've got a nice home meal already planned out for when you're coming, it would be an awful waste if you didn't."

Harry's face brightened and Neville saw him smile. It was a small smile, but a smile nonetheless. "I'd love to Mrs. Weasley."

"And you're invited too Hermione," she said, straightening up and looking down at Hermione with a kind smile. "Ginny would miss you terribly if you left. House full of boys and all, she get's lonely."

"Of course, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione smiled happily and nodded her head. "I wouldn't miss staying at your house for the world.

Mrs. Weasley brightened at the last statement and glanced over her shoulder to see the Grangers waving to their daughter and her group of friends.

"I think I see the Drs. Granger," said Mrs. Weasley. Hermione waved to her parents and said goodbye to every one. She walked over to her parent to be received in a warm hug. Neville looked around him for his grandmother; he figured that the train station was still too crowded to find her from where he was, in the center of the mob.

"Are you looking for your grandmother, Neville?" Mrs. Weasley asked Neville. Neville nodded back and looked at her with a 'Do you know?' expression. "No, I'm afraid I haven't seen her. Perhaps she was stuck in traffic, everyone's going the muggle way these days... after...," she trailed off looking sheepish.

"Well..., we better be on our way boys." Mrs. Weasley gestured to Harry and Ron. "Harry, I saw your uncle outside the platform, he refused to enter through the wall. Ron, your brother, Bill, wants to see you. We all have some things to talk about. It was nice seeing you, Neville!"

She waved and Harry and Ron said goodbye half-heartedly. Neville watched the back of them retreat through the platform wall. The crowd was thinning out around him and Neville could clearly see a way around him. No grandmother, no crazy uncles or aunts... Where were they? They couldn't have forgotten that he was there... Could they have?

Wheeling around his trunk he lifted it off the trolley he had been using and left the platform wall. Chances were, she was outside and waiting patiently for Neville to get a move on and leave. He took a deep breath and walked through the bricks, he would never be able to get used to that. No matter what year he was in, the bricks still looked like bricks.

Muggles stood loitering around King's Cross station. Neville watched the guard direct a woman to another platform. He picked up his trunk and walked toward the guard. In his mind, he reviewed a description of his grandmother in his mind. The clothes, the face, that attitude, height, hair color. He summarized that and approached the guard, he had to have seen her at one point, and it was hard to miss that way that she dressed. If anyone knew if she would be here, it would be the guard. Neville never doubted muggle ability. He almost thought that he was a squib when he was younger.

"Excuse me, sir?" he asked politely. The guard turned to look at him up and down. Then look at the large suitcase that he was dragging. "I was wondering if you have seen my grandmother. She was supposed to pick me up, you see. She must've gotten lost in the crowd, because I never saw her. She has black hair and has a big red hand bag and a fox fur scarf. She also has a green dress."

"Hmm," the guard looked around him. "No, I've not seen anyone looking like that since last year. I think I would remember such a character."

"Oh," Neville's face fell. "Thank you."

"Don't sweat it kid," that guard said. "I'm sure she'll turn up soon. If not, you come to me and you can use the phone in the office. We'll call a relative and you can find her later. Traffic was bad today, maybe she got stuck."

Neville considered Mrs. Weasley's statement from before, about how no one traveled by magical means anymore. If there was muggle traffic, then his grandmother could be stuck in that. He could easily imagine her stuck in a car on the road, throwing her red handbag at the person in front of her, shouting, 'Move it!' He chuckled to himself and smoothed his hair over again.

"Thanks, sir."

"Don't mention it. Someone as young as you shouldn't be alone," the guard said. "Tell me if she doesn't show; I'll be here all night."

Someone as young as you... Someone as young as you...? What does that mean? Neville thought furiously. He was almost sixteen this summer! He wasn't a kid anymore! What right did that guard have? He winced and thanked the guard once more before walking away, annoyed and disturbed slightly.

Why did everyone insist on treating Neville like he couldn't handle anything? He handled himself against the Death Eaters. He had fought with Harry to the end. Why wasn't that enough? He wasn't a kid! He was a wizard. Neville angrily slammed his trunk down on a bench and the woman standing near him jumped. This was unfair. He never got the respect that he wanted. All that everyone would ever remember was the bumbling boy from first year, the boy that forgot things easily, and the boy that couldn't take care of himself.

Well, that was it. He had had enough. He looked around furiously, making up his mind. He was going to prove it to everyone. Standing up, he left his trunk on the bench. He exchanged a silver Sickle to a dumb muggle for fifty 'pounds' and purchased a ticket from the ticket booth. He was going home. His grandmother wasn't there, and he wasn't going to wait for her. It was getting to be late anyway.

The clock struck ten o' clock as Neville Longbottom stepped onto the commuter train.