Author's Note: If nobody is going to make Neville Longbottom happy, I will damnit.

Disclaimer: The following characters belong to J.K. Rowling, and this story derives from her original works, storylines, and world. Please do not sue me, I can barely pay tuition.

Warnings: References to the torture and spell damage that Frank and Alice Longbottom survived. Set in hospital. Also refers to the bullying Neville endured at Hogwarts.

Stacked with: MC4A; By Any Other Name; Snicket Fence; Specious Narrative

Individual Challenge(s): Gryffindor MC (x3); Brush; Seeds; Long Haul

Representation(s): Longbottom family reunion; Magical injuries; Bullying; Caregiver Neville

Bonus Challenge(s): Second Verse (Not a Lamp); Chorus (Wabi Sabi); Machismo; Rediscovery; Bee Haven

Tertiary Bonus Challenge(s): NA

Word Count: 3070

A Soft Place to Land

It was a miracle that Neville had even managed to pull on a pair of jeans and a sweater when the specially trained owl from St. Mungo's had woken him up at 2:00 a.m. Ultimately the fact that he had his top on backwards was secondary.

"Hi," he told the witch at the admissions counter. "I'm—my name's Neville Longbottom—I got a call about my parents…"

The witch's eyes widened.

"Yes, of course! Of course, let me just page one of the Healers from the Spell Damage Ward for you…"

Neville's nerves were too tightly wound to take a seat while he waited as the witch offered. He dug his nails into his palms to steady himself, preparing for any possible thing they could tell him…

"Mr. Longbottom?" a Healer finally said. Neville recognized them from his Christmas visits. They were his parents' favourite, so Neville knew this must be bad.

"Oh God," Neville said. "Which one of them died?"

The Healer's face broke out into a grin.

"Neither of them, Mr. Longbottom. They're both doing fine. In fact… well, the best word for their current states would be 'in recovery.'"

Neville's stomach dropped whatever the bodily equivalent of three stories was.

"In recovery?" Neville asked.

The Healer nodded, smiling wider.

"Five hours ago, your mother woke up asking where Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange and Barty Crouch Jr. were," they said. "Your father told us that they'd hidden the baby upstairs… It took some time to get them both settled down, to explain where they were, but…"

"But they remembered," Neville said breathlessly. "They… they're still..?"

"Yes, they're still lucid. They've answered some basic questions about their lives, and we've done our best by them to explain where they were. They were asking for you so frantically we just had to send you an owl," the Healer said. "I… I understand that this must be quite a shock…"

"Why?" Neville asked. "Why did this happen? Is this just temporary or..?"

"Well, as you know, Bellatrix Lestrange was killed at the Battle of Hogwarts," the Healer said.

"That was months ago."

"Yes, but Rodulphus Lestrange died by suicide in his cell at Azkaban just yesterday, and the Aurors couldn't resuscitate him," the Healer said. "That bit of news hasn't been released to the public yet, but… well, it seems that the magic they cast while they were alive is now weakening… perhaps even undoing itself."

"Oh God," Neville said. "They're… they're going to be okay?"

Neville was sure that this was beyond professional boundaries, but the Healer took his hand and squeezed.

"Let's go up," the Healer said. "They were quite anxious to see you."

The upside-down, inside-out, world-changing change jumped to Neville's attention the second he walked into the bedroom his parents had shared for the last sixteen years. Dad was sitting on the hospital bed, hands clasped together and eyes trained on the pictures on his nightstand. Neville had never seen him look so focused before, had never seen him able to concentrate so hard. Then there was his mother, who was pacing the room with a new quickness and determination in her steps. No, not new. Returned.

The Healer knocked on the door. "Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom?"

Both of his parents looked at him. His father's jaw dropped a little and a breath escaped his mother's lips.

"Merlin," his mum said. His father got up shakily. "Merlin, I… Neville?"

"Mum," he said. "Dad."

These were the parents he'd known, but not as he'd known them. He wasn't sure what to do in this moment, and neither did they.

"It really has been sixteen years…" his dad said.

"Yeah," Neville said. "Yeah, it has. How are you feeling?"

"Never better," his mum said, breathlessly. "Neville, can I give you a hug?"

"Please," Neville said.

And just like that they closed the space between them.

Eventually, the Healer quietly suggested that Neville go home and that everyone get some rest.

"We've got seventeen years to catch up on," Dad protested.

"Sixteen," Mum corrected.

"Yes, and we'll find time," the Healer said patiently. "But we don't want to push you—either of you. Some spell damage has undone itself, but the Head Healer is still worried about the effects it's had on your bodies and any long-term consequences on that front."

"Slow and steady wins the race, love," Mum said gently, putting a hand on her husband's hand, and looking up to Neville longingly.

"I'll visit later," Neville promised. "I'll—Gran's out of town right now, but I'll tell her as soon as she gets back. And I'll be back."

"That would be nice," the Healer said. "And we can work our way through the people you once knew and filling you in on the news. We're in no rush, okay?"

His dad didn't look too sure of this, and Neville felt a similar sort of anxiety in his own stomach. This was too good to be true. He'd dreamed of this for years and years. What if..?

"I'll check with Professor Sprout and see if I can bring some of those chameleon carnations we've been breeding in. I think you'll liked them," Neville said. The thought comforted him: having a reason to leave made it seem okay.

"That would be lovely," his Mum said. "I was always so rubbish at Herbology, I'd love to finally learn a thing or two."

"She really was," Dad said. Mum gave him a look and he laughed, before turning back to Neville with a smile.

He couldn't believe this was real.

"Okay," Neville said. "Yeah, I'll… I'll go. I'll bring some Daily Prophets and things for you to look at."

"Make sure you get some rest," the Healer said.

"Yes. Sweet dreams," his mum said quietly. The pang in Neville's stomach intensified: how many more times should he have heard that?

It didn't matter now. Barty Crouch and the Lestranges had fallen. There was no undoing what had happened before that moment, but they had room to grow now. He had to tell himself it didn't matter now.

"Sweet dreams," Neville told them again.

The Healer insisted on walking him back downstairs—possibly because they knew that the moment he left the fourth floor, he was going to burst into tears.

"Go fish," Mum said.

They were showing him how to play a card game they'd invented in Hogwarts while they were Prefects where you mixed blackjack, poker, go fish, bullshit, and old maid. He thought that he was doing a fair job of keeping up, though they definitely had the upper hand. He couldn't believe how crystal clearly they remembered all these small, finnicky rules. The Healers said that it was a very, very encouraging start—but they'd only been back to themselves for three days now. Neville was still on edge. The only people he'd told about this was Luna, a wonderful depository of secrets if there ever was one, and Harry, who Neville figured should know the truth given how guilty he'd looked when he told Neville all about the prophecy.

Neville also thought it was significantly easier to talk about the Wizarding War and fill them in on a very, very eventful sixteen years while they were doing something else. It felt more like catching up. It meant that he didn't have to look into their eyes for a lot of the news he gave and the things he said. It meant that the order in which he divulged information felt so much more… natural. It also meant he could tell them what he wanted them to know—which he felt guilty doing, but there were things that… well, all in due time, he supposed.

"I can't even tell if you're cheating or if I'm just really, really bad at this," Neville said.

His parents both laughed, but they didn't give him a straight answer.

He'd been talking about the work he'd done assisting Professor Sprout during her research on the twelve subspecies of magical onions for about fifteen minutes when he caught himself.

"Sorry," he said, looking from his parents who were sitting together in bed to his knees. "That was pretty rambly."

"No!" his dad said. "No, no, no, keep going!"

"We want to hear all about it," his mum added. His heart swelled with gratitude.

"Really?"

"Of course," Dad said. "So after you realized the Green Onion Subspecies C and E had different rooting patterns, what happened?"

The Healer met him at the elevator, so Neville knew that they weren't coming with good news. Still, he was shocked.

"A relapse?" he repeated.

"Just on some things," the Healer promised. "Your father still remembers who he is—and he remembers his family, being an Auror, but he… well, it's like he woke up the day after the attack, is all."

Neville swallowed hard.

"Is this temporary, then?" Neville asked. "Are they gone again?"

"No," the Healer said. "No, no, no. Your mother's doing well, though she is a bit shaken. And your father—well, we think that with some rest and some restorative dittany, he'll come around again…"

"But what if he doesn't?" Neville asked. "Then it's back to the way things were?"

"They weren't unhappy, Neville," the Healer reminded him.

I was, he thought selfishly. The thought hurt, but it was true, and he had to think it.

"They weren't as happy," he said. "Not as happy as they've been this past week."

"No, but we've been able to talk to them," the Healer said. "We have a plan to keep them in a place where they can heal. We're taking steps in the right direction."

"Where's Mum, then, if she's doing alright?"

"She's gone to read in the cafeteria," the Healer said. "Would you like to join her? We told her you might."

He really wanted to storm out of St. Mungo's, but yes, he did go join her.

"Dad, the Healers said not to push yourself," Neville said quietly, his pace slow to match his father's as they did laps of the ward.

Dad remembered the Lestrange starting the torture curses on his legs and moving their way up—and his legs were causing him the most trouble now, as far as lingering spell damage was concerned.

"I won't get better if I just lay in bed," he said. That was the kind of grit and determination that must have made him such a good Auror. It also hit Neville in that moment that maybe Dad's natural talent at most branches of magic, the one Gran had reminded him of frequently throughout the years, was also making him impatient with himself in the moment…

"You won't get better if you hurt yourself," Neville said firmly—as firmly as he'd had to tell Seamus no we're not blowing this up on a nightly Order mission or no Ginny don't Bat-Bogey Hex the Carrows. "Now let's turn around and go back to Mum and Gran."

His dad looked up to him and examined Neville for a second.

"You're right," he said. "Very rational, practical man. I see why you're so good at Herbology—taking care of things, giving them the right amount of care. That soulful sage you brought in started singing at sundown last night and it was absolutely beautiful."

"Thanks," Neville said. "But just so you know, you're a bit more complicated than a plant."

His dad laughed.

Mum hadn't been able to get out of bed on account of headaches today.

Still, she'd told Dad to go out with Gran and shop for new clothes anyways, to prepare just in case they did they discharged as per scheduled that weekend—even if he categorically refused to go anywhere without her. They'd told him that they'd cross that bridge when they got there, and that he should go out and spend some time with Gran.

Neville stayed with her, sitting in the reading chair between the two beds and browsing through the offers for Herbology Apprenticeships that had come flooding in recently. Neville suspected that more of them could be attributed to the curiosity aroused by his war hero status than to his actual Herbology prowess, but it was nice to have options. Still: all of them were so far away—Denmark, Hungary, several countries in the Americas… he would have paid good Galleons to leave the country behind and get as far away from Hogwarts as possible only a year ago, but now he knew he wouldn't be going anywhere. Perhaps Sprout would take him in…

Mum stirred in bed and he put his stack of papers aside.

"Do you need anything, Mum?" he asked.

"You're sweet," she said.

"That doesn't really answer the question, sorry," he said.

"I'm okay," she said, her voice breathy. "You're a good son, standing by me like this."

Her face scrunched up, and Neville realized that they had the same expression when they were trying to hold back tears.

"I wanted to be a good mum for you so badly," she said. "I'm sorry that you have to see me like this, I wish I was stronger…"

"Mum, stop," Neville said, reaching out to take her hand. "Mum don't feel bad… don't Mum, I'm serious… you're here. You made it here, you're so strong…"

Then he reached into his bag and took out the mason jar he'd carried with him to St. Mungo's every time he'd visited since July. This one had a particularly colourful collection of candy wrappers in it.

"When I used to visit, you gave me at least one every time," he said.

"What?" Mum asked, confused.

"I didn't get it either," Neville said. "Gran told me to throw them out. But I kept them because, well, because you'd given to me. I didn't understand why, but I didn't have to—you had a reason to give them to me. You thought I needed them. And it doesn't really matter if I did or not, you were trying to take care of me. And so you were still my Mum. And you're my Mum now. And there's four more of those jars at home. I was ready to fill jars for the rest of my life if that was my Mum and I were going to say I love you. I'm just happy to have you and I love you."

A tear slid down her cheek.

"Oh, Neville… you sweetheart. Come here."

He crawled into bed with her and she pet his hair.

"I know there's things you're not telling us," she said quietly. "About how hard it must have been, growing up. And you tell us so little about your first few years at Hogwarts... Don't forget we're Aurors, sweetheart, we're trained to spot a lie—even a good one, a kind one."

"I'm not nearly as cool and impressive in real life as I am to you," Neville said quietly.

"I have trouble believing that," Mum said. "I don't even think you know how cool and impressive I think you are."

Neville laughed a bit to himself.

"I know it mustn't have been easy... Gran showed us Prophet articles about the attack, but I'm sure that the heroics of it I'm sure didn't make up for the everyday pain," Mum said softly.

Neville swallowed hard. "It was like a million papercuts. But it's over now."

"It is. I wish it hadn't happened, but it is. What your father and I did, with our work and with the Order, it was to make a world worthy of you."

"You did," Neville said. "I knew that. I always knew that."

And now he wouldn't pay for it every day.

Mum and Dad had a quiet little cottage in Ottery St. Catchpole. It had a small wizarding community, but not big enough for them to get swarmed. Somebody from the hospital would check in every two days, and then every week as they got stronger and healthier and better. Part of Neville was relieved that they wouldn't be living with Gran because, as good as she was at a lot of things, she could get very stifling very quickly—and that wasn't what his parents needed when they'd lost sixteen years of their lives.

Neville liked the look of their new place. The layout was completely different from their old house as were all the colours on the wall, because they'd wanted a fresh start. When they'd visited this place and fallen in love with it, Neville had sworn that they'd have it. Harry had made a similar oath when they'd talked about it over a butterbeer, and Neville had a sneaking suspicion he knew who the anonymous donor that had granted the necessary funds to St. Mungo's rehabilitation program was.

They were just finishing organizing the kitchen cupboards when Neville came in—they'd insisted to move in alone and had only let him help move furniture and boxes into the appropriate rooms.

"You're early for the housewarming party," Mum said, smiling at him and crossing the floor to kiss his cheek. She'd gotten a haircut out of St. Mungo's—had cut her hair into the pixie cut she'd borne when she was younger. It suited her.

"Better than late," he said, handing over the potted plant he'd brought for them as a gift.

"It works out quite well," Dad said, grinning. He'd come around the idea of walking with a cane which, though it may have bruised his pride at first, made him much happier and mobile now. "That means you get the first look at…"

"Shh, Frank, it's a surprise!" Mum said, taking Neville's hand. "Come, we want to show you…"

The room had originally been supposed to be an office, but his parents had actually outfit it with a bed and dresser. The walls were painted a cool, calming green and framed issues of Herbology Today hung on the wall.

"We wanted you to have a room," Dad said. "A room at your parents' house. Not because you have to stay with us, obviously. We know you've got your own plans and your own life. But that way you always a soft place to land here."

Mum squeezed his hand, and Neville squeezed back. He wasn't too sure what to say about this, so thankfully Mum spoke up.

"We lost a lot of time," Mum said. "And we can't really make up for that. It's gone. But we're here now. And we can do our best by you now, and we thought that this was a good first step."

Neville looked around the room, at how lovingly the bed had been made, at how much attention to detail had gone into choosing the posters since they all bore some of his favourite plants…

"I love it," he said. He was a bit annoyed at how he had to wipe a tear from his eyes, but he also wasn't going to chase away any part of this happiness.