Note: This is part of a series of little bursts of Neville and Luna goodness (NLG), and all my NLG is back-story for the epic 'Supposed Happiness' by MoonCroww. If you want to fully understand the whole situation and future events … toddle over and check it out. Thanks. ~Lady Roxyeth, Dragonsbane
IMPORTANT: In regards to the title: Must be read alongside excerpts from Chapter 5: Family of 'Supposed Happiness' to grasp the urgency of this piece.
The Night Before
Thu.22.Jan.2004
***
He intertwined his fingers with hers and gripped her hands. He bent to kiss her collar bone and she arched her back, calling his name in a voice barely more than a whisper and he moved to suck lightly on her neck.
"Luna …" he breathed, his mouth close to her ear. He was going to say it this time. "I … I …"
Her cries rang out, cutting him off and he kissed her, muffling the sound and restraining his own. She took his lip between her teeth and he groaned, pulling away from her. There was the faint taste of blood we he got his lip back, but it was the farthest thing from his mind.
Suddenly, a cold feeling gripped his heart and his chest constricted. He gasped for breath and collapsed on top of his wife, unable to hold himself up any longer. He had released her hands and she stroked his short cropped brown locks with one hand while the other strayed down his back.
Neville was still struggling for air when he rolled onto his side, his back to her. She reached over him and placed a hand on his chest, kissing his shoulder blades.
"Neville?" she asked, concern in her voice as she propped herself up on her elbow behind him.
"I … I'm … alright, I think," he managed, hyperventilating.
"No, you're not," she stated, plainly, "What's wrong?"
"I … I don't … know. I just …" he took a deep breath and fought back tears, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Honey, I'm really worried about you. Maybe I should get Ginny."
"No," he told her, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. "No, I'm alright." His breathing had slowed and regulated, but he still couldn't shake the feeling in his heart. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before, that he could remember; much like despair, or anguish, but worse, to an inconceivable degree.
'Where did that come from?' he asked himself, the cold still tickling the outer boundaries of his heart. He looked at his wife for answers, but the fear in her eyes gave him nothing but more pain.
"I'm alright, see?" he repeated, sitting up and smiling half-heartedly. She looked like she might cry and he took her in his arms. "Nothing's wrong. Whatever it was is gone now."
His arms wrapped easily around her small, naked form and she buried her face in his chest. He played with her blonde curls and alternated between pressing his cheek to her forehead and kissing it. They sat like that for a long while, and, if she cried, he didn't know it. His mind was racing, still trying to find the source of the disquiet within him. It felt like something that was to be eternal had found it's end and he was mourning.
He realized she was trailing light kisses along his torso and he ran a hand through his hair.
"I … I need to get up," he whispered, placing one foot on the floor and loosening his hold on her. She looked into his eyes before moving from him and laying on her side, facing away. He brought his leg back into the bed, laying down next to her, again, taking her in his arms. "I'm sorry. I'll stay for awhile."
She didn't respond vocally, at first, but closed her eyes and let him nuzzle behind her ear.
"Neville, I …" She didn't finish and seemed to be struggling with something of her own.
"What?" he asked, pulling her closer and kissing her cheek.
She sighed.
"Thank you for staying," was her answer, but he felt that she had wanted to say something else. He knew what he had wanted her to say but he also knew that she wouldn't. It was this that made him keep silent until he felt her breathing slow.
"Luna?" he whispered. He got no response, but chose not to speak anyway.
'I love you', he told her in his mind.
Slowly, he pulled away from her and made sure she didn't stir before finding his pajama pants and leaving the room. He turned left and made his way to his daughters' room. Noiselessly, he stepped to their crib and took in one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen; but something was missing. Both girls were images of their mother, even at this young age, and he stroked their blonde curls absently, trying to picture them older, going on outings with himself and his wife.
He found this hard for some reason. He could see his girls; Luna had showed them to him. Sometimes he wished he could See on his own and not through his wife. He wanted to see her through his own eyes, instead of himself with his daughters through hers.
The unrest in his soul lingered while he stood there, admiring his daughters, and it was then that he remembered feeling this way once before. Neville hadn't cried from sadness in years. 'Crying got you nowhere,' he'd told himself many times and it always proved true. He did cry once, though, a few months earlier, and he had prayed he'd never have to feel that way again.
He remembered her song and he choked back a sob, not wanting to wake his babies. Pulling his hands away from them, he braced himself on the crib and forced himself to stand tall; like he was sure his father would have.
His father.
His mother.
Their 'problems' got the better of them. When a brain is damaged as much as theirs were, it gets to a place where it doesn't know enough about what it's supposed to be doing and just stops; shuts down completely, taking all other bodily process with it. Their minds told their hearts to give up, and, finally, after Neville left Hogwarts, they did.
He brought his fist to his mouth, physically holding his emotions in. When they died, he didn't cry but was thankful that they were no longer trapped within the fleshly prisons that had long ago lost their vibrancy and life. Sometimes, he wished his parents would have been alive and well enough to know Ivy and Lotus; even just to meet them once, like his grandmother.
His grandmother.
It was week after the twins had been born, he and Luna had taken them to meet her. She wasn't of sound body and was steadily fading as she had been ever since Neville had become self-sufficient and her son and daughter-in-law had passed on. He had, however, insisted that they go and she lasted long enough to smile at them and hold them once. Before he left, he kissed her wrinkled forehead and thanked her for taking care of him those many years, and she had told him she loved him.
Love.
Luna.
He looked again at his daughters and realized what was missing from the view before him. His mind strayed to his sleeping wife down the hall. Neville did love her and always would. He was sure he'd tell her one day, but was afraid of the rejection that was inevitable. She didn't love him. He wasn't supposed to love her. But he did.
Arms closed around him from behind, two small hands finding his abdomen and pressing into him. He turned and took hold of Luna, lifting her into his embrace. She had donned his pajama shirt and came to find him.
She looked at his eyes, brimming with tears he didn't want to let fall and she kissed him. He set her on her feet again and, side by side, they returned to their bed. Slipping under the covers, he rolled away from her again, unwilling to let her see him cry. Luna placed her hand on his chest again, which he covered with his own, and started to hum a familiar, low melody to him.
Neville wept.
He had no other options. He didn't even realize it when a second set of tears joined his own before he drifted to sleep in the arms of the one woman he had ever really loved.
When she was sure he was asleep, she kissed his shoulder and whispered her 'I love you' into his tear stained cheek.
©2004 – Roxanne L. Martin, Writings From Behind The Red Door
IMPORTANT: In regards to the title: Must be read alongside excerpts from Chapter 5: Family of 'Supposed Happiness' to grasp the urgency of this piece.
The Night Before
Thu.22.Jan.2004
***
He intertwined his fingers with hers and gripped her hands. He bent to kiss her collar bone and she arched her back, calling his name in a voice barely more than a whisper and he moved to suck lightly on her neck.
"Luna …" he breathed, his mouth close to her ear. He was going to say it this time. "I … I …"
Her cries rang out, cutting him off and he kissed her, muffling the sound and restraining his own. She took his lip between her teeth and he groaned, pulling away from her. There was the faint taste of blood we he got his lip back, but it was the farthest thing from his mind.
Suddenly, a cold feeling gripped his heart and his chest constricted. He gasped for breath and collapsed on top of his wife, unable to hold himself up any longer. He had released her hands and she stroked his short cropped brown locks with one hand while the other strayed down his back.
Neville was still struggling for air when he rolled onto his side, his back to her. She reached over him and placed a hand on his chest, kissing his shoulder blades.
"Neville?" she asked, concern in her voice as she propped herself up on her elbow behind him.
"I … I'm … alright, I think," he managed, hyperventilating.
"No, you're not," she stated, plainly, "What's wrong?"
"I … I don't … know. I just …" he took a deep breath and fought back tears, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Honey, I'm really worried about you. Maybe I should get Ginny."
"No," he told her, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. "No, I'm alright." His breathing had slowed and regulated, but he still couldn't shake the feeling in his heart. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before, that he could remember; much like despair, or anguish, but worse, to an inconceivable degree.
'Where did that come from?' he asked himself, the cold still tickling the outer boundaries of his heart. He looked at his wife for answers, but the fear in her eyes gave him nothing but more pain.
"I'm alright, see?" he repeated, sitting up and smiling half-heartedly. She looked like she might cry and he took her in his arms. "Nothing's wrong. Whatever it was is gone now."
His arms wrapped easily around her small, naked form and she buried her face in his chest. He played with her blonde curls and alternated between pressing his cheek to her forehead and kissing it. They sat like that for a long while, and, if she cried, he didn't know it. His mind was racing, still trying to find the source of the disquiet within him. It felt like something that was to be eternal had found it's end and he was mourning.
He realized she was trailing light kisses along his torso and he ran a hand through his hair.
"I … I need to get up," he whispered, placing one foot on the floor and loosening his hold on her. She looked into his eyes before moving from him and laying on her side, facing away. He brought his leg back into the bed, laying down next to her, again, taking her in his arms. "I'm sorry. I'll stay for awhile."
She didn't respond vocally, at first, but closed her eyes and let him nuzzle behind her ear.
"Neville, I …" She didn't finish and seemed to be struggling with something of her own.
"What?" he asked, pulling her closer and kissing her cheek.
She sighed.
"Thank you for staying," was her answer, but he felt that she had wanted to say something else. He knew what he had wanted her to say but he also knew that she wouldn't. It was this that made him keep silent until he felt her breathing slow.
"Luna?" he whispered. He got no response, but chose not to speak anyway.
'I love you', he told her in his mind.
Slowly, he pulled away from her and made sure she didn't stir before finding his pajama pants and leaving the room. He turned left and made his way to his daughters' room. Noiselessly, he stepped to their crib and took in one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen; but something was missing. Both girls were images of their mother, even at this young age, and he stroked their blonde curls absently, trying to picture them older, going on outings with himself and his wife.
He found this hard for some reason. He could see his girls; Luna had showed them to him. Sometimes he wished he could See on his own and not through his wife. He wanted to see her through his own eyes, instead of himself with his daughters through hers.
The unrest in his soul lingered while he stood there, admiring his daughters, and it was then that he remembered feeling this way once before. Neville hadn't cried from sadness in years. 'Crying got you nowhere,' he'd told himself many times and it always proved true. He did cry once, though, a few months earlier, and he had prayed he'd never have to feel that way again.
He remembered her song and he choked back a sob, not wanting to wake his babies. Pulling his hands away from them, he braced himself on the crib and forced himself to stand tall; like he was sure his father would have.
His father.
His mother.
Their 'problems' got the better of them. When a brain is damaged as much as theirs were, it gets to a place where it doesn't know enough about what it's supposed to be doing and just stops; shuts down completely, taking all other bodily process with it. Their minds told their hearts to give up, and, finally, after Neville left Hogwarts, they did.
He brought his fist to his mouth, physically holding his emotions in. When they died, he didn't cry but was thankful that they were no longer trapped within the fleshly prisons that had long ago lost their vibrancy and life. Sometimes, he wished his parents would have been alive and well enough to know Ivy and Lotus; even just to meet them once, like his grandmother.
His grandmother.
It was week after the twins had been born, he and Luna had taken them to meet her. She wasn't of sound body and was steadily fading as she had been ever since Neville had become self-sufficient and her son and daughter-in-law had passed on. He had, however, insisted that they go and she lasted long enough to smile at them and hold them once. Before he left, he kissed her wrinkled forehead and thanked her for taking care of him those many years, and she had told him she loved him.
Love.
Luna.
He looked again at his daughters and realized what was missing from the view before him. His mind strayed to his sleeping wife down the hall. Neville did love her and always would. He was sure he'd tell her one day, but was afraid of the rejection that was inevitable. She didn't love him. He wasn't supposed to love her. But he did.
Arms closed around him from behind, two small hands finding his abdomen and pressing into him. He turned and took hold of Luna, lifting her into his embrace. She had donned his pajama shirt and came to find him.
She looked at his eyes, brimming with tears he didn't want to let fall and she kissed him. He set her on her feet again and, side by side, they returned to their bed. Slipping under the covers, he rolled away from her again, unwilling to let her see him cry. Luna placed her hand on his chest again, which he covered with his own, and started to hum a familiar, low melody to him.
Neville wept.
He had no other options. He didn't even realize it when a second set of tears joined his own before he drifted to sleep in the arms of the one woman he had ever really loved.
When she was sure he was asleep, she kissed his shoulder and whispered her 'I love you' into his tear stained cheek.
©2004 – Roxanne L. Martin, Writings From Behind The Red Door