Summary: A slumbering Neville Longbottom dreams of memories and figments.
Rated G.
AN: This I wrote a while ago and I've finally decided to post it. I've completed the second chapter of Truth so you'll be seeing that shortly, those who are anxiously awaiting it. Please review!
Sweet Figment DreamsNeville Longbottom was asleep in his bed, one arm nearly dangling onto the floor, his covers bunched around his feet, but he was dreaming peacefully nonetheless.
Happy, joyful images danced in his head as he slept, something that hadn't happened for a long while. A man and a woman were dancing, the women in a white wedding gown, her cheeks rosy and a faraway smile on her face. The man was in a tuxedo, his arms clutching the woman's waist, refusing to let go, his happiness matching his wife's. They swayed back and forth in time to the music, holding on tight to each other, savoring the moment.
The memory – was it a memory? – faded and another one surfaced.
A very pregnant woman sitting in a chair, her eyes alight, one hand resting on her large stomach as she cooed to her unborn baby, whispering sweet nothings to her son. A man standing next to her smiled and contributed to the praise. They told their son of how much they would be proud of him, how much they loved him, how much he meant to them, how much they couldn't wait to watch him grow up into a fine, handsome young man.
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A slightly chubby baby in the arms of a smiling man, his wife by his side. The man lifted the baby into the air, causing the infant to coo happily, as he and his wife both beamed.
"We love you, Neville," the woman whispered as the infant continued to giggle and gurgle cheerfully.
The man nodded and nestled his son, glowing.
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A man and a woman at a park, sitting on a red-and-white checkered picnic blanket, a baby sprawled out on the blanket between them, delightfully eating mashed bananas that were being fed to him by his mother. When the little one refused to open his mouth – a sign that he was full – his mother closed the jar of bananas and took her son into her lap, softly patting him on the back.
When she was finished she carefully sat him back onto the blanket, the child immediately tumbling onto his back ... but then slowly the baby began to sit up, his head swaying slightly, as he mustered all the strength his tiny form possessed. His parents looked on, amazed, their mouths opened.
"Oh, Frank," the woman gasped, leaning her head into her husband's chest. "He's sitting up."
"Mmm-hmm," Frank whispered, stroking his wife's hair, his eyes glued firmly onto his son.
"Come on, Neville," Alice, Frank's wife, Neville's mother, whispered encouragingly. "You can do it, sweetie."
Neville made a short grunting noise as he struggled to support his tiny form.
"Come on, Neville," the man said encouragingly, his hand on his wife's shoulder.
With one final grunt the baby had sat up fully and his parents quickly picked him up into their arms, cradling him lovingly.
"We love you, Neville," the man whispered, nuzzling his son.
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The memories that quickly faded in and out of Neville's slumbering mind showed an aging baby boy, but the ones following the sitting up memory were slightly different. The lighting of those memories were darker, not full of light like the ones featuring a young infant. The sleeping Neville knew that these memories weren't real; that they were simply dreams, but he watched them nonetheless. He watched as he saw himself, age eleven, looking out the Hogwarts Express train window as it rounded the bend, his parents waving him off. He watched them, his mother's eyes brimming with tears, his father's hand on his mother's shoulder, until they disappeared and were nothing more but a dream.