As the name implies, this is a story about Neville Longbottom. It is based on Bookworm's fic "It's My Life." I asked her (him? I don't remember.) If I could use one of the lines from that story in this one, but s/he hasn't gotten back to me yet, so I'm telling you the "Leave me the hell alone." line is Bookworm's.
"NEVILLE!" Prof. McGonagall yelled. Everyone was so used to Neville's accidents that no one even bothered to look up.
Except for Hermione, who had taken to working with Neville in their classes, since Ron and Harry always paired up.
They obviously don't care, Hermione thought, watching them talk about "Snuffles" and fooling around, while she spent her days helping Neville clean up and fix whatever it was he did.
Of course, he does need the help, she thought, as Neville kept repeating "Bulbosa Verdae" over and over, which did not make green bubbles appear as it should have.
I don't regret helping him, it's just, well, there's no kind way to put it: Neville's got a mind like a sieve.
Immediately, she felt guilty. It hadn't been two weeks since Neville had confided in her his biggest secret: That his parents weren't dead, that they were at St. Mungo's hospital. Hermione remembered all too well the look on his face when he told her they didn't even remember who he was. It was a cross between pure sadness and pure anger.
That was why he lived with his grandmother, who, to Hermione, seemed like a rather controlling woman who none-the-less cared very deeply for her grandson.
Maybe that's why she's so controlling, because she wants to protect him, Hermione thought.
"Hermione?" Neville said.
She sighed and said "It's bul-BO-sa Verrrdae. You have to roll your 'r's-"
"Not that." Neville interrupted. "But thanks, I'll try to remember that." Neville gulped nervously and lowered his voice. "I've been writing to my Gran, er, telling her how you've been helping me, or at least trying to help me." He smiled timidly, but only for a second. "And, well, er, um, now she, uh, wants you to come over and meet her over Easter Vacation." He said all this in a rush, then pretended to be very interested in his bubbles, which were now almost as red as his face.
She was about to say "No way!" when she remembered the look on his face. Not remembering their own child...
"I'd love to, Neville."
His face split into a huge grin. "Really?"
"Really."
Hermione knew, right then, that even if the vacation was pure torture for a week, it would be worth it just to see Neville that happy.
"NEVILLE!" Prof. McGonagall yelled. Everyone was so used to Neville's accidents that no one even bothered to look up.
Except for Hermione, who had taken to working with Neville in their classes, since Ron and Harry always paired up.
They obviously don't care, Hermione thought, watching them talk about "Snuffles" and fooling around, while she spent her days helping Neville clean up and fix whatever it was he did.
Of course, he does need the help, she thought, as Neville kept repeating "Bulbosa Verdae" over and over, which did not make green bubbles appear as it should have.
I don't regret helping him, it's just, well, there's no kind way to put it: Neville's got a mind like a sieve.
Immediately, she felt guilty. It hadn't been two weeks since Neville had confided in her his biggest secret: That his parents weren't dead, that they were at St. Mungo's hospital. Hermione remembered all too well the look on his face when he told her they didn't even remember who he was. It was a cross between pure sadness and pure anger.
That was why he lived with his grandmother, who, to Hermione, seemed like a rather controlling woman who none-the-less cared very deeply for her grandson.
Maybe that's why she's so controlling, because she wants to protect him, Hermione thought.
"Hermione?" Neville said.
She sighed and said "It's bul-BO-sa Verrrdae. You have to roll your 'r's-"
"Not that." Neville interrupted. "But thanks, I'll try to remember that." Neville gulped nervously and lowered his voice. "I've been writing to my Gran, er, telling her how you've been helping me, or at least trying to help me." He smiled timidly, but only for a second. "And, well, er, um, now she, uh, wants you to come over and meet her over Easter Vacation." He said all this in a rush, then pretended to be very interested in his bubbles, which were now almost as red as his face.
She was about to say "No way!" when she remembered the look on his face. Not remembering their own child...
"I'd love to, Neville."
His face split into a huge grin. "Really?"
"Really."
Hermione knew, right then, that even if the vacation was pure torture for a week, it would be worth it just to see Neville that happy.