A/N: Read this chapter, then come murder me. Seriously. Just do it.

Rating: T (PG-13) for self-mutilation and one swear word.

Italics – memories.

Disclaimer: I do not, nor do I claim to, own Harry Potter. I make absolutely zero profit from writing this story.

Neville knew what it was like to feel unloved. As a young boy, he would often sit in the gardens at night, begging to the stars. He thought if only he asked kindly and waiting patiently, they'd grant him his deepest wish. When that didn't work, he thought that maybe he had to do something. And he tried. He tried to learn magic, tried to please his gran and uncle and aunt. He tried to be good. When that didn't work, he had screamed at the sky.

"Why can't you just give me my parents back!"

So, Neville knew what it felt like.

He had been grateful when he started Hogwarts, albeit nervous. He figured that maybe there he could be somebody and if not, he could at least blend into the hundreds of other faces. But then he met a boy.

The boy was small, made tinier by the uncared for clothes that hung off of him like a big coat. His hair resembled an uncut flutterby bush. Upon his skinny face – which was as little as the rest of him – were glasses that bore many scratches. Hiding behind the circular wired frames were vivid green eyes.

The appearance of this boy didn't really matter, though. What mattered was that Neville could instantaneously tell that this boy was like him. Alone, desperate for some type of companionship, with the same gnawing pain that ate at your heart.

Later, Neville found out that the boy was actually the Boy-Who-Lived. He was oddly disappointed. He knew that someone like Harry Potter wouldn't hang around him; no matter how kind the boy seemed to be. Important people didn't like being around clumsy, no good people. It was just a fact of life that Neville faced a lot.

Neville couldn't help being happy for him on some level. He would get the friendship he desires – the love that he strives for. Harry Potter would be appreciated and praised. And above all his own selfish wants, Neville was quite glad to fade into the background.

Fifth year was possibly the most important year of his life thus far. That was the year he got to be somebody. He was allowed into a secret battle-in-training club. He learned to fight and later on he really did fight, along Harry Potter, no less. That was when Harry Potter turned into Harry.

Now, here he sat. By his side were three of his friends – which, sometimes, he couldn't believe he had – and together they waited.

Neville had suspected that something was wrong with Harry for awhile. He could see the hopelessness that he saw so long again entering the emerald eyes again. It was to be expected, though, seeing as Harry had recently lost the only man he'd ever viewed as a parent. And stupidly, Neville had brushed it off. He should have known. But he didn't. So, he sat, chewing on his lip none stop.

The dorm-room door opened and in walked Harry.

I'm not one to use curse words a lot, but... dammit to hell! I tried to make this chapter the confrontation – really, I did. It just didn't work. At all. Fuck.

I'll have another chapter up, soon. You know, not three months later. Sorry about that.