Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world and all Harry Potter characters are not mine. I do not make any money from this.

A/N: This was written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, Round 13, for the Chudley Cannons, Chaser 1.

Prompt(s): Knight: Write about a normally timid character going into battle.

Additional Prompt(s): (dialogue) "What makes you so sure it was me?", (colour) steel grey, (word) strategy

. . .

Something to Fight For

. . .

Neville remembers the battle. He remembers every aspect, every detail, and every loss. It is so ingrained in him like a tattoo only he can see. It's written in his blood, in his mind, in his dreams. He barely remembers the time before it. The struggle is the only thing he can feel. Hannah would watch him, so lost within his own mind that he barely heard her retire for the night. When he spoke it was with a forced enthusiasm that he didn't feel within his body. The trauma was like a vine that wouldn't let him go, laced around his body and keeping him there.

Hannah remembered a timid boy, a Gryffindor with more manners than his peers. A student so excited about Herbology that it was a life line for him when things got difficult. She remembered a child forced into adulthood to protect his friends, to protect his own. She knew the nightmares that were behind his eyes no matter how much he suppressed it. She looked at him and knew that he was falling; falling deeper into a despair he had been denying his entire life.

Neville was no stranger to loss or fear. His parents were a constant example of how war and fear can tear a family apart. His grandmother tried to ingrain in him a bravery he didn't often feel. Hannah had seen that bravery though, had seen it shine throughout him like his own personal shield. He had been a knight in shining armor, not because he wanted to be, but because he needed to be. Hannah understood, she knew, she just didn't know how to pull him out of it. She didn't know how to pull him out of that battlefield and into the present.

. . .

When Neville held their new born child, he had smiled, genuinely smiled. Hannah couldn't remember the last time she saw that smile. She had hoped, hoped beyond anything that their child could bring him back. It worked, for awhile.

He sang their child lullabies and for a moment Hannah saw the boy by the lake. He was holding some plant or other, so lost within his own world that he was happy. He was delicately touching the flowers, the leaves. He whispered small tidbits to himself, the type of plant, its progress and damage. He looked at every detail as if appraising nature and all its mysteries. He looked at their child in much the same way. As if he couldn't quite believe that the child was his, that the child was real.

Neville looked down at the baby and smiled at her sleeping form. She was so content in his arms. Her nose moved with her breathing. He looked at her and saw everything that was good. She made a small noise and slightly opened her eyes to look at him. They were steel grey, a color that exuded natural coldness but all Neville saw was warmth. He smiled at her and they stayed like that, looking at each other. Hannah smiled to herself and returned to their bedroom.

. . .

Neville saw broken stone, blood splashed across a fallen pillar. Children, his classmates, in heaps of unmoving figures. They were all dead. Neville threw hex after hex to try and protect those who were losing. But everyone was falling left and right. Neville wasn't fast enough, he wasn't enough. An anguished cry escaped him as a girl with brown hair fell at the hands of a man in a mask. His wand was bursting with colors, trying and trying. He fell, tripped over a fallen body he couldn't identify. A sharp breath left him, so much blood, and so much death.

He woke with a yell; Hannah cast a lumos and looked over at her shaking husband. He was covered in sweat but he was shivering as if he was cold. His eyes were wide and unseeing.

"Neville?" she questioned. Her voice was still heavy with sleep. At that moment, their daughter began to cry. She looked to Neville but he wasn't responding. The baby cried louder so she got out of bed and headed for the nursery.

Neville was cold. His mind still racing with the images of the battle. Strategies were blinking across his mind like somehow he could still stop the Death Eaters, could still save those that were lost. His breathing was labored. His ears were ringing. He wasn't there; he was still stuck in that nightmare.

Hannah walked back into the room with their child in her arms. She was gently rocking the baby watching Neville from the doorway.

"Neville," she let out a desperate breath. Neville abruptly looked up at her and then looked at his surroundings. Home, he was home. He breathed heavily and then put his head in his hands. The dreams were getting worse. The memory of the battle still burning holes in his head. Hannah gently padded over to the bed and sat beside him. "Look at her." Neville did. His gaze drifted to their child, no longer crying but looking at him with glassy eyes. His breathing slowed and his heart rate went down. He looked at Hannah and she couldn't stand the guilt she saw.

"Hannah, I'm sorry," he whispered. She nodded and leaned in to kiss him. He returned the kiss and everything was okay again.

. . .

"What makes you so sure it was me?"

"Who else would tamper with my plants?" Neville asked sternly.

"What does it matter? Their growing much better now," Hope said in exasperation. Neville glared at his daughter, she was right.

"That doesn't matter! What matters is that you know better than to go in my Greenhouse without permission! There are dangerous plants in there," his voice was rising. Hope simply stared back at her father. She was 13 years old now and she was already the best in her class in Herbology and not just because her father was the Herbology professor.

"The PH of the soil was all wrong, that's why you were having a hard time getting them to sprout," she said. Neville's anger was dissipating. He was so proud of her, he couldn't help it. He gave her a small smile.

"You're still grounded," he replied and closed the door to his Greenhouse; she groaned and stalked back to her room. Neville couldn't help but smirk at her antics.

Neville hadn't had a nightmare about the battle in five years. He was so caught up in his family and work that the trauma just seemed to go away. He was doing better than ever, happier than ever. Hannah watched though, she was happy that Neville seemed to be past his troubles but she still watched and waited. There was still so much unresolved, that she knew it was just a matter of time before they came back. Just a matter of time before he got lost again.

. . .

"MOM!" Hannah awoke with a start. She scrambled for her wand as Neville woke up too. "DAD!" They both hurried towards their daughter's room. Hannah turned on the lights while Neville surveyed the room for any sign of danger. Hannah looked at her daughter. Hope was crying and screaming. She was clawing at her face like she was in pain.

"Hope? Hope, what is sweetie? What's wrong?" Hannah sat next to her daughter and took her hands in hers. Hope was looking straight ahead. Once Hope had grown her grey eyes had turned brown but now they were grey again. Hannah was beginning to panic.

"Mom?" Hope had let out in a desperate sob. "Mom? I can't see." She broke down in heaping sobs and Hannah looked at Neville. He looked so helpless, standing there in sheer panic.

"We need to get her to St. Mungo's," Hannah said quietly, holding onto their daughter. But Neville just stood there, frozen in fear. Hannah was close to tears, not now. "Neville! We need to get her to St. Mungo's!" She raised her voice; it took Neville several moments before he went into action. He moved around the bed and picked up their daughter. He held her to his chest while she sobbed into his shirt. Hannah rushed to the living room to open a floo channel. Neville walked in behind her and they went to St. Mungo's.

. . .

He was a shy child, almost afraid of his own shadow. He had been so afraid of making friends that he often stumbled over himself in his effort. Everyone in Gryffindor had been outgoing and lively. But Neville had spent so many years by himself, just him and his grandmother. He didn't know how to interact with other children. He didn't know how to make friends. Being social was such a foreign concept to him, the only person he ever talked to was his grandmother and she often didn't care for anything he had to say.

It was such a contrast to think of himself in his first year and then his seventh year. His peers in Gryffindor had helped him get past his own obstacles to make friends but he was still so unsure of himself. Then in an instant something seemed to change inside of him. Making friends was no longer the biggest problem he had, survival was. He had spent so many years worrying about mundane things when people were dying and evil was rising. He knew what he had to do even if deep down he thought he couldn't do it.

He had gladly walked into battle knowing that he had to, for survival, for his family, for his friends, and for the good in the world worth saving. He had endured not because he was afraid of death but because he was afraid of failing.

He watched the doctors at St. Mungo's examine his daughter. She still couldn't see. Neville watched in despair as she cried uncontrollably, overcome with fear. He wanted to hold her, to tell her that it was all going to be okay but he had the sinking feeling that it wasn't. Hannah was holding onto her like a mother should. She tried to soothe and calm her like she often did when Hope was a baby. But Hope was beyond consolation. She was falling and fast into a despair Hannah had only seen in her father. She looked at Neville, they locked eyes, and she saw the same dread in him. She turned back to her daughter, holding back her own fears.

. . .

When the doctors told them that their daughter was blind, they couldn't quite process it. Why? How? But the doctors threw out medical terms and possibilities like somehow it all made sense to them. It didn't. Hope was blind and there was no way to reverse it. They took Hope home. She had more doctor appointments but she could go home. Hannah helped her to her room. Hope wasn't talking much. She just stayed in her room and didn't say or do anything. Hannah didn't know what to do. Neville had fallen into his own despair. Hannah was barely staying afloat.

Neville blamed himself. He knew, he knew that it was his fault. He knew that somehow it was his fault that his daughter was suffering. It had to be, what other reason would there be? He went to work, did his usual routine. His grandmother had even come by to see Hope and try to yell some sense into him but Neville wasn't listening. It was his fault.

"I can't do this alone!" Hannah had yelled at him. Neville looked at her and shook his head.

"I know," he simply replied like somehow that was going to help. Hannah looked at him in desperation.

"You need to stop this. Hope needs us, she needs you! She needs her father!" Hannah yelled. Neville sighed and shook his head.

"It's my fault. It's all my fault. She shouldn't be going through this. This shouldn't have happened to her!" Neville let out in rage. Hannah was crying now. She knew that Neville had been thinking it but hearing him say it was entirely different.

"Stop it!" They turned towards the doorway. Hope stood there, her hands on the wall. She looked straight ahead. There were tear tracks on her cheeks and Neville suddenly hated himself. "Just stop it!" she let out in a sob. She began to fall against the door. Neville rushed to her and wrapped her in his arms. She held onto him and cried. It was the first time Neville touched her since St. Mungo's. She cried into his chest. Neville held her like his life depended on it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered over and over. Hope hit him in the chest and moved her head up as if trying to look at him.

"Stop saying that," she said. Neville just looked at her. "It's not your fault. It's no one's fault that this happened to me. It sucks but it happened. And I can't get through this without both my parents. I need you, dad. I can't do this alone," she whispered towards the end. Burying her face in his chest. Neville was crying freely now. Hannah knelt beside them. She held onto the both of them.

. . .

Neville won and made it through the first battle. The fearful boy had turned into a knight not because he wanted to but because he needed to. He would fight this time, for her, for his daughter and his wife. He would fight this battle with them.

There was a constant in his life and it was that no matter how much darkness may prey, there was always something to fight for.

. . .

A/N: Yeah.