The scratch of a quill on parchment was the only sound in the small office for a few awkward minutes. He took the opportunity to look around, subtly trying to wipe his moist hands on his pant legs. He was sure that his face was completely red and shiny, perspiration gathering on his brow after the fifth consecutive minute of near silence.
He hated the decorated office, all posh with its matching couch cushions and floor rug, tasteful artistic pieces hung up on the walls, and fancy paperweights displayed on many surfaces. He watched as the clock on the wall, ticking loudly - too loudly, it seemed - appeared to go on forever. He fancied that he could sit there, and that he would, waiting and watching time slip by.
The waiting seemed to stretch on for ages, making each passing second feel like a year, and Neville felt trapped. The room was hot and stifling, despite the cool day that was going on outside. He didn't want to continue looking at the walls, the ornaments, the room's different accessories.
All he wanted to do was either fall through the floor, never to be seen again, or to be let out of the office to breathe in some fresh, clean air. He knew bad news was forthcoming – who would truly want to hire him? – and didn't want to wait any longer to hear it. It was all a waste of time.
The writing stopped, and Neville's hopes soared. Unfortunately, the pause was only temporary and he was forced to sit there longer. At some point that might have been years later for all Neville could tell, the man finished up and placed the ostentatious eagle feather quill onto the heavy mahogany desk. There were few things littering the surface of the desk and no visible marks marred the expensive table.
Neville looked everywhere but at the man interviewing him for a job - one he desperately needed, no matter what he told anyone who asked - too nervous to look him in the eye. He felt twitchy, uncomfortable, and very inadequate. The man was probably going to have a good laugh at Neville's antics later that day, after he was brutally and cruelly thrown from the office.
Mustering up some courage, Neville said, with caution, "Thank you for the opportunity," he shook subtly and hoped the wavering in his tone was not as noticeable as it was mortifying, though that wouldn't be saying much either way. The intensity of his potential future employer's gaze unnerved him, but he fought to drudge up the best of his Gryffindor bravery reserves. "The information to contact me is on the application, but- I mean..." He trailed off, unsure. "Of course, if I'm not fit for the job..." He stopped there, helplessly gazing at the man who was around his age – around twenty years of age or so to Neville's nineteen and a half - but looked years older simply for his unwavering gaze and the sureness with which he executed his actions.
"Yes, thank you, Neville Longbottom. We'll be in touch, I assure you. Many thanks are sent your way for supporting our new company, and I must say you seem to have the qualifications to be our new Herbology Head. The exit is through the right," The man pointed off to the side, and Neville nodded back meekly. "Is Floo call alright, or would owls be preferred?"
"Either is good… I mean, I don't want to tell you what to- Thank you, anyway," he said, for what had to be the hundredth time in the short, twenty-minute interview. He then turned and made his way to the door. His hands rubbed at his clothing, trying to rid themselves of the moisture.
Neville let out a heavy breath as the heavy wooden doors closed with a whoosh behind him. He had heard the finality in those stony, professional, clipped tones, and he knew he would not be getting a floo call or owl notice anytime soon. It was a pity that this interview, the conclusion of a good fifteen job applications he'd filled out, should play out as the others had. He supposed it was his own fault, however, for making such a fool of himself at each one.
Stepping out onto the noisy street of Diagon Alley, hidden behind a few fruit stands at which some witches were also selling their "special" attraction powder ("Can make any man feel attracted for you so that you can lure him in and snap around him," they said. "Perfectly legal and will work until he knows you well enough to truly love you,"). He scoffed at the idea, wondering idly if their business really was legal, after all. It was too close to the entrance to Knockturn Alley to be fully sure.
A flash of light on white-blond hair caught his eye. It was a slight individual, a woman he guessed. The figure was just visible, going into some store or another. She briefly caught his eye, way across the crowded street, and Neville felt as though his soul was being displayed, bare, to her.
He recognised the girl now, despairing silently as the connection was lost when she turned away, as Luna Lovegood. He remembered her antics in Hogwarts, her bravery in the battles, and the DA meetings they'd attended together.
But those days were over and the scars of war stretched the space between them. Neville had no wish to ever reconnect with his group from Hogwarts aside from the occasional drink he shared with Harry and Ron, sometimes Seamus. He always found himself feeling terribly self-conscious, knowing he was the responsible one and that they didn't expect much from him.
They all seemed so sure of themselves; something Neville didn't know how to be.
He thought about Hogwarts with some remorse. If only he had learned to stick up for himself all those years ago, maybe developed some self-confidence-
A tiny creature bumped into his leg, a girl barely older than six years old, he assumed. "I'm sorry," he muttered out of habit, reaching out to catch the young girl. The girl grabbed onto him, and he held her tightly in fear that she would also tug him over.
Another woman, her mother most likely, pushed out of the crowd in front of him. She passed critical eyes over Neville, eyes tightening and lips thinning. "That will be all, sir. Unhand my daughter,"
"I-I..." Neville lurched back, startled and frightened by her reaction. He tried and failed to find the right words to describe exactly what he'd been doing, choosing to step back and wait for whatever was to come. The girl had detached herself from him, something he was grateful for, but still he stumbled.
When nothing appeared forthcoming, Neville relaxed minutely, nervously playing with the fabric of his robe that was bunched up at his hip.
"If I may remind you to continue moving?" the woman was acerbic and sharp-tongued, it appeared, or maybe simply very protective of her daughter.
Once again, Neville tried to clear the predicament up. "I wasn't going to do anything, Madame. I... She... It's..." His throat felt scratch and his stomach knotted. "I'm sorry, I will go."
He all but scurried off, rushing past but trying not to jostle the passers-by. He heard the young girl speak just before he stepped out of earshot and the chatter of the crowd drowned her out. "Mummy," she said. "He was a nice man, he caught me so I wouldn't fall. Why were you so mean to him?"
He didn't get to hear the response to the question, but suspected it was simply that he'd let her walk all over him without protesting or acting with poise. What an idiot he was to get all tongue-tied when he was fully innocent. How was it that a girl just over a quarter of his age could freely speak her mind when he couldn't?
Idiot, idiot, idiot. Fumbling, bumbling Longbottom who can't manage to do anything right.
Why was he so incompetent, unable to do that which was basic to most humans: speak. It was why no one liked him; he was so generally awkward, insecure, and simply shy that no one wanted anything to do with him in a social situation. It was also why he couldn't keep a job and found it difficult to find one. Severus Snape had pinned him for the person he was way back in first year, a dunderhead that broke everything he laid eyes on.
It was also why he chose to spend many of his nights holed up in a secluded corner of a bar - either wizard or muggle, it made little difference to him- getting hammered enough to forget his inadequacies. He had to admit that wizarding bars were what he leaned towards, for the alcohol was stronger and perhaps magically altered to be just that much faster at entering his bloodstream, but in those darkened, little places he always seemed to run into someone he'd once known, and he absolutely hated it.
He forcibly pushed those thoughts away, thinking of anything and everything else in order to do so. Luna came back to the forefront of his mind, both chilling him to the bone and giving him some strength. It was strange, but everything in the Wizarding World was; Neville was used to it.
Neville hurried to a floo point, too distressed to apparate clearly and worried he'd muddle it up (like most things in his life, he thought), and took a pinch of the familiar powder. He threw it in, shouting his destination as he stepped in.
His voice wavered just slightly, but not too embarrassingly, as he said, "St. Mungo's Hospital, visitors' entrance,"
Neville, nerves shot, arrived back at his home of several years - he'd begun to rent the place out after the war ended and life began to, miraculously, continue. His breathing was quickened, as though he'd just run a sprint and not visited his family in the hospital, as he had. His heart thumped out a staccato rhythm against his ribs and he felt like he might fall into a deep sleep or a fit of crying at any given moment. He hated the hospital, absolutely loathed it.
He suspected that was never going to become better, as he had always hated the smell of antiseptic, the cleanliness that was evident in every little nook of the hospital. There was not one spot that hadn't been at least magically cleaned in the recent past, and he could no longer take a breath of hospital air before seeing his parents in his mind's eye. Though he'd never had clear memories of them, Neville hated that the only connection his mind made to them was through the smells and sights of the hospital wing.
He hated that after everything he and his family had been through; it was the smell of the hospital that brought memories forth and them together.
Melancholy after a day of rejections, sadness, and disappointment, Neville searched through his refrigerator for anything he might be able to ingest. His stomach growled almost in agreement with his brain, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since the small, barely substantial breakfast that morning. It was a Friday and the end of a depressing week; not one of the many jobs he'd applied for had seemed even remotely promising.
The hospital had completely shattered his spotty – but usually there – optimism. He suspected he'd be out before the night even truly fell, a pathetic way to spend his Friday night.
It wasn't like he had a girlfriend, for after the war his life had been filled with different problems that had needed to be seen to. First, he'd sorted out his living arrangements and some monetary issues. He'd had to go to Hogwarts for one semester to sit his NEWTs, as technically he had already attended part of his seventh year.
To be truthful, Neville had done fairly well in everything but in Potions, in which he had gotten average marks. One thing that'd marred his ecstatic reaction to the news had been that there was no one to share it with. That reminder had been a sobering one.
Life had passed as a blur from there – both dragging on like nothing else and passing in the space of a heartbeat – and he'd turned nineteen in what seemed like barely a blink. There had been many occasions at which it had been requested he provide a testimony on behalf of or against a suspected criminal – at least five incidents at which he had made a complete arse of himself in front of the Wizengamot.
There had also been a variety of different problems with his family's placement in new hospital wings.
All in all, the time at Hogwarts after the war had been the highlight of his post-war memories.
But it'd been over half a year since he had successfully completed his final exams, and he was desperate for something to break him out of whatever it was that loomed over his head, casting dark shadows on everything he did.
Throughout the next week, Neville continued to seek job offers and attend different interviews. He also tried to find offers for an apprenticeship, but they were in demand and difficult to find. The war had completely disrupted the balance there had been between Master and Apprentice numbers.
That wasn't to say he didn't try; he visited Diagon Alley and even Hogsmeade on one opportunity to find work.
He didn't have much luck, finding that he wasn't really focused on getting a job. He needed one, fearing a notice from his flat's owner, the man he was renting the space from. However, curiously enough, he found that the interviews were barely blips on his radar. The moment his heart began speeding up was after it was over and he'd gotten the hidden dismissal, when he stepped onto the busy street.
His eyes always seemed to want to move towards Rare Potions and Books, Ancient Remedies – a local medicinal potions store where they sold a variety of healing equipment of the potions variety as well as rare ingredients – the place he'd seen that flash of sun on platinum hair.
It was strange and Neville rarely wanted to think on it, but he acknowledged it nonetheless. There was a strange feeling that arose when he saw her step out on two more opportunities, noticing him amongst the writhing mass of shoppers that couldn't seem to begin their holiday gift hunting early enough.
She looked wonderful, if very fragile. Neville was not one to deny the beauty of another, and he had to say she was stunning. She was almost ethereal, looking otherworldly when in the bright sunlight, seeking him out with those all-knowing eyes. But Neville knew he couldn't set himself up for anything that was bound never to happen.
He had faced disappointment many a time, and he wasn't about to pretend what she did was anything more than it was. She was recognising an old friend, nothing more.
Who knew, maybe she couldn't even identify him, knowing she knew him but having forgotten how. Neville convinced himself he didn't care, trying to forget his curiosity at her presence at Diagon Alley and the way she almost shimmered with power and energy.
For some reason, she was one of the only things he found he looked forward to. That spoke volumes about how pathetic his life was, that the only small sliver of happiness he could find was the odd sighting of the elusive Luna Lovegood.
Friday arrived once again and, once again, he sat himself down in the local Wizarding bar – Poison – and proceeded to try and get himself to forget the way she was still wearing those quirky radish earrings he remembered from their Hogwarts years. She had to be pushed out of his mind. He remembered that everything that had ever really meant anything to him was gone: Hogwarts was over for him, his family was torn apart, and many of his friends were dead or on the brink of being so. He had no job, a terrible flat, and no one to share his problems with. He could not let her be just another thing that he had once had, only to be ripped out of his hands.
This chapter had a lot of angsty!Neville. It will get better... I hope.
Let me know what you think in a review!
This is being written for the 100k challenge at HPFC