A/N: Well, this is my entry for Flourish's V-day challenge. It's very short, I know. It's my attempt at Neville angst. Please R/R, thanks.
Crucio
Valentine's Day. To anyone else, it was a day of flowers, of chocolates, of confessions and romance. But for Neville Longbottom, it brought nothing but a slew of pain and "what might have beens."
Leaning against an oak tree, Neville let out a sigh, forlornly trying not to be thinking about the events of exactly fourteen years ago. Not that he remembered any of it, or that anyone ever told him exactly what had happened. But he could imagine it well enough.
The whole scene played itself out in Neville's mind. A cruel, harsh voice saying the word "crucio" in the coldest imaginable tone. His parents, screaming in agony as their limbs twitched, as their bodies swelled. Their torturers laughing mercilessly at their pain. Many times had that scene haunted Neville's nightmares.
As a cold whip of February wind swept past, ruffling Neville's hair, a different scene appeared:
***
"How come you don't live with your parents?" a boy asked a five-year old Neville.
Neville frowned. His grandmother frequently showed him pictures of his parents. His mother was very beautiful, with dark brown hair and smiling gray eyes. Looking at his father was nice, too; it was like seeing an older version of himself. "A chip off the old block," his grandma had said with a smile tinted with sorrow. But she had never told Neville why he never saw his parents but for pictures.
"You don't even know?" the boy continued.
Turning bright magenta, Neville shook his head. "Well my mother says that your parents are insane. She says they're at St. Mungo's, Intensive Care. I can't believe your gran never told you that…"
***
Wistfully, Neville recalled racing home in tears, demanding to know why that boy had known about his parents, and he hadn't.
Sighing at his childhood innocence, Neville turned his thoughts to a more recent memory: his last visit to his parents.
***
"They're ready to see you, Neville," said a smiling nurse.
"Okay," gulped Neville. "Is today-one of their bad days?"
Suddenly the nurse's eyes flashed with pity. "I'm afraid so," she admitted, quite reluctant.
"Do you still want to go in?" she asked gently.
Neville nodded with surprising firmness. "Today's the last day of break, I won't be able to come again until April."
"Well…okay."
"Mum? Dad?" he squeaked nervously, stepping in their room. "It's me, Neville."
"No way in hell!" his father screamed, his face full of terror. "I'll never tell you where your master is hiding. Never!"
"Please, please…let us be…let us be…" his mother was moaning, though not as angrily as her husband.
Neither showed any reaction to Neville's arriving. Determined not to let that phase him, he continued speaking rapidly. "Uh, well, Hogwarts is fine. Professor Sprout said that I'm pretty good at Herbology, and that you were too, Mum. Is that true? And that you were also in Gryffindor?"
Neville continued talking, mostly about meaningless things to cover up his parents' screams and cries. "Oh, and Gran says hi. She's sorry she couldn't come, but she had a few errands to run in Diagon Alley…"
He was about to continue, when the kind nurse walked in. "I think they've had enough for today, Neville," she said softly.
Neville nodded wordlessly.
***
Unconsciously, Neville dug his favorite picture of his parents out of his words, and kissed it softly.
"Are you okay?" a familiar voice asked, snapping him out of his trance.
Neville hastily shoved the picture away, and looked up to the concerned face of Harry Potter. "Yes," he murmured.
Harry didn't say anything, but Neville swore he saw a flicker of understanding cross those sparkling green eyes.
Without speaking, the two boys walked back to the castle together.
Crucio
Valentine's Day. To anyone else, it was a day of flowers, of chocolates, of confessions and romance. But for Neville Longbottom, it brought nothing but a slew of pain and "what might have beens."
Leaning against an oak tree, Neville let out a sigh, forlornly trying not to be thinking about the events of exactly fourteen years ago. Not that he remembered any of it, or that anyone ever told him exactly what had happened. But he could imagine it well enough.
The whole scene played itself out in Neville's mind. A cruel, harsh voice saying the word "crucio" in the coldest imaginable tone. His parents, screaming in agony as their limbs twitched, as their bodies swelled. Their torturers laughing mercilessly at their pain. Many times had that scene haunted Neville's nightmares.
As a cold whip of February wind swept past, ruffling Neville's hair, a different scene appeared:
***
"How come you don't live with your parents?" a boy asked a five-year old Neville.
Neville frowned. His grandmother frequently showed him pictures of his parents. His mother was very beautiful, with dark brown hair and smiling gray eyes. Looking at his father was nice, too; it was like seeing an older version of himself. "A chip off the old block," his grandma had said with a smile tinted with sorrow. But she had never told Neville why he never saw his parents but for pictures.
"You don't even know?" the boy continued.
Turning bright magenta, Neville shook his head. "Well my mother says that your parents are insane. She says they're at St. Mungo's, Intensive Care. I can't believe your gran never told you that…"
***
Wistfully, Neville recalled racing home in tears, demanding to know why that boy had known about his parents, and he hadn't.
Sighing at his childhood innocence, Neville turned his thoughts to a more recent memory: his last visit to his parents.
***
"They're ready to see you, Neville," said a smiling nurse.
"Okay," gulped Neville. "Is today-one of their bad days?"
Suddenly the nurse's eyes flashed with pity. "I'm afraid so," she admitted, quite reluctant.
"Do you still want to go in?" she asked gently.
Neville nodded with surprising firmness. "Today's the last day of break, I won't be able to come again until April."
"Well…okay."
"Mum? Dad?" he squeaked nervously, stepping in their room. "It's me, Neville."
"No way in hell!" his father screamed, his face full of terror. "I'll never tell you where your master is hiding. Never!"
"Please, please…let us be…let us be…" his mother was moaning, though not as angrily as her husband.
Neither showed any reaction to Neville's arriving. Determined not to let that phase him, he continued speaking rapidly. "Uh, well, Hogwarts is fine. Professor Sprout said that I'm pretty good at Herbology, and that you were too, Mum. Is that true? And that you were also in Gryffindor?"
Neville continued talking, mostly about meaningless things to cover up his parents' screams and cries. "Oh, and Gran says hi. She's sorry she couldn't come, but she had a few errands to run in Diagon Alley…"
He was about to continue, when the kind nurse walked in. "I think they've had enough for today, Neville," she said softly.
Neville nodded wordlessly.
***
Unconsciously, Neville dug his favorite picture of his parents out of his words, and kissed it softly.
"Are you okay?" a familiar voice asked, snapping him out of his trance.
Neville hastily shoved the picture away, and looked up to the concerned face of Harry Potter. "Yes," he murmured.
Harry didn't say anything, but Neville swore he saw a flicker of understanding cross those sparkling green eyes.
Without speaking, the two boys walked back to the castle together.