Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, settings, and other elements belong to JK Rowling. Only the plot and original characters are mine.
Rereading the letter as if to confirm its existence, Neville rubbed at his eyes despondently. There was no way in hell he could show his face now, even with the threat of Molly Weasley hanging above his head. Reaching for a piece of stray parchment to send a letter to Mrs. Weasley, his eye caught on the corner of an official seal. It was his Order of Merlin First Class placed carelessly on the counter. He hadn't bothered to hang it up, or even look at it. It would only remind him of everyone that had been lost in the war the media outlets seemed all too willing to exploit.
Knowing that a stroll down memory lane was not the brightest of his ideas, he attempted to draw back. His thoughts had run their course however and he could feel the beginning of an episode coming on.
Now, everyone who had been in the war had scars. Neville himself had long ugly lines of scarred flesh crossed along his back for his disobeying of the Carrows (his efforts seemed to have been worth it however, as he had been the only student ever to receive this punishment at least). A pink raised crescent was hidden by his hairline; a result of his duel with Dolohov and subsequent saving of Fred Weasley. His right knee had never quite felt the same (he had denied surgery at St Mungo's. Others had been injured far worse), and he still retained a slight limp.
There was one wound he would never forget however. Running from his right most corner of his collarbone to near the center of his navel was a white, jagged laceration. It was thick and contrasted starkly with his tan skin tone. This particular injury had been from his face off with one Bellatrix Lestrange. While he hated who had put it there, he also wanted to remember her last moments of pain for some strange, sick reason.
While the physical scars remained obvious, he was aware of the mental ones as well. Hermione had been known to hex anyone stupid enough to try to surprise her. Ron still kept his wand under his pillow and slept far less deeply than he used to. Seamus spaced out in random moments, flinching back into reality at equally as random times. They all had nightmares.
And Neville? Well, Neville had his episodes. They were essentially flashbacks on steroids. He would be stuck on a constant loop of horrors for what seemed like hours, but was usually only two minutes or so. Though he could never tell how he outwardly reacted himself, he had been told by others.
It seemed he essentially 'checks out' and goes extremely pale. Neville knows his hands shake when one is taking place; nerve damage from the Cruciatus Curse. Yet the worst part was what he saw in his mind.
Visiting his parents for the first time and watching them scream in agony over a threat that wasn't there. He still hears them sometimes in his dreams. Screams of his father's name, his mother's name, and even his own...
...Being pushed out the window or nearly drowned by his Uncle Algie will flash through his mind briefly. The things that haunted his childhood nightmares...
...The Dementor's drawing out his parent's torture within his head. The soul crushing darkness he felt. He had found they had taken a particular likening to Harry and himself...
...Nearly snapping off the edge of his desk during his first lesson with Imposter Mad Eye Moody. The sight of what had driven his loving mother and father into insanity searing itself into his brain...
...Umbridge and her toad like appearance, the words carved into the back of his hand due to her detentions. Her cruel and twisted methods dancing through his consciousness...
... Seeing his fellow Gryffindor's looks when they discovered the fate of his parents. The contempt from his Gran, along with their pitying stares which soon took on an accusing look when asked 'Why hadn't they known?'...
...Meeting Bellatrix Lestrange face to face for the first time in the Department of Mysteries. The night he had had his first duel, disarming Rowle and engaging Yaxley before Tonks and the other Order members interceded...
...Witnessing Dumbledore fall from the Astronomy tower, almost in slow motion. The sickening crunch when his body slammed against the stones in the courtyard. The lifelessness in the man's eyes replacing the iridescent twinkle...
...The horrors faced at the hands of the Carrows. The many nights if lost sleep to treat injuries or to defend another student. Leading the rebellion while trying to protect...
...Then the Final Battle. The snake. The fighting. The heady smell of death and blood, matching evenly with the scene. Watching friends fall, knowing you can't save them all. Harry's lifeless form. The rows of bodies and familiar faces…
Neville begins to wonder if his hands only shook for nerve damage. Finally bringing himself back to reality, he picks up the fallen letter and resigns himself to a night in. Despite all Molly's threats, he would not be attending dinner that night.
No, it wasn't because of the letter he told himself. It was due to his episodes. They did leave him shaken and weary after one. Yes, just due to his episode. No tabloid aversion at all.
In sake of proper etiquette, and to avoid the search bound to take place if her mysteriously never showed for dinner, Neville sent off a short but polite note regretfully telling the Weasley Matriarch of his inability to attend.
Watching the owl fade into the distance, he attempted to convince himself the worm wriggling within his gut was not guilt. Turning away from the window, he headed to the kitchen for a much needed drink. Pulling out his tumbler and a bottle of Imported Egyptian Firewhiskey Bill Weasley had oh so thoughtfully presented him with, Neville leaned back heavily against the counter.
Taking a measured sip, the Longbottom head of house cast a brooding look at the offending parchment laid across his kitchen table. The burn of the alcohol did not register within his mind; it was his constant companion before and after such moments that he reminisced. Come to think of it, maybe he was becoming a bit too dependant on the drink.
A sudden thrum of power pulsating through his wand and into his fingertips made the young man aware of apparent 'guests' arriving through his Floo system. He could already guess who was coming through, as there were only two people on this earth capable of hacking a Floo network.
Neville watched calmly as Fred and George Weasley tumbled from his fireplace and began brushing the soot off of their clothing.
Observing them over the rim of his glass for a moment, he debated whether he actually had an opportunity to get out of this dinner. They were the most manipulative bastards he knew, but there was no way he was giving in without a fight. Steeling his resolve, Neville opened his mouth to greet and then promptly say goodbye to the two grinning devils.
Before he could utter a word, Fred cut him off. "Now, now, Mr. Longbottom! We would have expected this behavior of Harry, but not you! Mum was in a right fit when she got your note!"
"We, being the loving sons we are, decided to retrieve you to cheer her up! Grab your cloak and let's go Mr. Shut in!" George continued.
Resigning himself to his fate, there was not so much of a flinch when Neville was thrown over a shoulder, and manhandled to his mantle. He was the only witness to his favorite tumbler's untimely demise, something he was sure it had only heard horror stories of from the gossiping teacups.
Ok, so maybe it was time to get out of the house a bit. Even Neville knew talking to the dining ware could not bode well for his sanity.