Neville gently shut his bedroom door closed behind him, not able to relinquish the doorknob until the soft clicking of the latch signified he was safe in his room. He deflated against the door.

Here he paused, resting his forehead against the frame, taking a deep breath and holding it so he could listen intently down the hall. The sound of his Gran's heels clicked around in the kitchen, bustling about and busying herself with various things she could complete with a simple wave of her wand if she wanted, but chose not to.

Neville sighed an exhale.

Gran always did this when they got home from a visit. He could picture her now, standing at the sink with the sleeves of her dress pushed up to her elbows, scrubbing mindlessly at a plate that was sure to have come clean by now. He closed his eyes and his mind wandered.

"That's very nice dear," Gran had said as his mother, Alice, had stood before him. An outstretched hand offered him something he could not see while a vacant expression searched him.

Neville looked at his mother, then to her hand where a crumpled wrapper was. He slowly lifted his hand to take it from her, but his gaze was fixed into hers. He could see fragments of himself in her frail face, once round and full like his own, but these days it was sunken and pale.

"Remember" he willed her in his mind. "I'm right here."

He could see that she was searching. It was as if somewhere in there she could sense or remember their connection.

She has never been able to.

Neville pushed quietly from the door, pulling the scarf from around his neck and draping it on the back of his desk chair.

The noise from the kitchen carried him quietly to his bed where he knelt down and pulled out a small brown box from under his bed.

The box was brown with golden inlay, which was surrounded by blossoming flowers and the name "Alice Longbottom" burned in cursive on the lid.

The story his gran told him when she passed down the box to him, was that his father, Frank Longbottom, had once saw a muggle handcrafting jewelry boxes like this. Muggles would have to carve or maybe burn letters onto wood to create this effect, but his father Frank could have easily used a wand to do the same thing. Instead, Frank Longbottom spent a day sitting with the muggle, learning how to craft various boxes and etchings, until he was confident enough in his own skill to create the perfect box for his wife who was expecting to deliver a baby boy any day now. Alice was a naturally beautiful lady who didn't need material things to enhance her looks or bring her happiness, so Frank instead opted to carve the words "The Keep Sake Box" on the front.

His hands held the box gingerly, one of his thumbs brushing against a spot that had seen better days. That was, of course, partially the reason his parents were shells of their former selves. Ron Weasley's father always got made fun at school, especially by Malfoy, for being a muggle lover. Neville had heard too from his Gran that this ideology hurt Mr. Weasley even in his professional life at the ministry of magic. He could picture his dad now, as he had always pictured him and his voice to sound when he was young like in the pictures that moved and captured a version of Frank Longbottom that no longer existed. He could picture his dad sitting next to the muggle, laughing, and asking questions, trying to understand and all the while thinking of the perfect gift to give his wife Alice when he returned home that evening.

It was this attitude that set apart his parents from Voldemort's regime, and this opposition to pure blood ideals that drove them to join the Order of the Phoenix.

Neville sat on his knees in the floor, placed the box gently in front of him and opened the lid, staring down at the contents inside. The objects in here made Neville feel close to his mother. They spoke of her character more than anything, he supposed. A lock of Neville's baby hair was tied in a narrow blue ribbon. A tattered, folded old picture of Alice's parents smiling next to her as an 8-year-old Alice waved and pointed excitedly at her missing front tooth. Alongside this was a letter Frank had once written her, her grandmother's wedding rings, a tattered Gryffindor emblem, and her acceptance letter as an auror were a few things that lined the box.

Alice Longbottom was evidently someone who loved those around her deeply but was also fierce enough to stand up for what she believed was right.

On top of all these items that he had poured over countless times; however, was a collection of gum wrappers that were mostly crumpled, and would have been to anybody else, trash.

Neville leaned up a little to reach into the pocket of his trousers for the wadded-up wrapper his mother had handed him an hour earlier.

He held the wrapper in the palm of his hand, the letters once reading, "Droobles Blowing Gum," were now crumpled together in such a way that they didn't spell anything intelligible at all.

Heavy tears pooled at his eyes and slid down his cheeks as he stared at the crumpled wrapper. She had to know, somewhere deep inside. Why else would she always give him these gifts? She would stare right at him and appear to be right on the verge of overcoming an internal battle a decade in progress.

The hot salty tears running down his cheeks were coming in silent waves.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had seen him at Saint Mongos. Somehow this was shameful, as much as it was a relief. He had thought about telling them multiple times about his parents. Harry possibly could have related to his struggles, except that it seemed Harry was unaware of who Neville's parents were, or about the Order of the Phoenix. Neville had known for sometime now. His gran was a loyal advocator in place of her son and daughter in law, so naturally she had told him everything she could to prepare him. Truthfully, he felt as though she was hoping he would be strong, and unwavering in the face of danger- just like his parents.

The tears came in waves. He couldn't even cast most spells or follow a simple potion recipe on a chalkboard. How could he ever live up to his Gran's expectations.

Even still, Neville was reluctant to share this with anybody. The Order was apparently still a secret, and moreover, he couldn't stand to be bullied any more than he already was at school.

Neville wished he could be so brave as his parents. In his head he imagined facing Voldemort, Bellatrix La Strange, or any number of death eater. It would be then, he would pull his father's wand from his robe and will it to exact retribution for its owners downfall. Like that would ever happen the way he imagined it in his head.

During the last term, Harry had faced Voldemort during the Tri Wizard cup and survived. Neville would never forget the moment he saw Harry snap back with the port key in one hand, and clutching onto Cederic Diggory's body with the other.

A determination rose in him like he had never felt before. The entire DA knew now, didn't they? Or at least the people that mattered. He was going to work harder than he had ever worked in his life to learn from Harry and to understand what he needed to do to. He would take up the mantle his parents left for him, and he would fight against Voldemort as hard as he could.

Even if it brought him death.

The Keepsake Box was a lifeline for Neville. Though his interests lay in Herbology, he secretly dreamed that one day he could add his acceptance letter into the box beside his mothers.

He gently shut the lid to the box, and slid it back into place under his bed.

Neville rose to his feet and pulled out a textbook on herbology and began to read intensely at his desk. Taking notes and reciting instructions to himself. He would make it, he had to.

Mrs. Longbottom cracked the door open and peered in on her grandson several hours later to find himself asleep at his desk. He was face down in a textbook, a pencil in one hand, and clutching the leaf of a plant in the other.

She closed the door behind him

The loss of her son and daughter in law had instilled a sense of emptiness inside of her that only subsided when she was caring for Neville, or raising hell against the bastards that took her family away to begin with.

In the meantime, she busied herself with meaningless tasks.

Could she do dishes with a wave of her wand? Yes. Could she do the washing with a wave of her Wand? Yes.

But there was something about doing it the long way around that made her feel like she was working towards something.

And closer to Frank.

Was that odd? She had scoffed at him the first time he had explained what a muggle "washing machine was."

She didn't own one and still did the washing the way any decent wizard would. She did; however, fold them by hand to kill the time.

Long ways, half ways, then half again.

Longways, half ways, then half again.

Longways, half ways, then half again.

She picked up another pair of Neville's jeans, pulling a stray leg right side out when something fell to the floor.

She bent to pick it up. It was a Drooble's Blowing Gum wrapper. Mrs. Longbottom froze. That was quite enough for today.

Leaving the clothes, she headed down the hall to her bedroom and shut the door behind her before walking to her wardrobe and pulling out a box.

She held the box in her hand, tears sliding down her face as she opening it and gently let the wrapper fall from her hand into the box.

She closed the lid and traced the letters with her fingers

"To Mom, Love Frank"

She smiled sadly and turned to put it away when she suddenly remembered what lie in her own pocket.

Frank had handed it to her before she had left today, but the absent look on his face stirred dread in the pit of her stomach. She didn't look at it, but instead gave a cold, "That's nice dear," and plunged it into the pocket of her coat without giving it a second glance.

She had to be callous in that way. It was the only way to prevent herself from caving in somedays.

Mrs. Longbottom shakily sent a hand into the pocket of her coat and retrieved a folded piece of paper. Upon further inspection, the paper actually turned out to be comprised of a large quantity of Drooble's bubble gum wrappers that had been sewn together. Inside, a pressed flower was beautifully preserved and a note that read,

"Merry Christmas Mom"