RP: "Hate me today, Hate me tomorrow..." Date: July 16, 2006 (late afternoon, early evening) Characters: Neville Longbottom, mentions of Frank & Alice Longbottom, anyone else in the house who would like to react Location: 7 Oddington Road at first, then London Private/Public?: Private at first, reactions semi-public, then Private for the bits in London Rating: PG-13 Warnings: Angst, Character/Auror Death Summary: Neville gets a crushing letter, and is a bit confused by it all Complete?: Incomplete
It was a gorgeous day, and Neville was in high spirits. Everyone in the house seemed to be happy as well, from what he saw anyway. Mornings seemed to be taking a different turn from before - now that he and Ginny were married, morning romps seemed to be first on the list, and then breakfasting outside in the small gazebo in the garden, basking in the morning light and still feeling slightly euphoric.
After breakfast though, his duties began after Ginny had gone to work - a quick trip to the Shelter to oversee the planting of the fall root vegetables kept him away for most of the day, until he returned home and looked through the post. Smiling at most of the mail, letters for Fred, George, Katie and Parvati, some for Ginny, he rifled through everything that Toby had gathered from the owls in the morning.
Neville’s gaze came to rest on the owl from the home where his parents resided and were cared for. It was too early for the monthly dues though - he thought to himself. It was marked in bold red script on the front ’Urgent’. Quickly and nervously, Neville broke through the wax seal and read the letter... a horrified lump leaping in his throat as he did so.
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Dear Mr. Longbottom,
It is with a heavy heart that I must write to you today and inform you that your father passed away during the night.
We sent for the Healer as soon as possible to find out that the cause of death was a severe stroke. I hope you can take comfort in knowing that he didn’t suffer, and went quietly in his sleep.
According to your father’s will, he is to be interred at the mausoleum on the grounds of Longbottom House. I trust that you will be making arrangements for this to happen.
Also, if you could come into London at your convenience. Your mother is acting oddly (understandably), and seems to be out of sorts, more than usual. I think you may have to see for yourself.
Again, we send our deepest condolences, Meredith Morningstar Medi-witch
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Neville read the letter over again at least three or four times, each time the buzzing in his head grew louder. The blood was rushing through his veins and making him dizzy as if it was thin like water, all he could hear was his own heartbeat thudding rapidly in his head.
The twins’ laughter from the kitchen was a dull murmur and the twins themselves looked like blurs, even though he was walking slowly and not really looking up from the letter. He really didn’t know what to think of it, and why he was feeling so badly when he never really had the chance to know his Father very much to begin with. He knew Frank as his Father, an auror and a hero, but .... he was never there like a real father. Frank never had that chance to be a Father to Neville - it was stolen from him.
Neville felt a very odd mix of emotions - sad that his father had died (of course), but there was guilt as well. Guilt because he wasn’t truly devastated at the news, the way a son should feel when he learns his father is truly gone. His parents had spent so much time in a perpetual limbo, that Neville was beginning to believe that they were only ghosts already. They were never going to come out of their madness, he was told, the torture had been too severe. So Neville settled into a sort of complacency, but still feeling proud to be their son, even if they were only just ‘there’. But now Frank wasn’t.
He sat at the kitchen table, nobody really paying him any mind - he was usually quiet like this to begin with. In all the time he spent staring at the slanted cursive of the letter, the twins had departed upstairs or... another room, he wasn’t quite sure, and there was no sound but for the beating of Neville’s heart, still rapid and loud. Though, after a while, he was aware of a murmured voice and looked up quickly while he folded the letter, sliding it across to Ginny on the table and finding that the lump in his throat was making him very upset now.
“I have to go to London.” he said quietly as he rose from his seat, slightly wobbly as if he was tipsy, as if he had already taken the drink he was craving. “My Father died.” And that was all he said, fearing that the lump in his throat may take over.