A/N: AU. With the Wizarding World split into classes and ranks, Neville has hit the bottom of the pile. He wholly accepts the state of this world but seeks a better way of living in it. Unbelievably, he may just be persuaded of the importance of fighting for the cause and helping more than just himself. Perhaps he can be more selfless, and gain some hope and gratitude. More notes at the bottom of the story.

Hope and Gratitude by Cheelalaucha
(a.k.a. ChernobylGhost)

"You gonna pay for that?" the wrinkly shopkeeper grunted from behind the counter.

Neville turned back around in seeming confusion, glanced down at the shiny red Blood Pop in his hand then back up at the old wizard.

"What? Oh.. yeah," he said vaguely, shuffling back to the counter.

Hard-faced but curious, the shopkeeper accepted the Knut without another word. Neville could feel eyes on him, studying his consciously slow movements. With the clothes he was wearing, the shoes he had covering his feet, tattered and dull, he painted a picture of poverty and ruin. The stench he carried an inch around him told of damp animal hair, and the shopkeeper surreptitiously turned his head away after dropping the coin into his cash box. Grabbing a broom made for cleaning, he took himself over two aisles to sweep imaginary dust away. Or maybe it was the dirt Neville had drug in.

Clenching his jaw at the loss of a free meal, Neville shrugged a little more into his coat and headed out with a backward angry glance at the wizard.

The tingle of the bell hung on the door mocked him with it's high pitch, completely contradictory to his spirit. A young witch of about five was hopping along next to her mother, very glad to have just visited Eylops. The stressed looking mother carried the cage of a brand new owl while her daughter swung the bags of supplies around in the air. Neville jumped out into her path and collided with a bag full of owl treats which flew everywhere. The little witch screeched and Neville apologized and bent to pick up the ones that had rolled far behind the two of them. He got maybe four in his hand before the rest came zooming back to their repaired container, an owl-shaped tin.

Standing straight again, Neville put his hand back out to give them the three from his hand. The girl held the bag out and he dumped them back in. The mother yanked the young witch back by the arm and gave him a suspicious glare.

"Keep away, vile," she spat at him and the little witch glanced up at her mother in surprise, and when she looked back at him, Neville saw new fear for him in her eyes.

"Sorry, sorry," he grumbled out with slight bow and turned his back to them to slink away. He slipped the fourth treat that he'd picked up into his inner pocket and disappeared into the crowd.

*

"Slimy gits, think they own the pub."

A wobbly wizard took a wrong step and trounced on his hat, pushing fresh dirt into the weaving.

The wizard belched and said, "'Scuse, er, me."

He tried twice for his pocket before he fumbled out a coin and tossed it toward him. It hit Neville in the nose, but he snatched it up quickly from the ground before it could be taken back. The wizard and his small gang were too preoccupied with the problems of the pub to cause any more of a scene than that and walked away down the road, bumping into each other until they were no longer visible to him.

Grabbing his flattened hat, he hit it against his knee and dirt rained from it. He stuffed it back on his head and used the wall he was reclining on to help himself up. Head down, he pushed through groups of shoppers and the drunks from the pub and made it to Knockturn Alley with little fuss.

The noise of the happy people buying goods changed to silence and stillness with one step down Knockturn Alley. His steps echoed in the close space between walls and outsides of buildings. He passed permanently sealed shops, stands for selling items, all bare, and a whole lot of nothing in any direction. He was startled out of his wits when a rickety door flew open, making a pathetic excuse for a clatter when it hit the outside wall. Neville jumped back out of the way, hugging his coat close for protection, as a jumping and howling animal bounded toward him, a miniature werewolf if he ever saw one. Someone tugged on a rope attached to a leash around the beast's neck and it yelped but switched instead to growling at him as if to make sure Neville knew who was boss. Looking up, Neville saw a middle aged woman holding a tight grip on the other end of the rope. Her too-large shirt, a dull red color, flopped around as the animal tried to pull the rope out of her reach.

Neville, tucked into his little bit of comfort that was his old, worn coat, looked up into the eyes of the woman. Sounds of conversation flowed out of the open doorway as the two of them were engaged in some kind of silent battle between gazes. The growling animal grew inexplicably quiet and actually whined a little at being ignored so blatantly by the trespasser he was challenging.

Finally, as if spurred by something akin to magic, the woman switched the hand she held the rope in and held out an arm to point inside the open door. The gesture was obscure, but she asked no questions of him, which Neville found incredibly appealing. He almost followed her strange invitation, even lessened the grip he had on his coat, but he remembered his previous destination and couldn't follow through with it. His shoulders slumped a little and he lowered his gaze and shook his head slightly.

There was a tug on the rope and the small beast scampered back inside immediately. Neville felt the whoosh of air and the sharp clack of the thin wood being shut firmly by the woman. The loss of the generous offer weighted him down, but he picked his head back up and squared his shoulders, forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other and go on his way once more.

Dusty window after dusty window passed him by as he strolled. He'd taken to running his hand along the walls as he walked, just for a bit of noise in the stillness. Somewhere ahead and above him, a window flew open. Distant cheers could be heard for the few seconds it was open, then the disturbance was settled by the slam of said window, loud as could be without any other sounds but its own to hear. Neville gave a sigh at the returning quiet and sped up his pace just to avoid more of it. The scuff of his worn down old shoes was the only company he had at the moment, if one didn't count the sun. Even that was going grey.

About a dozen steps down the alley further, his ears picked up a scuffle and a crash. He didn't bother paying much attention this time, his interests having already been teased and disappointed enough. And, once again, a thud ended the sounds of the fight, and that was that. Tracks in the dust and a broken crate marked the scene of the scuffle, he saw when he passed by.

At long last he made it to his destination: a plain door that also happened to be only half the standard human size. He bent down and knocked four times and the door popped open. Dropping down to his knees, Neville crawled through and coughed when dust went up his nose. Waving a hand through the air, he only managed to move the dust around, not get rid of it.

Reaching up, he groped in the darkness for the string that turned on the light and he found it eventually. Giving a tug, the tiny space was flooded with light. He used a crate to lift himself up off the floor and looked around to be certain all was as he had left it. Eyes roaming over every corner, the only thing out of place were the tiny circles on the floor where there was less dust then that of the spaces around them. A chair was misplaced right beside the circles and its pointy legs were the same exact size. Deducing quickly, Neville reached down and pulled one of his worn shoes from his sockless foot and held it up beside his head like some kind of weapon. Unfortunately, all he did was aggravate the dust piles and he coughed as he breathed it all in. Waving his shoe around, this time to fend off the floating bits, he tripped over something on the floor and crashed into the wall and landed in a heap on the piled junk.

"Neville, my boy, you sure have got a funny way of cleaning."

Eyes scrunched together, still waving about, Neville nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard that voice. The dust cleared and he was able to breathe fresh air again. Scowling before he even sat up, Neville took a good look at the disturbance. The tiny man with the squeaky voice looked down on him with a wise look that always irritated him. Keeping silent, as was his usual, he made it to his feet again and slipped on his shoe with jerky movements.

"And what were you planning to do with that, eh? Befuddle me to death, hm?" he squeaked reprovingly.

He always got on his case for not practicing his magic, even when he had no use for it. Commoners could not use magic in public, but was that reason enough? Nothing ever was enough for the tiny man, in his view. He wasn't going to be the one, either, to inform him that he'd actually lost his silly old wand.

Staring down, the little man didn't look as wise as he did a second ago, three feet below him, poised with his hands on his hips. Pushing past, not that difficultly, Neville plunked himself down on his customary crate, dirt puffing from his ratty overcoat.

"Have you done anything today? Anything at all?"

Staring eyelevel with the tiny man, Neville could feel the disappointment that was coming off of him. Nevertheless, he stayed silent since he knew it would communicate his answer to the man. It did, and Neville watched him sigh and look down at the ground, maybe hoping to see where he'd gone wrong.

"I don't know why I bother," the man said as he shook his head.

Neville reached into his pocket and rolled the owl treat between his fingers, gently so that it wouldn't crumble.

"I heard some rebel made a raucous in town today. Was that you?"

The tiny man was standing in front of the stove, hidden behind a very large pile of toasters, heating some days old bread loaves.

Speaking up for the first time, Neville countered, "I thought you weren't going to be back for a month. The Dippets not what they used to be?" Neville continued on, not having the chance to rant against this man for nearly a month. "They're too extreme -- you get more involved with them than you already are and you'll have nothing left but the hair on your chin. The only abundance you've got of anything in this life."

The tiny man paused in his bread-heating and turned his head in Neville's direction but did not look at him.

"The Dippets are dead," he said with no preamble, and turned back to his bread.

Neville stopped playing with the owl treat and sighed. Hunched over on his crate, he realized how good he had it. But it was their own doing, blatantly fighting, throwing their names around, trying to inspire others to give up their safety when they really had no chance at all of changing anything.

"Making the world a better place for all wizards, yes you heard me, wizards! We're every bit as magical as them! Don't let that dream die! Keep it living, and we won't have failed."

Neville recalled the only rally that he had ever attended with mixed feelings. That was old Flitty's cause, not his. What good was a dream? He and the Dippets were out to ruin what freedom he had, willingly putting each other in danger because they couldn't realize that they'd already been beat. Merlin, it frustrated him!

"Careful there, you're going to burn a hole through the floor with that stare."

Neville looked up a little to see the dirty plate and bread presented to him. He took it and ripped off a piece while the tiny man wiped off his low chair and sat upon it to eat his own warm bread. Minutes passed as they ate without talking, until the man finally spoke.

"What were you doing in town? Causing a scene like you did today puts everyone in this alley in danger."

You should know, was his immediate thought. Neville only saw the man's hypocrisy and gave little thought to his caring. He didn't want to answer, but did only because he'd had no one to talk to in such a long stretch of time.

"There was no food, I needed something to eat."

"And where is this food you bought? Thought you were going to starve just so that you could get those darned owl bites."

"Ate it."

The tiny man stared at him, waiting.

"Well?"

Neville played stupid. "Well what?"

Exasperated, the man sighed which blew around his beard, and he stuffed the last bite of bread into his mouth.

"Do you still have this half-brained notion to try and persuade an owl, or don't you?"

"It's perfectly reasonable," Neville shot back, sounding a bit childish in the process.

The man mmhmm'ed at him and got up to put away his plate, uncleaned. While his back was turned, Neville reached into his pocket and pulled out the owl treat from earlier and held it up before him like a prize-winning medal. As soon as the man turned back to retake his seat, he saw it. If it could have glimmered, it would have, for it was more than just an owl treat. It was a spark of hope, as silly as that was. Neville watched triumphantly as the tiny man's mouth hung open a bit in disbelief.

"It'll never work," the man said, though he was staring fixedly at the bite-sized treat with amazement and a slight glimmer in his eye.

Neville kept quiet the rest of the night and felt that his so-called trouble today was all worth what he could receive in return.

*

"Make sure you mend these," Flitwick told him on his way out again the next morning.

Neville saw him point to the crate at the bottom of a pile of toasters. Flitty kept all of his client's important fabric there -- safe from raids, but right out in the open for the two of them to access at any time of day.

Flitwick waited for him to reply, wanting to be sure he didn't miss anything. Neville nodded but said nothing.

"I'll be seeing you in about five days," Flitwick stalled at the door.

"Right," was his response.

Shaking his head once, Flitwick went out the miniature doorway and closed it with a snap! of wood. Neville wasn't worried about being on his own for a few more days anyhow.

However, when Flitwick didn't show up in the next week, Neville had no idea what to do.

*

Neville walked the same streets as he had a week before. They were a little quieter then given the cold weather and therefore lacking the busy shoppers. Flitty had been gone a few weeks and Neville didn't know what he'd be doing about food. He wasn't going to admit to his lack of proper spending skills but damn he sure was hungry and he wasn't even sure that his plan would work. An owl or food? An owl or food? Food... food.... Food! Ah ha! That was it!

Neville turned sharply in the other direction and headed for the tavern that he'd been offered to come in to. He hoped he'd still be welcome, but he thought so.

*

There were too many people in the tavern to see three feet in front of himself, or see his feet at all really. Neville continuously popped up on his tip toes to see if there was anything worth joining in on. Talking seemed to be the main sport in this place, though there were various groups playing cards. Those were mostly the old-timers since they were the only ones to get chairs at any of the tables. Hardly anyone seemed to notice him in the crowd as he browsed around. He kept his hands in the pockets of his overcoat and found a less-crowded place to stand. Finally, he stopped to watch a game going on at a large round table, deep within the tavern. About ten men were seated around the thing, huddled over their cards. Strangely enough, there was one very young man taking part in the game. Most of the people his own age were drinking and chattering, but everyone scrunched in this alcove, around this huge table, were serious-faced and quiet, so concentrated on the card game.

Neville watched as cards were put down and bets were taken. The youngest at the card table was just putting down his hand for the win when there was a crash! and the floor rattled under him. He noticed, but all the others gathered around the table had started shouting their heads off for the young man's spectacular win. The noise made his ears hurt -- one who walks Knockturn Alley would hardly be accustomed to such a ruckus. Wading through the people again, he set off for the doors behind him, hoping for some quieter folk and perhaps a drink. Flitty would certainly have at him if he knew he was here. He was a real stickler for clear-headedness, and Neville was sure he'd never taken the time to enjoy himself properly.

Opening doors, he found no one, but saw that every room had massive amounts of bedding. There were no actual beds, just pillows and blankets and the odd cushion here and there. The last room he checked, however, had a single bed made up very nicely. There were frilly pillows, a couple of comfy-looking chairs, and the whole place was dust-free, something certainly none of the other rooms could boast. He took a step in, looking 'round at all the photos on the walls. Neville's eyes opened wide when he spotted the moving ones -- he'd never seen so many at one time!

Even more curious now, Neville wandered in a little further and closed the door, outstretching his hand to touch the precious gems of real magic, hanging, just as you please, on the dingy wood walls of the tavern.

"Hem-hm."

Neville jumped and spun on the spot just to see a lot of no one behind him. The door was closed, the chairs were empty. Then who? Peeking 'round the bed, Neville saw a large woman sitting on the floor, propped up on the side of the bed. Looking closer, Neville saw she was actually the one who had invited him in yesterday. He realized that he was staring and looked away, feeling embarrassed. Here he was, snooping around in a place he was lucky enough to have been invited into, and the woman who'd done him such a great act of kindness, flat on her bottom, watching him do the snooping. He was sure Flitwick would die at such a sight from him.

Neville said nothing, thinking enough damage had been done already, and he stared at the floor, hands clasped behind his back.

"Who let you in here?"

Neville looked up, confused, and shook his head.

"No one," he said. "The door was... open."

Neville cringed at his own words. Thinking back now, he really couldn't figure out what had driven him back here in the first place. Oh, wait, now he remembered.

"I thought I heard something back here... it's quite loud out there."

He nodded toward the closed door and said nothing more.

"Ah-ha. I see."

As the woman sat there on the floor, she examined Neville, dirty hair to worn shoes. Neville stood still under her scrutiny, and she finally came to some conclusion because she looked way and spoke up again.

"That would have been me," she told him, glancing at the ceiling and sighing, "falling off the bed."

She flushed and wouldn't look at him again.

"I can.. call someone in, or get somebody if you like," Neville said uncomfortably. He moved toward the door, but the woman called him back.

"Wait!"

Neville stopped and turned back, startled.

"Please, I'd really rather not have anyone else see this old bag of bones on the floor. Just... you go on and I'll be able to get up again soon. Go on."

She waved at him to leave, and he would have, except this reminded him of something that'd happened before.... Once, his grandmother had been in the same situation. Criminy, had that ever been a long time ago. They did seem a lot alike, now that he thought of it. His grandmother had never been one to ask for a helping hand, unless it was from family.

That little tie to his longest-living relative gave him pause, and it made him do something very uncharacteristic. He turned around, and went up to the woman. He kneeled down 'til he was at her height and asked how he could help. She was looking at him in shock, and he tried to ignore it.

"I just... need to get," she pointed at a chair in the corner, "over to the chair... so that I can pull myself up. My knees aren't very strong, and I can't crawl over on my own. That's why... I'm still plopped down here."

Neville knew what to do from his ventures with his own grandmother. He'd have to slide her over to the basement steps so that she could get up on her own.

Neville took off his long coat and put it on the floor since it was too dirty to put on her clean sheets.

"I'll sit on the floor, behind you, and I'll slide you over to your chair. And then you'll be all set."

"Oh my, that's a mighty fine idea, but I'm too heavy for you to move dear. Just, let me be, and I'll get up all right in a while."

Neville wasn't swayed and explained further.

"No, no, you see... I'll put my back to yours and it'll be easy to get you that far in no time at all."

He wasn't waiting for more protests since she obviously wasn't going to get up on her own. She moved away from the bed and he did exactly as he said he would and put his back to hers and gave a push. She held onto the bedpost and pulled herself forward as he pushed. It would have looked outlandish to anyone outside that room, but it was very effective. In hardly any time at all, they were both off of the floor. She'd used the arm of the chair to stabilize herself and swing her bottom over onto the comfortable cushion.

Neville, who was more comfortable standing, had gotten up from the floor and was looking uncomfortable again. This experience had given him a momentary boost of... whatever. Something good, anyhow. Now that he was no longer needed, however, he felt a little... deflated, and more like himself, actually.

"I.. should be going," Neville said as he turned and left out the door. He didn't hear anything from behind him, so he assumed that she could take things from there. He probably should have gone back and asked, but he didn't.

No one said anything to him as he waded through the groups again. Before he'd been hoping for some conversation and food, warm food, but he was pretty sure that he'd had enough embarrassment for one day. He slipped through the tavern door and found himself in some very comfortable silence. As was the passages of Knockturn Alley.

He debated going back to his little hidey hole and striking up a conversation with the dust motes, but wasn't feeling generous enough to entertain them. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the owl treat from before. It didn't seem such a good idea as it had before, his owl plan, and he couldn't figure out why exactly. He supposed it was worth still going through with, after all he'd gone through to get a darned owl treat, for Merlin's sake.

Neville decided to head for Diagon Alley and find himself an owl.

A/N: My writing partner for Symbiosis hasn't said anything for months and I might just continue the story. If anyone would like to co-write with me, send me a private message or an e-mail. My other account ChernobylGhost has a few stories on it as well if you would like to read a quirky story about Dudley and Filch, non-slash.

As for this story, leave a review, short or long and tell me what you think and any questions you have so that I'll be able to adress them in the next chapter. Thank you for taking the time to read! Happy Reading!