Hello, readers! First off, thank you all for the birthday greetings--they were greatly appreciated! Thanks also for the reviews; they were excellent birthday gifts.
Before we start off with the INCREDIBLY stubborn Neville Longbottom (who would originally have been chapter 8, I believe), I have a request to make of my readers. I have already received several requests for Marauder chapters. I agree that these interesting young men would make fascinating stories and am very eager to answer your requests with chapters for James, Sirius (possibly with his brother), Remus and maybe even Peter, but I need your help. What follows is a confession; please don't think poorly of me when you hear it. Here goes...
I'm not a huge Marauder fan. There, I said it. Whew. I know, I know, they're really popular, but from what I've read of them in canon (though we didn't get to see much of James, in truth) they remind me very much of the bullies who used to hassle me when I was but a scrawny middle schooler. Bad memories, you know. Now, I don't want to write touching childhood memories that have them acting like jerks--that would leave a bad taste in everyone's mouth, most of all mine. But the fact remains that I have a lot of trouble getting inside their heads, especially those of the leaders of the pack, so to speak (James and Sirius). So what I need from you, readers, are suggestions. What do you think the Marauders' childhoods were like? What kind of moments do you picture them sharing with their parents? Please tell me, because the sooner I can get a handle on the Maruaders, the sooner you'll have your chapters. I aim to please.
On to business, then. I think we all can have a guess at what Neville's favorite childhood pasttime was. I always imagined him as growing up surrounded by people who were much older than him. I'm also working from a hypothesis (which could be entirely false) that, once he discovered the truth about what happened to his parents, Neville (subconsciously?) didn't really want to be a wizard anymore. When he realized, first-hand, just what kind of destruction magic could reap, I think Neville retreated inside a bit, which resulted in his overall magical mediocrity (don't get me wrong--I love Neville!). I think that we finally see Neville start to break out of his comfort zone in Year 5 only because he reaches some sort of epiphany--"yes, magic can hurt, but I really have two choices here: give up and give in or grit my teeth and do something about it!" Neville, of course, does his parents proud with option 'B'--hence, the New Neville of secret-underground-resistance, Nagini-decapitating fame.
Enjoy!
Forget-Me-Not
Neville Longbottom followed his grandmother out into the garden at first light. He breathed in the smell of the soil, the damp morning air and the perfume of the many plants growing scattered throughout the space. Roses, lilies, forget-me-nots—all in full bloom. Gran's garden was his favorite place in the whole world. Here, he felt truly at home.
The weak, early morning sun shined down into the garden, illuminating everything. The flowerbeds were a riot of color in the morning haze and here and there, a bird chirped. Ahead of him, Neville could see his grandmother, clad in a housedress and a pair of sturdy gloves. She carried an ancient watering can.
"Neville? Are you following? Have you got everything?" Gran's voice sounded sharp in the morning silence, but Neville knew better. The old woman wheeled around and turned her sharp eyes on the boy as he set down the pruning shears on the ground by a blossoming rose bush. Her expression softened as she watched him take one of the delicate blossoms in his small, slightly pudgy hands.
Her Neville was a gentle soul. Most of the time, he was clumsy, forgetful, careless…a travesty of a child, really. But when he was working with plants, Neville was like a different person. Here he was purposeful and poised, completely engrossed in his work. His level of concentration was very surprising for such a small boy.
Augusta leaned over a hydrangea bush with her watering can, looking for dead leaves and clumps of dried-out flowers to prune away. She reached out a hand and deftly snipped off a dry, leafless twig when she stopped suddenly, listening hard.
A low, slightly high-pitched child's voice was murmuring under its breath words Augusta couldn't quite catch. She stayed very still, straining her ears for the words she was so curious to decipher.
"Good morning, Alice, how are you doing today? I see those buds I spotted last week are getting bigger. They'll be ready to open soon, for sure. I think we've gotta do something about the light back here; all the leaves in this corner are turning brown and falling off. Don't worry, I'll talk to Gran."
Augusta's heart stopped, clenched by a vice that it took her a minute to identify. She knew, of course, that Neville liked to talk to the plants as he gardened. All the best gardeners did; it was quite necessary, if you wanted the plants to grow tall and strong. Naming his charges wasn't out of the ordinary, either—it was a gardening thing that most people wouldn't understand.
But to hear Neville address the rosebush by his mother's name was jarring. Augusta wondered what had possessed the boy to do so. Come to think of it, did he even know his parents' first names? Whenever he mentioned them, it was always 'Mum' and 'Dad':
"Gran, are we going to see Mum and Dad this weekend?"
"I drew a picture for Mummy yesterday. Do you think she'll like it?"
"Work on your concentration and you'll be as skilled as your dad someday, Neville."
"Gran, why don't Mum and Dad remember me?"
Augusta could never remember referring to Frank and Alice by name in front of Neville—usually, because she wanted to protect him from that terrible knowledge until he was at least a little older, she talked little about them. She may have looked and sounded stern, but deep inside, Augusta Longbottom had a kind heart.
The times when she did refer directly to her son and daughter-in-law, she made sure Neville was well out of earshot. Tonight was one of those nights.
"He was calling the rosebush 'Alice.' Alice, Algie."
"Augusta, must I remind you that you name your plants as well?" the man said pointedly.
"But Alice? Are you not concerned that he's mentioning them again? We'll have to tell him!"
"Well, he already knows something's wrong. I mean, you take him to see them every other day and they don't even know the boy's name," piped in another woman's voice.
Neville tensed behind the unlocked door. He had just reached out a small hand to turn the doorknob, to ask his Gran for a glass of warm milk to help him fall asleep, but the last comment that issued through the crack under the door made him stop. At last, he would find out why his parents were so unlike other kids' parents. Why they lived in a hospital room in a faraway city. Why they didn't sing lullabies. Why every time Neville hugged them, they simply looked bemused.
"The truth would haunt him!" insisted Augusta. "I want him to know about them as much as anybody else, but he's too young. He's happy not knowing."
"Doesn't look happy," interrupted Great-Auntie Enid in a hushed voice. All three adults spun around sharply to see none other than Neville, fully clad in his pajamas and fuzzy blue dressing gown, clutching a worn teddy bear by one paw. His eyes were wide and Augusta was of the opinion that he was fighting off tears. She normally didn't approve of such things, but she couldn't help feeling sorry for the child. She knew that, to her dying day, she could never forget the look on her grandson's face as he stood in the doorway, lost.
"Neville?" she began tentatively.
"What happened to my mum and dad, Gran?"
Great-Auntie Enid mumbled something about a nightcap and was followed out of the room promptly by Great-Uncle Algie. Gran looked after them, determinedly stalling for time by not meeting Neville's gaze.
"What happened?" repeated Neville in barely more than a whisper. His lower lip was trembling. Augusta decided that now, if ever, was the time to get it over with.
"Come sit down, Neville," she said wearily, and Neville clambered onto the sofa, still looking troubled. Augusta sat down beside him and took a deep breath.
"Your mum and dad got hurt and had to go and stay at the hospital so the Healers could take care of them," explained Augusta. She was hoping to unveil the terrible circumstances of the Longbottoms' fates in as little detail as possible.
"Why aren't they better yet? Shouldn't they be home by now?" asked Neville.
"They were hurt very badly, Neville. They probably won't ever get better. I'm sorry, dear."
Neville was crying in earnest now, silent tears rolling down his chubby cheeks. His voice shook slightly as he raised his next question, the one Augusta had been dreading:
"How'd they get hurt?"
In Neville's tear-filled eyes, Augusta thought she saw the silhouette of a mad, cackling woman, bodies writhing in pain and the stony dark stillness of the Death Eaters' trial. She had been there, to give testimony regarding the state of her son and daughter-in-law's health. It had not been pretty.
"There were some very, very bad people. They wanted your mum and dad to do something wrong. A really bad thing. Your mum and dad said no, so the people…they hurt them. They used evil magic to do it. They kept hurting them until they couldn't remember anything. That's why they have to live so far away, Neville—their brains got damaged. They won't work right anymore. They can't talk, and they don't recognize you, or me, or anyone else who loves them…"
Neville let out a wail and buried his face in his grandmother's shoulder. It wasn't fair; his parents had never hurt anyone and those mean people had ruined them forever. Thanks to them, Neville's mum would never kiss him goodnight; his dad would never buy him his first broom and teach him to fly. Neville couldn't even remember them (for the couple in the hospital room most certainly weren't them, not really). Even when he tried his hardest, he only got confused images of strong arms and sweet-smelling perfume.
"I know, Neville…I miss them, too," comforted Augusta, patting the still-sobbing child on the back and feeling a single tear slide down her own cheek. "But they wouldn't want you to be sad, dear. Why don't I get you that milk and tuck you into bed?"
Neville nodded, and for a while he didn't bring up his parents at all, even though his grandmother talked about them much more freely both around Neville and to him. Neville didn't really want to hear it. It was as though he had just lost them all over again, and nothing comforted him except sitting in the garden among the plants.
Plants were simple, after all—you water them, and they grow. Questions of right and wrong, of loyalty and evil and bad magic were just too much for Neville, and if this was what magic could do to people, he really wanted no part of it. Magic isn't so good after all, he thought. Magic hurt my parents and it can't fix them. I'm not sure I want to be a wizard anymore…but what else could he be? The ideal situation, he pondered, would be to become a plant, and only have to worry about catching the rays of the sun and the cool drops of rain, turning his face every morning to catch the dawn's light. Sometimes, as he sat among the plants, Neville pretended he was one of them.
The next best solution, however, would be to care for the plants. Dealing with them did not have the same complications that dealing with people did. Plants couldn't hurt you. They couldn't disappoint. And though the leaves fell off in the autumn, the flowers turned brown and shriveled, sure enough they'd come back in the spring. And for a long time, Neville would hold that opinion close to his heart. He didn't want to remember. But he could never, ever forget.
Ah, that was a sad one. Sorry if it made you melancholy, but once I got past the fourth paragraph or so, it just kind of spilled out. Neville was a bit of a late bloomer, so I guess it's fitting.
Anyway, I'd be eternally grateful for your thoughts, and your Maurauder suggestions. I don't want to disappoint.
Another Weasley chapter follows, and it's a laugh (FRED and GEORGE, readers!), so hopefully it'll counterbalance the tragedy of Neville's sad story. It had better, at least, for after we leave the Burrow we're going to Spinner's End, and there's no shortage of tragedy there.
You can also look forward to a Next Gen chapter coming soon--and no, it's not one of the Trio's kids. My lips are sealed. I've taken all your suggestions, even the little known ones, and I'm planning on addressing all of them as well as a few of my own (I've been contemplating Luna Lovegood and Nymphadora Tonks for a while, so someday they'll take the stage if all goes well). As usual, more requests are always welcome and will be added to the list. I could truly go on forever, given enough requests. Keep 'em comin'!
All My Best, Delilah
