Author's Note: This story is dedicated to Gary Skinner because he must have read a good deal of my stories now, and I feel sorry for all the computer radiation he must have absorbed on my account. He did offer quite a few lovely ideas, and so here I combine a few of them.
Here it is. A Post-Hogwarts story about Neville Longbottom that will lightly tap into the character of Death from Sandman, which belongs to Neil Gaiman. However, I don't want to copy the whole character per se, I want to take the idea of personifying death and leave it at that, sort of let Death become a character of my own in this story. Hence, I will only take the main idea, but I won't take on the history of the real Death from Sandman. Does that make sense?
Chapter One
Neville Longbottom stepped into the unemployment office with a grim little smile playing on his face. His grandmother had told him, God rest her soul, that he should never let them see him cry. He had failed at this many times, of course, throughout his life. People had seen him break down and weep far more times than he could count on his fingers. Today, though, he felt he had taken one defeat too many, and he was willing to do something about it.
Perhaps things haven't gone as well with the wizarding world after Voldemort had been eliminated. Tough times came afterwards – homes and families were destroyed, great witches and wizards had died. Muggles had been killed, though elaborate cover-ups had been taken up to preserve the secret world of magic. The wizard world had been split though, Pro-Voldemort and Anti-Voldemort, and once the war ended the bitter sentiments against one another raged on both sides. The Pro-Voldemort families had suffered the most staggering losses, it seemed, and most, if not all, were now suffocating in debt and misery.
After the war, there had been many changes. Young girls graduated straight from Hogwarts and immediately enlisted as nurses to aid the survivors of the war in the hospitals erected just for victims. People had suffered under numerous curses and hexes, even the Unforgivable ones. Neville had never seen so much worry and misery.
The war was over and it seemed that things could only go up. The upwards slant seemed to be rather shallow though for it had been two years now and things were still shaky. Young people like Neville were already war veterans and yet they couldn't find jobs, they couldn't find money. Quite large numbers of witches and wizards left the world of magic permanently and have embedded themselves in the Muggle world, squashing all their magic and locking it inside. These were dark times.
Neville couldn't leave, though. Not when his grandmother's grave sat, freshly dug, in the orchard behind the family estate. There was too much family honor involved for Neville to quit. He knew that he always had people to support him, that he had a life to carry on.
And yet, as he glanced at dismay at the dozens of people in line at the Hogsmeade Unemployment Office, his stomach fell and his insides seemed to bunch up in worry. He didn't know how he could keep up the Longbottom estate that his grandmother left him and still support his ill mother and father in the mental hospital.
Neville took his place in line.
The line moved slowly, bit by bit. Someone stood behind him, a girl, her red hair flowing down her back in soft waves. He turned and said, " Hello, Ginny."
Ginny smiled in reply.
" Your family too, then?" Neville asked. Neville was surprised, for Harry Potter had been honored for his efforts in the war with a very prestigious position in the Ministry. Neville was sure that Harry would have pulled his good Weasley friends into jobs.
" Oh, no," Ginny exclaimed, " We can surely manage all right, but I'd like to be a nurse."
" A nurse, huh?" Neville looked sad, " You do know it's an awfully demanding job?"
" I know," Ginny nodded, " What about you, Neville?"
" Ever since Gram died, I suppose I can only say I've seen better days," A mist of tears filled his eyes and he added quickly, " I'm lucky though, I've seen worse too."
" I hope they sign you up with a good job," Ginny admitted, " But if anything, Fred and George could always pull you into their Joke Shop business. It's spiraling like mad now. People need a good laugh, you know."
Neville sighed. Poor Ginny, she was really beautiful, but she talked like a wise old woman. The war had done this to everyone. He looked out the window of the Unemployment office at the quickly graying sky. " Another storm's coming," He whispered thoughtfully.
They handed him a slip of paper in an envelope. They had taken it from shelf marked Males 18-25; there were no further segregation to jobs other than by age. Neville wanted to keep it a bit of a surprise for himself so he waited until he was across the street and sitting at the wicker table of the restaurant, the rain pattering heavily on the tent-like roof over him.
Neville opened the large yellow envelope and took out the paper, unfolding it from it's simple half-fold. It was a simple enough form to fill out, and fastened to it was the paper that told him the occupation he'd been assigned to. He read it with muted interest – Baker's apprentice; Good Witch Bakery 7:30 am – 18:00 pm. Neville folded it up and stuck it back in the envelope, thinking to himself that he'd look it over later.
The rain was taking some sort of hiatus and the raindrops were coming down sparingly now. Neville raced out into the rainy street, but not before he bumped into a little boy handing out newspapers. The little boy looked at Neville quizzically.
" I'm sorry," Neville exclaimed, " I'm so clumsy… here…" Neville pulled out a handful of loose change and handed it to the boy, " Can I have a paper?"
The boy nodded and took the money in exchange for a newspaper.
Neville walked briskly, walking around puddles and avoiding passerby, his eyes embedded on the front-page news. There wasn't much good news there, but at least it was something to read, and it kept his mind off the rain, which was slowly picking up.
After a fifteen-minute walk (he felt he needed the exercise, and he couldn't stand messing up another spell with his clumsy hands) he found himself in front of the Longbottom manor. Manor was perhaps too nice a title to attach to the humble little house, which was far smaller than the others in the neighborhood. It did have a nice plot of land to it though, stretching endlessly behind it, and attached to a grove where the Longbottom ancestors were buried.
Here Neville paused for he saw someone standing just out by the graves looking out at the smoky gray bay. It was a woman with a long black dress on. It was blowing quite threateningly behind her for the wind was rather strong and the rain was slicing like daggers.
" Miss?" Neville called out, unsure, " Are you lost?"
She turned slowly and smiled happily, " Hello, Mr. Longbottom, I've been waiting for you."
" Oh?" Neville looked taken aback for a second. She was a rather pale woman, only a tad shorter than him in stature and slim. She was attractive but not entirely in an earthly way as in a mystical way, as if there was an aura to her, " Are you here from the Ministry?"
" No, not quite," She smiled, showing the white of her teeth, which were just a little whiter than her skin, " I'm here to help you out a bit. Seems there's been a bit of a…" She halted, trying to find the right words, " … mix-up."
" Mix-up?" Neville frowned, " About the job?" He lifted the yellow envelope nervously.
" Actually, about a job of mine. You see, this is about your grandmother's death," The woman put a hand down on Neville's shoulder, " It wasn't quite her time yet."
" I don't understand," Neville paled and swayed on his feet, the ground suddenly tilting rather close to him. Having her touch him had sent some sort of current through his body, not entirely an unpleasant one as an unexpected one. She was from another world, that he knew right off. He stared at her face in surprise. Her lips were painted with black lipstick and she had an Eye of Horus drawn around both eyes. She looked like some of the girls he'd see as he'd take a trip out to the Muggle world, the girls that met in the café and read poems aloud to one another, each poem darker and gloomier than the next. Neville wondered what this woman would want from him.
" You see, sometimes even the most natural of the Earth's forces make mistakes," The woman looked a bit upset with herself, then grinned brightly, " I'm sure you can relate to something like that? When someone you've always trusted in and relied on to make the right decisions suddenly makes a mistake?" She didn't wait for a reply, she just added, " That's quite the way I feel right now."
" I'm sorry," Neville whispered, confused, " But I don't really see what this has to do with me."
" No, I suppose you wouldn't. I have to explain something, then, right away. I am one of those forces. I'm not entirely entitled to make mistakes too often, nor is there much a way that I can make mistakes. This one time, though, a mistake was made."
" I don't understand," Neville exclaimed, " Are you saying you're a… a god of some sort?"
" No," She smiled, " I'm older than the gods. I'm Death."
The breath caught in Neville's throat. He shook his head, " This is ridiculous. Please, I don't need anyone joking around with me like this."
" I can get you your grandmother back," Death said, seeing him turn away, " Please don't go, I don't mean you any particular harm, nor did I come here to annoy you and pressure you in your time of mourning. I want to… to make it go away, you see."
" Why, then?" Neville turned and looked at her, straight in her dark eyes, " Why me? Thousands of great witches and wizards died in the war, and if you ask of me, all of those deaths were mistakes. What makes my… my Gram's death any different?"
Death smiled, " You see, she was connected to our world. She wasn't supposed to die. Not yet, anyway. We needed her. She isn't even truly dead, just lost somewhere in the afterworld."
" Excuse me?" Neville coughed uncomfortably, " Are you trying to tell me that my Gram isn't even dead?"
" No, not quite," Death explained, " She was merely taken. It's all a mistake, really, and it's all my fault."
" How did this happen? And how is my grandmother connected to… to this world of forces, as you say?" Neville demanded, " I'm having a very hard time understanding all this, you know!"
" Let me inside and I'll explain," Death said pleasantly, " It's rather cold out here, you know."
Neville nodded numbly, " You do understand that I'm not really buying your story?" He dug out his keys and then walked with her towards the house.
She replied from behind him, " That's alright. Once I explain everything, you'll understand both the error and why your grandmother means so much to us."
" Alright," Neville sighed, " Please don't expect me to join some weird cult or anything though. I don't know why you need my help in any of this. And I'm not signing any forms or giving you any money."
She laughed, " That's fine, I don't need your money, I just need your time."
" Okay," Neville nodded, " Sounds fair enough."
They were now inside the main hallway, where Neville removed his shoes and looked at Death expectantly to do so as well. She grinned and knelt on the floor and unlaced her knee-high boots. Then she lined them up evenly on the wall before standing up and stretching her arms thoughtfully. He now noticed she wore fishnets and she had a large silver ankh around her neck.
" You…" Neville paused, " Never mind."
Death walked first into the kitchen. She sat down at the table and Neville sat opposite her.
" This is a long story, it dates far into your ancestors, Neville, and a curse that is held to your name," Death explained, " And your grandmother plays a rather interesting role, as do your parents."
" Then please explain right now before I go nuts!"
" Very well," She smiled and began.
Author's Note: I know this story will stray rather far from the original Sandman, I want Death to be almost a separate entity, and in this story this will just deal with death, the afterlife, and what Neville's family had to do with it. I understand there might be some errors here and there, for I'll try to avoid bringing the rest of the Sandman world into this story, for it would be just far too difficult. This will be, in a sense, more of a story like Death: The High Cost of Living and The Time of Your Life. Plus infringing on anything Neil Gaiman has created is difficult, since my level of writing and brain-thought is nowhere near his, and hence I pretty much stink in comparison.
