A/N: This is a very short prologue-ish chapter. As I am currently writing a Sirius Black fic, this will be on the backburner, but I've so been wanting to write this! Neville is MY Chosen One. I seriously think that if I were in the world of Potter, I'd be most compatible with Neville, as far as relationships go. I have no idea when I'll be able to update next, but I do hope you enjoy this.
PRELUDE: A Storm Is Brewing
"Oh my God," I sank to my knees by his body and took his hand. "Are you okay, Neville?"
He put on a brave face, but I knew what pain he was in. His hand twitched within mine, alerting me of his discomfort.
"I can fix this," I mumbled. I jumped to my feet and dashed to the wash room. I scrubbed my hands vigorously to sanitize them, and then grabbed my kit of potions and medicines. I was an aspiring Healer, and I leapt at the opportunity to practice. I was not, however, happy to see my best friend lying in discomfort.
"Here we go." He had some deep cuts on his face and bruises were bubbling up under the surface of his skin. I dropped some dittany onto his facial wounds, and with a burning sizzle, the skin reformed. Neville flinched, and I felt tears prickle at my eyes. "What happened out there?"
"Death Eaters," he croaked. "Fought the Aurors…Gin, Luna, and I tried to help."
"You've become so reckless, Neville." I chided and looked over his arms and legs for any serious injuries.
He didn't respond. I continued to do my work on his wounds, carefully bandaging his wrist.
"Was it scary?" I asked after a few minutes of silence, save for the ripping of tape or the uncorking of bottles of solution.
"Little," he answered in a wavering voice. "After the Ministry last year, I feel I can take on anything."
I pinned the bandage on and sat back. "All done. Can you sit up?"
"I think so," Neville murmured and eased into an upright position.
"Let's get you to bed."
"No!" He shouted, and I shushed him.
"You'll wake the others!"
"I need to know what happened…"
"You can find out later. You're so pale…you need to rest. Please!"
"Fine." He resigned, though his eyes showed his reluctance.
I pulled him to his feet and allowed him to lean on me. He had lost some weight in the past years, and he had grown into his form. I recalled the time my friends had made fun of me for wanting to befriend Longbottom. He had few true friends, and most people avoided him due to his clumsy nature and disposition that was susceptible to mockery. I, however, saw a sweet boy who was just as gifted at Herbology as I was. Our friendship had begun over bubotuber pus, and we hadn't looked back.
"Come on," we went up the stairs and found the sixth years' beds. "Which one is yours, Nev?"
"That one," he said, though it came out muffled. His head seemed to loll about on his neck, clearly a sign of great fatigue.
I laid him down on the four-poster he had pointed to, and then I pulled the covers over him.
"Goodnight, Neville. I'll tell you what Potter says in the morning."
I went to leave, but his hand grabbed my wrist. I could have easily pulled away—his strength was not at its highest, and his grip was weak.
"Avelina."
"Yeah?"
"Thank for waiting up for me. I know you don't like me getting myself into all this…but thanks for putting me back together."
"Of course, Neville. I was worried about you; there was no way I'd be able to sleep knowing you were out there…" I smiled down at him. "I'm always here to put you back together."
"'Night, Ave."
I bent down and kissed his forehead, but he had already fallen asleep. It must have been the effects of all the medication and overexertion.
I stared down at him for a moment, concern creasing my brow. Cautious, meek Neville was no more. He was growing into his Gryffindor title. I wished I could say the same for myself.
