Title: The Letter
Characters/Pairings: Neville Longbottom

Forum/Challenge: HPFC Friends Challenge
Prompt: TOW Heckles Dies (2.3) Write about someone's insecurities.

Forum/Challenge: TGS Back to School (House Mizu, Mahoutokoro)
Prompt: Receiving a letter - Write about a character first realizing they're a wizard/witch OR receiving their Hogwarts letter (10)
Opt Prompt: (house) Gryffindor (5)
Points: 15

World: Hogwarts
Word Count: 752

Neville Longbottom woke sluggishly on July 30th, 1991, and immediately wished he hadn't. He buried his head back into his pillow, willing himself to disappear or die or spontaneously transfigure into parchment-weight. Anything, anything, to avoid breakfast this morning.

It was the day that his grandmother and great-uncle expected his Hogwarts letter.

Neville, of course, didn't expect anything.

Of course, he knew he was a wizard. Great-Uncle Algie had confirmed that when he'd dropped his near-squib nephew out of a third-story window. Two years later, Neville still had night terrors about plummeting to the grounds of Longbottom Hall.

What no one tells you about tossing magical kids out of windows is that the fall never slows down; rather, their magic softens the landing. Neville had hit the grass outside his bedroom window at full speed; his magic had just made that grass so soft as to not matter.

Not matter physically, at least.

The experience had given him severe acrophobia and he'd never once flown the Cleansweep that his great-uncle bought him that year in celebration of his accidental magic. As if there was anything remotely accidental about dropping a child out of a window.

But just because he had magic didn't mean he had enough to attend Hogwarts. Squibs could brew some potions, cultivate magical plants, and work with magical creatures, but they certainly weren't invited to attend Britain's premier magic school. Not even every magical child in Britain received a letter—many were homeschooled or sent abroad, if they weren't deemed strong enough to succeed in Hogwarts's curriculum. His grandmother often bemoaned the existence of these schools, especially Ilvermorny.

"That's what you get when a magical school is founded by a Muggle," she had said scathingly, in response to a Daily Prophet article announcing the school's new squib-immersion program, focusing on training squibs for vocations in the magical world. "Leave the magical world to proper wizards and witches, I say."

Neville bit his lip before he could remind his grandmother that, had he been a squib, she would've begged to place him in that program.

The past year had been the worst. It all started September first, when Great Uncle Algie said, "Just think, Neville my boy, this time next year you'll be sitting down with the other Gryffindors at the Hogwarts Welcoming Feast!"

It was a cruel twist of fate to give someone like Neville a birthday at the end of July, forcing him to deal with almost ten months of Hogwarts-this and Gryffindor-that. The worst was when Augusta would start talking about how great his father was and how Neville couldn't ever hope to be as strong as Frank was but weren't goals nice to have?

Every time his family talked up Hogwarts, he became further and further convinced that he'd never get his letter.

He had come up with a plan, though. He loved plants, just like his mum, so he would study Herbology independently. He might never be an Auror, like his parents, or sit serve as the representative of House Longbottom on the Wizengamot, but he could grow plants. He'd be the best Herbologist Britain had ever seen.

As much as he did not want to deal with his family's disappointment today, he was actually starting to look forward to a quiet life cultivating asphodel and aconite and…

"Neville!" called Augusta from outside of his door. "Your birthday is no excuse to laze around. Come down to breakfast this instant!"

Resigning himself to his fate, he dragged himself out of bed, changed into proper morning clothes, and ambled slowly to the dining room. When he sat down, there was a formal envelope at his place setting, addressed to him. When he turned it over, his eyes grew wide at the Hogwarts seal.

Would they send him a rejection? He didn't personally know anyone who received a rejection letter, but then again Augusta Longbottom only associated with 'proper' wizards and witches.

Dear Mr. Longbottom,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Please find enclosed…

"Wonderful," Augusta intoned regally as she smiled tightly at her grandson, who was trying desperately not to cry in frustration. Augusta, of course, assumed he was overcome with joy. "We'll get your materials in Diagon Alley next week. Of course, you won't be needing a wand. I've kept your father's wand for just this occasion. He was a great wizard, you know…"