"Mother? Father?" A small eight year old Neville Longbottom peered around the open door to see his parents. He bounded over with a smile on his face and a skip in his step. His shoes scuffed the shiny tiled floor and the harsh artificial lights reflected off all the white surfaces.
"Mother, Father, look at what I drew at school!" Neville held out a scribbled drawing, with colors neatly inside the lines. There was green grass, a blue sky, a yellow, smiling sun, and four people standing in the center, holding hands. "See, it's me, you, Father, and Grandmother."
He paused, waiting for them to say something. "See? Do you like it?"
His mother finally turned her head to look at him. Her hazy eyes glazed over him as if he wasn't there.
"Mother?" Neville faltered. "It's me, Neville."
His mother didn't reply, zoning out in front of him. Neville gave up and turned towards his father.
"Father? What about you?" His father's hand was limp at his side, so Neville put his fingers around the paper. "Look at my drawing. Look at us."
His father glanced at him, unsure, his eyes out of focus. A garbled string of words came out of his mouth as he lifted the young boy's masterpiece.
He gazed at it. Neville tensed. Would his father actually understand? Would his father finally be better?
Rip.
A horrified Neville watched his father wordlessly tear his work into shreds. His father worked mechanically like a robot, ripping up the paper into neat strips, until all that was left was colorful bands of a drawing that used to be.
His mother watched, and suddenly began screaming. Neville didn't know why. Maybe the loud sounds had scared her. Either way, his mother looked at him for the first time in a long time.
But she didn't look at him with soft eyes like most mothers did. She looked at him with estranged eyes, and she didn't utter soothing nothings like a normal mother; no, she shrieked at seeing her son.
She didn't know he was her son; he knew that. But, he knew that she would understand one day; that one day, she would get better. Right?
The nurses and doctors sprinted in, huddling around the eccentric couple and Neville backed away quietly, leaving behind his ripped up drawing and rejoining his grandmother who had stayed at the door, her eyes stony.
She had known this would happen. She knew that her son and daughter-in-law wouldn't understand; they never would. Yet Neville wouldn't back down; he believed that they would be healed one day.
Every time she saw him visit so strongly, a piece of her heart chipped off. She knew that a more broken Neville visited them every time.
"Come, Neville. Let's leave."
"But Mo-"
"No."
Augusta dragged Neville away, the young boy looking over his shoulder.
Augusta only walked forward, pretending that the cries of her son and daughter-in-law were not horrible and that she hadn't just watched her grandson be hurt again.
(Who would have ever predicted that the meanest people to Neville were actually his parents? Nobody.)
When they reached home, Neville sat quietly without uttering a word. Augusta left to water some plants.
When she came back with some milk for him, she found a small, broken Neville crying over a new drawing that he had started.
(The drawing had a stormy sky and lightning and one little boy all alone, afraid.
Augusta's heart cracked in two.)
A/N: This was so hard to write and I am literally crying right now. This was too depressing and tear-jerking for me.
Done for:
FanFiction Tournament Competition-Round 1 (Write about someone pre-Hogwarts.)
Hogwarts Classes Category Competition-Herbology (Write about Neville Longbottom.)
Greenhouses Competition-White Carnation (Write about a child between the ages of three and ten.)
Gemstones Competition-Pearl (Write about a child younger than Hogwarts age.)