Chapter 6
1999 - Neville
Neville woke up, a scream tangled in his throat. His lungs were crying for air, straining but failing to breath in that crucial oxygen. The white walls were too white, too close, too much like the Room of Requirement. His fingers twisted in the sheets, the material scrunching in his hand. That was real. Feel the softness of the cotton, remember the half hour he stood standing, trying to decide between eggshell white and linen white. That was real. His breathing had started to slow, but still the walls were closing in on him. Air. He needed air. A reminder that he was no trapped. That he had the power to decide where he slept, that he could choose to wander on those sleepless nights. The window opened with a whine.
The air was still soft, a mark leftover from the slowly warming sun. The tiredness that had been plaguing him the previous day crept back, the threat caused by the raging adrenaline retreating. Neville closed the window and slumped into a chair. The emptiness of his apartment screamed, a relentless reminder. It hadn’t been long enough since the nightmare and he could still see her reaching for him, fingers just grasping his, but he couldn’t hold on and she was ripped away. A familiar tune, a path well-worn but without his partner, without the other half of his soul, it was harder and harder to remind himself that it was not real. Because it was, just in a slightly different way. It was real. She wasn’t there and he couldn’t have been there to help.
The sun rose slowly, and he watched. A new start, a fresh beginning to a day that had begun like every other before it. Neville closed his eyes for a second, just a second, but when he woke up, the sun was high and his neck was aching. A part of his brain knew hat he was late to work; the store hould have opened hours ago, but if he forgot about his crook neck, then it was the warmth that was trying with all its might to convince him to stay. The sunlight into into his bedroom, a brightening force that chased away all the darkness left over from the night. The white walls that had made so twitchy, now looked light and bright, the exact reason he had chosen them in the first place. Strangely, it was the walls that provided the push he needed to get up and get ready. The walls of his apartment that he could only afford to keep because of the income his flower shop brought in. The flower shop which couldn’t make any money if it was sitting, closed.
Neville stood up and grabbed his clothes.
—-
Once again, he was surrounded by bright white walls. This time, however, their impact wasn’t lessened by the sole fact that they were his. These were not his, but there they were, surrounding him and he couldn’t leave. Not until his name was called. Not until someone gave him something to help.
The bags under his eyes had only grown bigger.
“Neville Longbottom!”
He stood up, chancing a glance around the small waiting area, cataloguing the other occupants’ faces. Phone, bored, phone, daydreaming. His muscles loosened slightly. No wizards. No chance of recognition.
He sa down in the doctor’s office and had to fight down a hysterical chuckle. Never in his life did he think that he would end up in a muggle doctor’s office, begging for drugs.
The doctor leaned forwards.
“What brings you here today, Mr Longbottom.”
“Uh, Neville is fine.” He said. “I-I’ve been having trouble sleeping.”
Her eyes flickered over him and he held his breath. Maybe she wouldn’t need to ask anything else. Maybe his appearance would tell her enough.
“Has this been an issue for a while?”
Neville nodded.
“Do you have any idea what could have brought this on? Any significant events that occurred around when you started having trouble?”
Again, Neville nodded.
The doctor sighed. Leaned forwards even more. “My ability to help you is severely limited by what you choose to tell me, Neville. The more about what brought you here that you tell me, the more I can help you.”
He could feel his shoulders tensing, drawing together as his chest starts to tighten. That damn belt was back, restricting his speech, but this time he didn’t mind as much. He doesn’t want to say anything this woman, this muggle who wouldn’t be able to help, even if she did know.
He shook his head.
The doctor sighs again, eyes creasing in the middle of her brows. Neville watched as she brought out a pad and scribbled a few lines of something. Another day, maybe he would have tried to read it, the paranoia that never went away after the war certainly wanted him to, but his everpresent headache was back, pounding at his temples and he was just so tired .
“This is a prescription for some melatonin hormones. I’ve stared you out on liquid so we can fiddle around with the dosage as it can vary from person to person. For now, take 2 miligrams about half an hour before bed and make another appointment to see me in about 2 weeks.” She moved her chair closer to him. “In the meantime, I would really recommend seeing a psychologist. Talking about the circumstances around your sleep issues can really make a difference and you may feel more comfortable talking to someone professionally trained.”
Neville nodded but he only had eyes for the piece of paper in the doctor’s hands.
—-
He had the hormones for a week before he took the first dose. His eyes would catch on the bottle, standing innocuously in the fridge but then he would tear them away, go on with his day like nothing had happened. But still, the restless nights piled up and the bags under his eyes grew. The breaking point was the third day he didn’t open the shop, couldn’t get out of bed, his body just too heavy, too slow to function. These issues, they were stealing the one thing that had got him through the past year. The flowers that had been his constant companion since before he started Hogwarts.
Neville pulled himself out of bed on that third day and told himself that today would be the day. He would take the meds and he would sleep through the night.
It felt like he had time turned to the end of the day. One moment he was staring at the bottle, making the decision, and the next, he was standing in front of it again, the sun having set, the clock having ticked over past 11pm. Neville had faced Voldemort. He had chopped off Nagini’s head, there was no logical reason that a bottle meant to help him should be this terrifying.
The syringe squeaked as the liquid bubbled. The taste was like nothing he had ever known as he inserted the liquid under his tongue. An odd, slimy sensation as it thinned and spread through his mouth. For a muggle medicine, it felt eerily like swallowing a potion. That done, Neville stood in front of the fridge, waiting for the effects to hit him. Two and then five minutes passed and he was still waiting. The tiredness stepped forwards to greet him but it was of the same brand that had contributed to all his sleepless nights. Not the type he wanted. But there was only so many things one could do in the middle of the night that didn’t involve sleeping so Neville went to bed.
The last thing he remembered was hoping, praying to every god he had ever heard about, muggle or wizarding, that a miracle would occur. That for once the warmth would not be too warm, that the air would be the perfect amount of still, and the sheets would be soft and inviting.
Then the sun rose and Neville woke up.