It was Christmas, and he was busy visiting his parents in St. Mungo's.
His mother's pale, blank eyes watched him as he chattered about school, how it was so wonderful, how he loved it.
It was as though she knew he was lying.
He stared at his mother and father, with their blank eyes. Why did they have to be like this? Why couldn't they get better?
Did they not want to, so that they didn't have to think about their failure of a son?
He thought about how the boys in his dorms gave him those pitying looks. How Professor Snape glared at him so coldly. How Malfoy laughed at him and he was hexed again and again.
Why wasn't he any good?
His mother made a strangled sound and he walked over to her. "Mum? What's wrong?"
She gave him the wrapper for the bubblegum again. He put it in his pocket and sighed.
"Mum, since Grandmum isn't here right now, I'm going to tell you the truth. School sucks. I'm no good at magic, I don't have any real friends, everyone laughs at me, the only thing I'm good at is Herbology. Herbology! I shouldn't have been a Gryffindor. I would have made an excellent Hufflepuff. You know that. I think the Sorting Hat sorted me wrong. Is it too late to change?" He had tears running down his cheeks as he anxiously watched how his mother would react.
She reached out and stroked his cheek, babbling in some other language. She didn't understand him. She couldn't. It was all Bellatrix's fault.
He grabbed her hand, and wiped the tears off his cheeks. By the time his Grandmum came back from the Tea Shop, he was eagerly talking about his friends and his classes, how wonderful they were.
He lied to help everyone else. Neville wished he didn't have to.