Chapter 10
Chapter 9
“Ah, Neville,” Molly Weasley cooed. She leant up and wrapped her arms over his shoulders; he leant down to meet her halfway. “It’s always lovely having you over! I was just telling Ron how you don’t come over enough. The situation, though – rather unfortunate of course, but – ah, come in, come in!”
Neville ghosted behind Molly Weasley, awkwardly clutching his bag strap and looking around her. The house was small for its contents, and busy, with Christmas trinkets strewn over walls and counters. Family photos and memorabilia, things Neville would consider ‘sentimental’, coloured the house. Even though the intention was clearly one of love and affection, it did little more than make Neville feel like more of an outsider.
“I’ll show you your room, dear – and how’s your grandmother?”
“I – um – better soon, hopefully –“ Neville crouched a little to get under a doorway.
“This way, dear,” Molly said over her shoulder, checking on him periodically. “You’ll be in Charlie’s room, is that okay? He won’t be coming home.”
She stood by the doorway and watched as Neville dropped his bag on the bed. He knew from what Harry and Ron had said to him regarding the Burrow in previous years that they would be sharing a room; Neville wondered if the reason he would be boarding alone was because of his sexuality. The Burrow was small, overflowing with contents and people.
Or perhaps Mrs Weasley had just wanted him to be more comfortable.
“Oh, how come?” Neville asked conversationally. He wasn’t really sure what else he could say.
“Ah, the boys don’t really find the time to come home anymore. I think Charlie’s currently between Egypt and Romania for work, and Bill and Fleur are in France with Fleur’s family; it’s always packed here.” Molly didn’t mention Percy, though Neville knew he was the source of some tension. “But it’s a lot of fun! And of you ever want to send a message for your grandmother, just ask me and I’ll grab one of the owls for you.”
“Thank you.”
“I – well,” Molly floundered around the doorway, “I’ll leave you to get settled in, dear. The boys are just across the corridor from you, and if you need anything feel free to ask.”
Neville nodded. “Of course. Thanks. Again.”
Molly finally left with an unsure nod. Neville wasn’t sure what else he was expected to say.
The room felt surprisingly empty for the Burrow. There was no overflow of items; just a bed pressed into the corner, a scraped-up bedside table with a lamp on it. The drawers were quite empty. The open doors of the wardrobe revealed a handful of hanging clothes, but mostly empty hangers.
Neville was originally going to stay with his bachelor uncle; he wasn’t sure which circumstance led him to the Burrow, and he was yet to be sure if he would enjoy the awkwardness of it. It was Christmas, and he wanted to be with his grandmother…he was sure the awkwardness of being in the Burrow, intruding on someone else’s family, would make him feel worse. And every moment here was a feeling of guilt, because it didn’t seem right celebrating Christmas without his grandmother by his side.
Well, not like she wanted him there. Every time she saw his face she would get crabbier and crabbier. She wanted him gone, enjoying Christmas, rather than reminding her she was in hospital. Neville’s uncle did that enough.
-
Neville stood in the kitchen beside Harry and Ron, listening them discuss quidditch animatedly as they prepped the food. Neville ran the peeler back and forth over the potato he was holding. Why the Weasley’s didn’t use magic for such repetitive tasks confused him, but who was he to ask?
Ever since ‘the song’ happened Neville felt uncomfortable around the Weasley siblings. Ron was the only one who looked at Neville as if he remembered the contents of the song – the twins didn’t think much of it. Even so, Neville couldn’t find it in himself to let his guard down around the pair, regardless of how much time had passed.
And of course, Neville hadn’t seen Charlie for years, which could only be a good thing.
He was used to quieter Christmases than this, with few close family members and a trip to St Mungo’s to visit his parents. Would Neville be able to visit them this year? Would he even have the opportunity to go visit his grandmother?
The Burrow was not where Neville wanted to spend any stretch of time, having their family tossed in his face as a reminder of who he was missing.
-
Dinner was loud with a lot of food getting passed around. Neville would have rather faded into the background and listened to everyone else talk, but Molly kept putting things on his plate and shooing him into conversations.
-
The next day passed with as much awkwardness as the first. Neither Harry or Ron went out of their way to include Neville, though Neville was sure that if he’d shown a slight amount of interest they wouldn’t alienate him from their plans. He just couldn’t be bothered to the constant exposure to socialising. Around this time of year Neville would usually be around his muggle friends who he’d known for years or watching Christmas movies – muggle and magic alike – with his grandmother, both of them curled up on the couch as she criticised everything onscreen. Neville’s Christmases were far quieter than this.
“You doing okay?” Ginny muttered quietly.
They were both the last pair in the broom cupboard. Ginny grabbed one broom in each hand and handed one off the Neville.
“Yeah. Just not very good at quidditch.” Understatement of the century. Harry, Ron, and Hermione probably remembered what had happened in first year. Neville tried not to cringe too hard.
Unlike Neville, the Weasley clan – Harry included – were known for their skill in the sport. Even Hermione was at least average.
Ginny shrugged, “You don’t have to play.” Her words were probably supposed to sound kind, but Neville bit his lip and looked away.
It wasn’t really an option – not really. Not when he thought about how bad it would look if he were to sit out and how much he would be alienating himself. Anxiety pooled in his stomach. It was a catch 22 – play and be so absolutely useless that the people around him would start to resent him, or sit out and come off like some loser asshole.
“Its okay,” Neville smiled at her, “Always time to learn.”
-
Tired. Tired. Tired. Neville overheard Harry and Ron talk excitedly as he put his broom away and smiled at them. Tired. He snuck out of the conversation and through the Burrow to Charlie’s bedroom, and only then did he let his body relax, falling onto the bed and rolling up his trouser leg. One of the balls – he couldn’t remember the name of the damn thing – had pelted right into his knee. He bit back tears.
The pain – was a thing. But more the all-over ache, in his leg, in his chest, the festering worry he couldn’t shake off, the feeling of vomit just sitting at his throat waiting to be released. How was his grandmother? He’d been visiting her every day before being dismissed to the Burrow. And his parents? He was used to spending time with them too in the holidays, hugging his mother who didn’t remember him, choosing different flavours of chewing gum tailored to the flavours he knew she liked. He pressed a lock of hair between his fingers and rubbed, trying not to think too much.
Being here – was hard. And it was supposed to be better, somehow, than being alone or being around family. This was supposed to be fun – everyone who had encouraged Neville to the Burrow had stated that – don’t you want to have fun with your friends, Neville? It’ll get your mind off it, Neville.
Neville bit his finger and took a breath between his teeth, trying to steady his breathing, stop the tears before they properly started. He could do this. He could. Tomorrow he’d ask Molly for some floo powder and go see his grandmother and spend the day away from this congested, alienating house.
-
It was midnight, or the early hours of the morning. Neville still couldn’t sleep, chest heavy and sunken, struggling to breathe properly.
Some commotion – Neville sat up. Rapid knocking on the front door. Neville peeked out of his window, but the glare of the porch light obscured the face of the person at the door.
Talking – Molly’s voice, loud, clamouring downstairs – Neville heard sounds that could only be described as movement and shifting – largely silent, but still…
He settled back down in bed. It was probably just Arthur coming back from an errand – or, or –
Minutes passed with Neville staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to come…ten, fifteen, twenty, and then speaking right outside his door.
“Shh, he’s probably asleep – let me just lay out some bedding on the floor – and yes, you grab that – quietly now – “ Molly’s voice was a loud whisper, showing her excitement.
“I’m so glad you’re back – muah, muah, come here, come here –“ she continued, unable to contain herself.
Dread pooled in Neville’s stomach at her words.
“Mum – come on, let go,” hushed laughter – and a deep masculine voice –
When Charlie entered the bedroom, Neville was glad he had the foresight to face the wall and feign sleep.
sendosenpai: it's a-me??? I'm a-back??? with more charville??? is this the ship we were ALL waiting for??
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