A/N: I've been on an HP kick lately, and devouring any good Neville-centered fanfic I could find. And then I thought of this. It's not terribly original, but it's a fitting tribute to my favorite HP character. Neville is love.

Neville walked to the back of the yard where the tool shed was. The sun warmed his head and shoulders as he stepped round to the back to check on the plant that had accidentally sprouted. He had discovered it two weeks earlier when he'd picked up an overturned flowerpot and found the long white stem with two leaves - not even real leaves but the little leaflike parts that sprout straight out of the seed. They had a name but Neville couldn't remember what it was. He would have to look it up when he went in the house - only he was sure he'd forget as soon as he walked through the door. He wondered if other children had the same problem. He'd never gotten to know any children well enough to find out. Having no brothers, sisters or cousins, and no neighbors his age, the only time Neville saw his peers was when his Gran took him shopping or to St. Mungo's, and whatever conversations he had were quite brief. For this reason he was both eager and nervous about starting classes at Hogwarts that September.

Neville smiled at the progress his plant had made. Two weeks ago it wound twice round the inside of the pot, trying to find a light source before it died. The new growth was obvious as the stem sprang out of its loop at an upward angle, its skin a healthy green with four real leaves added to the "baby" ones. Neville had looked it up and identified it as a sunflower.

Plants were easy to fix. Neville wished people were the same way. His parents were like that sunflower, winding round and round in their own dark little worlds and never going anywhere, never improving. If only he could lift the lid off their minds as easily as he lifted the flowerpot. But from the way the adults in his life spoke, it looked like there wasn't any chance of that happening. For all he knew they were trapped forever.

Still…forever was too long a time for his eleven year-old mind to accept. He had resigned himself to a lot of things in his short life, but he couldn't accept that his parents were beyond help. Maybe someday when he was big he would discover a cure for them.

He tipped his watering can over the sunflower. He couldn't help his parents yet - perhaps not ever - but it helped him feel better knowing there were some things he could fix.