andy_star: Best Kept Secret (Neville, G)
Title: Best Kept Secret
Author: andy_star
CPE: Neville
Rating: G
Prompt Set: 100.1
Prompt: Taboo
Word Count: 915
Summary: Neville Longbottom has a Secret.
Neville Longbottom had a Secret. Well, it was his Gran’s Secret, really, but he kept it for her because he was used to it, and he thought it was probably best that he did. His Gran put so much importance on it that it had always been capitalised in his head, and the only person he’d ever talked about with was Professor Dumbledore.
Harry, Ron and Hermione had found out by accident - wrong place at the wrong time - and his Uncle Algie and Auntie Enid knew about it, of course. Professor Moody had known - he tried not to think about why - and he sometimes thought Professor Lupin must have, as well. There were a few others, sprinkled around in his life, but he hardly ever thought about them. Mostly it was just him and his Gran who knew the Secret.
And it was the stupidest, most ridiculous thing that changed it all.
It was Defence Against the Dark Arts. Professor Snape was away for a few days, for some reason, so they had a substitute for a few weeks, an Auror from the ministry called Kebble. He was quite youngish, and was full of exciting stories about the few ‘too short’ years he had spent working with Magical Law Enforcement.
He was only half-listening, thinking about lunch and whether he ought to start his Herbology essay tonight or do his Charms practice. Kebble had apparently run out of stories and had decided on a polling session.
“Raise your hands if anyone wants to be an Auror!” A few hands went up. Neville’s didn’t. Who’d want to be an Auror? he wondered. They all get killed or worse, and those that don’t hardly get paid anything at all.
“Okay, raise your hand if you have a parent who is or was ever an Auror.”
Neville casually raised his left hand while still doodling on his parchment. When there was silence, he lifted his head. Suddenly he realised he was the only one with his hand up. He’d expected to be one of many. Hurriedly he put his hand down again.
“That’s great!” said Kebble, looking straight at him. “Your mother or father, Mr. er, Longbottom?”
Neville flushed red. Everyone was staring at him, but he couldn’t get out of it now.
“Er, both actually, sir.”
“Don’t suppose I’d know them, would I?”
“No sir,” he muttered. “Was a long time ago.”
“Good, good,” Kebble said, nodding enthusiastically. “I suppose they’ve told you lots of stories, eh? Every Auror has one or two party-tales!”
“Not really, sir,” he said, realising that if he said yes, Kebble might want to hear some of them, “they don’t like to talk about it.”
“Oh,” said Kebble, looking a bit put-out. “Never mind then.”
He continued with his lesson, but no one was paying attention anymore. Whispers were in the air between desk-partners, notes were being passed around at the speed of air-mail. Hannah Abbott, sitting next to Neville, was staring at him but trying not to let him know about it. He wished and wished for the floor to swallow him, but failed miserably in that respect.
His Gran was going to kill him.
As soon as the bell rang, Neville fled the classroom, running straight to the library and studying until his stomach decided it couldn’t wait any longer for dinner. He kept his head down as he made his way to the Great Hall, but there were people pointing at him, he was sure of it, and none of them had been in his Defence Against the Dark Arts class, either. Damnit.
He’d hoped to just grab some food and escape to his dormitory, but Harry, Ron and Hermione, sitting together at the Gryffindor table, waved him over. “Don’t worry, Neville,” said Harry, sympathetically, when he sat down. “It’ll be over in a few days.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, desperately. “I’m dead anyway. My Gran’ll throw a fit - I’ll be getting Howlers till Summer.”
“What, are you not allowed to talk about your parents, then?” Ron said, frowning.
“Ron…” Hermione warned.
“What? I was just ask - ow! What d’you kick me for?”
“No,” Neville said, miserably, ladling mashed potatoes onto his plate. “It’s top on the list of rules, right after ‘Always Wipe Feet on the Mat.’ No bloody wonder,” he added, daring a quick glance over his shoulder at the fourth years who were whispering excitedly while sneaking looks in his direction.
“Neville!” exclaimed Lavender Brown, coming over to sit on the bench beside him. “I didn’t even know you had parents!”
Neville stabbed angrily at a sausage.
“Don’t, Lavender,” said Hermione, trying to clue her in with a look.
“I think there’s something in your eye, dear,” Lavender said vaguely, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “But, Neville, people are saying your parents must be like, top-secret Ministry operatives, or something.”
Neville snorted into his mashed potatoes. “Er, no.”
“Pity,” she said, looking annoyed at the lack of gossip she was getting. “What do they do, then?”
“Nothing,” said Neville, turning to look at her. “They do nothing. They won Witch Weekly’s Lifetime Galleon prize and now they live in a condo in Florida and eat coconuts and swim with dolphins.”
“Oh,” said Lavender, a bit more happily. “Okay.”
“And that,” said Neville, when Lavender had run off to tell everyone that his parents were closeted millionaires, and Harry, Ron and Hermione were staring at him like he’d grown another head, “takes care of that.”
Author: andy_star
CPE: Neville
Rating: G
Prompt Set: 100.1
Prompt: Taboo
Word Count: 915
Summary: Neville Longbottom has a Secret.
Neville Longbottom had a Secret. Well, it was his Gran’s Secret, really, but he kept it for her because he was used to it, and he thought it was probably best that he did. His Gran put so much importance on it that it had always been capitalised in his head, and the only person he’d ever talked about with was Professor Dumbledore.
Harry, Ron and Hermione had found out by accident - wrong place at the wrong time - and his Uncle Algie and Auntie Enid knew about it, of course. Professor Moody had known - he tried not to think about why - and he sometimes thought Professor Lupin must have, as well. There were a few others, sprinkled around in his life, but he hardly ever thought about them. Mostly it was just him and his Gran who knew the Secret.
And it was the stupidest, most ridiculous thing that changed it all.
It was Defence Against the Dark Arts. Professor Snape was away for a few days, for some reason, so they had a substitute for a few weeks, an Auror from the ministry called Kebble. He was quite youngish, and was full of exciting stories about the few ‘too short’ years he had spent working with Magical Law Enforcement.
He was only half-listening, thinking about lunch and whether he ought to start his Herbology essay tonight or do his Charms practice. Kebble had apparently run out of stories and had decided on a polling session.
“Raise your hands if anyone wants to be an Auror!” A few hands went up. Neville’s didn’t. Who’d want to be an Auror? he wondered. They all get killed or worse, and those that don’t hardly get paid anything at all.
“Okay, raise your hand if you have a parent who is or was ever an Auror.”
Neville casually raised his left hand while still doodling on his parchment. When there was silence, he lifted his head. Suddenly he realised he was the only one with his hand up. He’d expected to be one of many. Hurriedly he put his hand down again.
“That’s great!” said Kebble, looking straight at him. “Your mother or father, Mr. er, Longbottom?”
Neville flushed red. Everyone was staring at him, but he couldn’t get out of it now.
“Er, both actually, sir.”
“Don’t suppose I’d know them, would I?”
“No sir,” he muttered. “Was a long time ago.”
“Good, good,” Kebble said, nodding enthusiastically. “I suppose they’ve told you lots of stories, eh? Every Auror has one or two party-tales!”
“Not really, sir,” he said, realising that if he said yes, Kebble might want to hear some of them, “they don’t like to talk about it.”
“Oh,” said Kebble, looking a bit put-out. “Never mind then.”
He continued with his lesson, but no one was paying attention anymore. Whispers were in the air between desk-partners, notes were being passed around at the speed of air-mail. Hannah Abbott, sitting next to Neville, was staring at him but trying not to let him know about it. He wished and wished for the floor to swallow him, but failed miserably in that respect.
His Gran was going to kill him.
As soon as the bell rang, Neville fled the classroom, running straight to the library and studying until his stomach decided it couldn’t wait any longer for dinner. He kept his head down as he made his way to the Great Hall, but there were people pointing at him, he was sure of it, and none of them had been in his Defence Against the Dark Arts class, either. Damnit.
He’d hoped to just grab some food and escape to his dormitory, but Harry, Ron and Hermione, sitting together at the Gryffindor table, waved him over. “Don’t worry, Neville,” said Harry, sympathetically, when he sat down. “It’ll be over in a few days.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, desperately. “I’m dead anyway. My Gran’ll throw a fit - I’ll be getting Howlers till Summer.”
“What, are you not allowed to talk about your parents, then?” Ron said, frowning.
“Ron…” Hermione warned.
“What? I was just ask - ow! What d’you kick me for?”
“No,” Neville said, miserably, ladling mashed potatoes onto his plate. “It’s top on the list of rules, right after ‘Always Wipe Feet on the Mat.’ No bloody wonder,” he added, daring a quick glance over his shoulder at the fourth years who were whispering excitedly while sneaking looks in his direction.
“Neville!” exclaimed Lavender Brown, coming over to sit on the bench beside him. “I didn’t even know you had parents!”
Neville stabbed angrily at a sausage.
“Don’t, Lavender,” said Hermione, trying to clue her in with a look.
“I think there’s something in your eye, dear,” Lavender said vaguely, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “But, Neville, people are saying your parents must be like, top-secret Ministry operatives, or something.”
Neville snorted into his mashed potatoes. “Er, no.”
“Pity,” she said, looking annoyed at the lack of gossip she was getting. “What do they do, then?”
“Nothing,” said Neville, turning to look at her. “They do nothing. They won Witch Weekly’s Lifetime Galleon prize and now they live in a condo in Florida and eat coconuts and swim with dolphins.”
“Oh,” said Lavender, a bit more happily. “Okay.”
“And that,” said Neville, when Lavender had run off to tell everyone that his parents were closeted millionaires, and Harry, Ron and Hermione were staring at him like he’d grown another head, “takes care of that.”