Title: Bound

Summary: What motivates a sacrifice? Love, or obligation?

Characters: The Longbottoms: Neville, Frank, Alice, Augusta and Algie; Their house-elf (OC)

Written For: Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition: Season Six, Round Six

Prompt: Write about Neville Longbottom.

Betas: magrud, cosmic . force

Disclaimer: JKR owns HP&co.

Warnings: Second person narration. I know many people don't like it, that's why I've put it up here.


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Bound

(Or the one where Neville is just a child.)

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You're bound to him even before he's born.

Master Frank calls you to his study the day before Mistress Alice is due and says, "You'll have a new master soon. And these times … these times are dark. I want you to protect my son above everything else. I need you to protect him. Will you do that for me?"

It's not like you have the option of saying no, but it's not like you've ever denied Master Frank. You respect him too much to even think of not acquiescing to his wishes. You know that not many Purebloods have the habit of framing their demands as requests, and that's why you are all the more willing to serve him.

You promise him that you'll do your duty.

x

You're there when he's born, standing by as the midwife cleans the writhing pink ball. The midwife isn't very gentle or careful, but it's not your place to point that out.

So you dutifully hover around her, staying inconspicuous, so that in case she drops the young master, you're there to catch him.

She loosely wraps him up in a towel and leaves him in the newly built crib, before going to tend to Mistress Alice who lies in her bed, fatigued with childbirth.

A cool breeze blows through the window.

Through the bars of the crib, you see the towel rearrange itself; wrap itself tighter around the baby. For a moment, it looks like the young master is smiling.

You stand still, captivated by this human infant who exhibits strong signs of magic. He'll be a powerful wizard someday, you think. In the four generations you've served the Longbottom family, this is the first time you've seen such a quick display of magic.

He'll go places someday, you decide.

x

A few weeks later, after long debates and arguments, Master and Mistress decide upon a name.

Your new master's name is Neville.

x

You stay around the infant all the time, keeping an eye on him every five minutes even as you do your household chores. Mistress has gone back to her Auror duties, saying she has to make the world a safer place for her child.

You think you're blessed to serve such noble people. It's not that the three Longbottom couples you served before them weren't noble in their own way, it's just that Master Frank and Mistress Alice are the epitome of nobility.

And young Master Neville is quite noble too, you think. In the six months since his birth, he hasn't thrown a fit once. He drinks his milk and sleeps peacefully; he smiles gummily at invisible things and is a generally cheerful infant.

He's more well-behaved than Master Frank was as an infant.

When he raises his fist and holds your wrinkled finger in it, transferring his pure and innocent magic into your weary and depleted core, your emotions swell with something akin to love for your human. He wins over your withered and cynical heart.

x

It's summer once again, and before you know it, your youngest master's first name day is upon you.

The entire family descends upon the manor, and house-elves from other homes enter your kitchens to help you out. You say you don't need their help, but some of these young ones are impertinent, calling you a grumpy codger behind your back.

You get back at them by making them clean the chimneys, most of which haven't been cleaned in decades.

...

A few hours later, you find your old Master Algie in the nursery, prodding the toddler harshly in an attempt to elicit a magical response. Your fingers curl into your fist as you try to control your anger.

When he catches you standing outside, he calls out cheerfully, "Rana, you old chap! Get me a bottle of Ogden's, would you? A bottle of Blishen's should work too."

You're tempted to spit in his drink before you fetch it for him, but your elven magic forbids you from doing it.

So instead, you go drop a word into Mistress Augusta's ear, watching with grim satisfaction as the powerful witch puts the drunk wizard in his place.

...

You pop back upstairs to see if Master Neville is comfortable, and you find him sitting uncomfortably in his crib. Shaking your head, you levitate him to the adjoining bathroom, so that you can change his nappy.

"Nana!" he shrieks when you start lowering him onto the marble counter. "Up, up-up-up-up!"

Maybe he'll be a Quidditch player, you think, as you pinch his cheeks. He grins at you toothily in response.

x

Life as you know it, filled with hours of listening to cherubic laughs and the pitter-patter of tiny feet, comes to a grinding halt when Master Frank and Mistress Alice come home from one of their 'Order' meetings.

They say He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is hunting down children born towards the end of July. They say he's managed to narrow it down to the Potters and the Longbottoms.

They talk of a prophecy and a saviour.

And suddenly, it all makes sense, the reason why your young master is radiant with magic—he's meant to change the outcome of this terrible war that the human magic-bearers have started. Your young master is to save the world, even if he's just a child.

The prospect fills you with dread, and all you can think of is what you promised Master Frank last year, on that sweltering summer day.

There's also an undeniable tinge of pride, because you know your young master is the one who'll bring You-Know-Who down.

And it's your duty to guard the saviour.

x

You move with the Longbottom family to a cottage by the Cornish coast. The interiors are as sparse as the exteriors, but it's the best they can find at the moment.

You help them cast protective enchantments around the house, weaving in your elven magic with their warding spells.

You also put your century old limbs into work, trying to make this shack more than just hospitable; the saviour of the world needs a bright home, no matter how dreary things are on the outside.

x

Things have changed in the past week. Both your lord and your lady now stay at home all day, taking turns to stay by Master Neville at night. You volunteer to do the same, but Mistress Alice turns you down, gentle as ever.

"Frank and I have nothing else to do, Rana. This is the only thing keeping us sane."

You don't say anything, but your lady does sense your disappointment, because she pats you gently on the shoulder.

"You're already doing so much for us, you don't have to do more."

You nod and leave the room, trying not to let your emotions rule you.

x

Samhain is celebrated without much pomp or splendour. For the first time in living memory, the festivities are restricted to a few candles under the elder tree in the backyard.

Master Frank explains that it's because it's better to stay under the radar and not be detected by the Death Eaters.

"We'll have a huge bonfire as always if things are better next year," he says.

You have the oddest feeling that you'll never get to see another Samhain celebration, but you attribute that thought to the paranoia that you've all been living under.

Once the family settles down onto the picnic blanket, you resume your duties.

You carefully pour out two goblets of pumpkin juice, and serve them to your lord and your lady. Master Neville tries to grab the goblet from where he's nestled in his mother's arms, and so you rush to him with his sippy-cup.

You stand a little away, not knowing that you're watching the family enjoy what will be their last Halloween together.

x

You're so dissociated from the outside world that it takes a few days for the message to reach you, but when it does, you can't help but feel short-changed.

Master Frank announces that Master Neville is not the saviour, that it's the Potters' child.

All you can hear though is that You-Know-Who is now dead, and that it's not because of your human.

You can't understand why some other child would be chosen over your Neville, but in a way, you suppose it's cause for celebration; this means there's no mad man out there with a target on your ward's head.

When the realisation strikes you that you no longer have to worry for your master's life and that everyone can resume their normal lives, you hurry to the scullery where you keep your personal effects and start packing them.

It's obvious that you'll all be returning home soon.

x

It only takes you a few days to make the mansion respectable again. Personally though, you feel the entire place needs a complete and through dusting.

It's when you're in the kitchen, trying to make the pots and pans shine the way they used to, that you hear a blood-curdling scream from the living room. You drop the saucepan you're scrubbing and run.

You watch from behind the bannister, frozen with fear. Master Frank is restrained, hanging from the ceiling, while Mistress Alice lies writhing on the floor, screaming. Four people with strange masks and robes stand with their wands out, laughing at your Mistress' plight.

Anger lashes through you and you raise your hand to kill them all, when your Master, upside down, catches your eye.

"Neville," he mouths, and you understand immediately.

Knowing that the crack of Apparation would draw undue attention, you climb up the stairs posthaste, fear overriding your arthritic knees.

Master Neville is playing with his blocks when you open the nursery door. He looks up and smiles, calling out, "Nana! Pway!"

You don't have time to be patient. You grab his hand roughly and try to Apparate.

You try once again, to find that you're blocked. There's something preventing you from leaving the premises, holding you down invisibly.

Undaunted, you pull your master by the hand and rush to the study, where you know there's an active Floo connection. It's the first time ever that you've handled him so roughly, and it's clear that he doesn't expect it of you; he looks confused.

As you near the door to the study, Master Frank screams, his voice echoing through the house. You wish to go and help him, but then you remember your promise and continue pulling the toddler along.

Maybe using your magic to throw open the door wasn't such a great idea, because you hear a high pitched voice say, "Roddy, I think someone's there upstairs."

There are logs in the grate but no fire, so you try to start one single-handedly, while holding Neville tightly by the wrist.

"Nana?" he says uncertainly, sniffling, as you stoke the tiny fire that you've started. It needs to be much bigger for you to get your human out of here.

The ring of footsteps from down the corridor become louder, and you start panicking. Clumsily, you summon the bowl of Floo powder from the mantelpiece and direct it to land onto the flames.

A green explosion of heat hits you in the face, and you push Master Neville into the leaping flames.

"Look what we have here," comes a voice from somewhere behind you, and you don't need to turn around to know that the man's probably just entered the room.

"I guess it's true, rats do leave a sinking ship, heh?" he asks rhetorically, and all you can do is be thankful that he hasn't noticed that your master is here too.

Your young master is frightened, understandably so, and he holds onto you dearly with both his hands. Though it pains you, you forcefully unclench his fists from your pillowcase-shirt, and push him deeper into the fireplace.

"Look at me house-elf," he cries, and you choose to ignore him, instead drawing a deep breath.

"AVADA—"

"LONGBOTTOM HOUSEHOLD, BLACKPOOL," you bellow into the flames that lick your face, just as the man behind you finishes his spell.

"KEDAVRA!"

A sharp pain hits you in the small of your back, and then your vision fades.

x

There's no sense of time in this place of eternal sunshine and happiness. You wander through the fields, enjoying the landscape and the bountiful fruits that grow on trees.

Every once in a while, you come across others creatures, and whenever you do, you exchange stories with them.

Here, it doesn't matter what species you belong to, or whether you're magical or not. There's no language barrier here, and you find that no one makes fun of your 'broken English'—you're just as eloquent as everyone else here.

Today, you run into a woman who's eating berries on the banks of a winding river, her hair the same colour of sand that your old master's had been.

She introduces herself as Alice Longbottom, and you smile.


End notes:

In an interview, JKR mentioned that Neville's first act of magic was merely minutes after he was born, and that it went unwitnessed. And so the thought popped into my head–what if someone did see the incident, but didn't live to tell the tale? The incident described is technically canonical; Neville really was powerful before he went to live with his grandmother.

Regarding the style of narration, I'm currently reading a book named Hold by Michael Donkor, and someone who reviewed the book said that it makes no sense that the narrator can have eloquent thoughts but not speak good English. I think that's rubbish, because thoughts are not restricted to any particular language; they're sentiment and perception. If I'm say, French, can't I think eloquently in French and still speak broken English if I haven't been taught English at school?

(Also, i suppose old people think more quaintly than a teenager? Hence the weird tone to Rana's thoughts.)

And lastly, Rana means frog-like. :D


Written For: Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition: Season Six, Round Six

Word Count: 2172

Prompt: Write about Neville Longbottom.

Position: Seeker, Puddlemere United


Life update: I'm not back back, but I might be updating either Consentient or Noteworthy Boredom this month, just saying.