Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.
Challenges listed at the bottom.
Word Count - 899
Searching For Warmth
He had vague memories of warmth and love, of being sung too, of hearing soft murmurs of affection. He didn't know how much of it was actual memories, and how much of it was wishful thinking of a life he should have had.
Neville stared at old photos for hours at a time, the cheerful face of his mother making him smile, the strong stature of his dad making him feel safe even though it was just a photograph of a man long gone.
The shells of these people that his gran took him to visit weren't what Neville wanted to think about.
He could lie for hours with the photos spread around him on the bed, imagining days that could have happened had fate not been so cruel. Everyone was always smiling and happy in his imagination, and the colours were always vibrant.
Without fail, his gran's voice would be the sharp edged tool that brought him back to real life with a rather unpleasant bump.
His gran loved him. Neville knew that, he really did. She just… didn't show it the same way that Neville sometimes wished she would. He craved a kind word, a gentle touch. He didn't get them very often.
His gran was very precise in the way she liked things done, and the way things were supposed to be, and it wasn't very often that Neville lived up to that. Neville often wondered if it was normal that he was scared of the person that looked after him.
When his Hogwarts letter finally arrived, Neville wondered if things would change. He was nervous, downright frightened if he was honest, but he couldn't help but think that maybe he would find the warmth he was looking for there.
…
Hogwarts didn't offer him the warmth he'd hoped for.
How he'd been sorted into Gryffindor, he didn't know. He stared at his red and gold tie with disbelief. He'd been so sure it would be the yellow and black of Hufflepuff.
Sometimes he wished that he had been sorted into Hufflepuff, because maybe there, he wouldn't feel like such an interloper.
Like such a loser.
He wasn't brave or bold or brash. He never had been. He watched the boys pair off into fast friendships from the outside, unable to push himself forwards enough to make a friend of his own.
Sure, they weren't mean to him, but it didn't stop him feeling like an outcast when they sat together at night time while he sat alone.
In the top drawer of his bedside table, Neville kept his photos. Here, his gran's voice wouldn't be able to pull him back to reality. Here, he could pretend as much as he wanted.
It helped him when the loneliness became overwhelming.
…
Neville loved Herbology. He didn't even care that his earmuffs always ended up being pink. As they moved through second year, he realised he'd finally found something that offered a semblance of the warmth he'd been looking for.
It wasn't quite right, but it was the closest he'd ever managed to get.
Professor Sprout smiled at him, patted his shoulder, told him, "Well done, Neville!"
Neville returned her smiles with nervous energy and returned to his work. This he could do. This he enjoyed. This was warm.
…
He sometimes wondered what it was that the sorting hat saw in him to put him in Gryffindor, but then he was in fifth year, and Harry was watching him with undisguised pride and he realised that maybe it had always been there.
Deep down.
…
They were at war, and still Neville couldn't bring himself to actively hurt people. He knew he was too gentle to be in the role of leadership he'd unintentionally stepped into, but it wasn't in him to fight fire with fire.
Instead, he did what he could to help.
He lead Dumbledore's Army on a rescue mission, saving as many as they could from the wrath of the Carrows, and bringing them into the home they'd made in the Room of Requirement.
The room had started beige and boring, but within weeks, there was red and blue and yellow as the house flags were raised up on the walls. The only colour missing was green, but Neville tried not to think about that.
He knew that the Slytherin's were faring better, but that didn't mean his heart didn't clench when he run across a second year in a green and silver tie, crying silently in an abandoned classroom.
Even as young as she was, she wouldn't let him help her.
…
A splash of blood caught in his eye and he blinked it away. Alecto Carrow cackled, bringing the whip down again. From the corner of Neville's eye, he saw Seamus slipping past the doorway with a trail of injured kids following him.
When Alecto waited for a scream that never came from Neville, she snarled at him. He smiled back.
The pain was so worth it.
…
He stared at his gran for a long moment. He could feel blood running down his cheek, and he knew he looked a mess but the pride in her eyes was unmistakable.
She smiled at him, and stepped forwards to cup his cheek.
"I'm so proud of you, Neville."
He leant into her touch. There was that warmth that he'd been searching for.
Written for;
Assorted Appreciation - 30. Write about someone who feels like an outcast.
Disney - C1. Someone kind or gentle
Book Club - Kosuke - Neville / Fate / Nervous
Showtime - 8. Blue
Liza Loves - 7. Someone pure or innocent
Film Festival - 29. Loser
Pop Figure Collecting - Hawkeye - Cheerful / Precise
Cheese Board - Breadsticks - Warmth
Family Feud - Q1 - 4. Green
Days of the Year - 63. Being scared of someone that is supposed to look after them.
Winter - Earmuffs
Colour - Beige
Element - Splash
365 - 118. Frightened
1000 - 63. Neville Longbottom
