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Fic: Special Tea on Fridays (g) Harry Potter
Title: Special Tea on Fridays
Author: MelWil
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: G
Summary: Post DH. Neville.
Spoilers: For Deathly Hallows
St Mungo’s was just as busy as Neville had expected. Crowds of panicked witches and wizards filled the magically extended reception area, and harried Healers raced from one injury to another. Amplified voices echoed off the ceilings, frantic calls in the search for absent loved ones.
Neville ignored them all. He walked with an odd confidence, weaving through one hallway to the next, following a well trodden path to a familiar ward. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by the trivialities; there was a task he had to finish.
His mother was standing near the door of the Janus Thickey Ward, a look of expectation colouring her features. For a moment he let himself believe that she was waiting for him to come, that she knew he would be there. But by the time the doors locked behind him, she had shuffled away, any trace of recognition gone.
He felt awkward and young as he followed her down the ward. For years, his grandmother had used the visits to his parents to teach him how inadequate he was, telling him how he didn’t have the skills, knowledge or courage his parents had; that he needed to work harder; that he needed to have more confidence in himself.
He touched his mother’s hand gently, catching her before she settled back into her armchair. She turned around, her eyes focused on some point over his shoulder, and he reached forward to hug her, enveloping her in his arm, in a way he hadn’t done since he’d first gone away to Hogwarts.
“Hi Mum,” he said softly. He let her go and turned to his father. “Hello Dad.”
His father raised a hand to shoulder height, before dropping it heavily. Neville stretched forward and picked it off his father’s knee. He was surprised to find that his father’s hand – frail and lined – was the same size as his.
“I guess I came . . . I mean . . . I wanted to tell you . . .” Neville took a deep breath. “I came to tell you that the war is over. And we won.”
His parents just stared at him, with hopeful smiles, their faces turned upwards towards him. He closed his eyes for a moment, wishing for the millionth time that he could have parents like Mr and Mrs Weasley, or Mrs Finnigan or even Mr Lovegood. Parents who acknowledged you, who understood what was going on. Parents who were able to speak.
For a split second he wanted to sob. But then the words bubbled up inside him and spilt out into the still, silent ward.
“There was a battle, a big one, at Hogwarts, Dad. Everyone was involved; Dumbledore’s Army, the teachers, the house elves, the Death Eaters. And Harry Potter, of course. Harry killed You-Know-Who, I mean Voldemort. He saved us all. And I was there. I led people. I killed Voldemort’s snake. I helped kill Fenrir Greyback.”
He slid out of his seat, kneeling on the floor, grasping his parent’s hands. “I was good, Mum, Dad. Gran said I was as good as you were, that I was brave and that I showed talent. She said she was proud of me.”
His voice dropped to a whisper. “And Bellatrix is dead. Mrs Weasley killed her. She can’t . . . she can’t hurt us anymore.”
His parents continued looking at him, and he was struck with the sudden realisation that, for them, nothing had changed. As far as his parents were concerned, life in the locked ward would go on. They would have three meals a day, and a special tea on Fridays. They would go for walks around the corridors, hanging on to arm of a sympathetic healer. They would wait near the door, waiting for visitors, waiting for a difference in their routine.
Their lives would remain as they were, stagnant for years to come.
Neville hugged them both and walked towards the locked door. His life had changed forever.
It was time to go live it.
Author: MelWil
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: G
Summary: Post DH. Neville.
Spoilers: For Deathly Hallows
St Mungo’s was just as busy as Neville had expected. Crowds of panicked witches and wizards filled the magically extended reception area, and harried Healers raced from one injury to another. Amplified voices echoed off the ceilings, frantic calls in the search for absent loved ones.
Neville ignored them all. He walked with an odd confidence, weaving through one hallway to the next, following a well trodden path to a familiar ward. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by the trivialities; there was a task he had to finish.
His mother was standing near the door of the Janus Thickey Ward, a look of expectation colouring her features. For a moment he let himself believe that she was waiting for him to come, that she knew he would be there. But by the time the doors locked behind him, she had shuffled away, any trace of recognition gone.
He felt awkward and young as he followed her down the ward. For years, his grandmother had used the visits to his parents to teach him how inadequate he was, telling him how he didn’t have the skills, knowledge or courage his parents had; that he needed to work harder; that he needed to have more confidence in himself.
He touched his mother’s hand gently, catching her before she settled back into her armchair. She turned around, her eyes focused on some point over his shoulder, and he reached forward to hug her, enveloping her in his arm, in a way he hadn’t done since he’d first gone away to Hogwarts.
“Hi Mum,” he said softly. He let her go and turned to his father. “Hello Dad.”
His father raised a hand to shoulder height, before dropping it heavily. Neville stretched forward and picked it off his father’s knee. He was surprised to find that his father’s hand – frail and lined – was the same size as his.
“I guess I came . . . I mean . . . I wanted to tell you . . .” Neville took a deep breath. “I came to tell you that the war is over. And we won.”
His parents just stared at him, with hopeful smiles, their faces turned upwards towards him. He closed his eyes for a moment, wishing for the millionth time that he could have parents like Mr and Mrs Weasley, or Mrs Finnigan or even Mr Lovegood. Parents who acknowledged you, who understood what was going on. Parents who were able to speak.
For a split second he wanted to sob. But then the words bubbled up inside him and spilt out into the still, silent ward.
“There was a battle, a big one, at Hogwarts, Dad. Everyone was involved; Dumbledore’s Army, the teachers, the house elves, the Death Eaters. And Harry Potter, of course. Harry killed You-Know-Who, I mean Voldemort. He saved us all. And I was there. I led people. I killed Voldemort’s snake. I helped kill Fenrir Greyback.”
He slid out of his seat, kneeling on the floor, grasping his parent’s hands. “I was good, Mum, Dad. Gran said I was as good as you were, that I was brave and that I showed talent. She said she was proud of me.”
His voice dropped to a whisper. “And Bellatrix is dead. Mrs Weasley killed her. She can’t . . . she can’t hurt us anymore.”
His parents continued looking at him, and he was struck with the sudden realisation that, for them, nothing had changed. As far as his parents were concerned, life in the locked ward would go on. They would have three meals a day, and a special tea on Fridays. They would go for walks around the corridors, hanging on to arm of a sympathetic healer. They would wait near the door, waiting for visitors, waiting for a difference in their routine.
Their lives would remain as they were, stagnant for years to come.
Neville hugged them both and walked towards the locked door. His life had changed forever.
It was time to go live it.