Charcter Information.
NAME: Neville Atropos Longbottom
AGE: 25
BIRTHDAY: 30th July, 1980
BLOODLINE: Pure-blood
SEXUALITY: Pansexual.
AFFILIATION: Light- Order of the Phoenix.
NATIONALITY: Welsh with a tiny hint of English.
FAMILY MEMBERS:
Daughter, Margaret Calliope Longbottom, alive and well.
Wife, Lorna Amelia Stewart, deceased.
Mother, Alice Norma Longbottom, in St. Mungo's.
Father, Frank James Longbottom, in St. Mungo's.
Grandmother, Augusta Anne Longbottom, alive and well.
HOGWARTS HOUSE: Gryffindor
PERSONAL HISTORY: Neville was born to Frank and Alice Longbottom, respected Aurors and members of the Order of the Phoenix, and everyone thought life would be wonderful to them. It didn’t take long for people to see that it most definitely was not wonderful for them. By the time he was two years old, Neville’s parents had been tortured into insanity in front of him and he was living with his grandparents in Lancashire. The events that led up to Neville living his grandparents are a bit sketchy in everyone’s minds simply because two people who could confirm theories are unable to and the third absolutely refuses to. Neville always thought she took great pride in the fact that no one knows for certain what happened that night, the same way he thinks that every memory he has of the event, as blurry as it is, was planted there.

It’s been theorised, however, that Bella simply appeared one night at the Longbottoms doorstep and waltzed into the house, more than likely under a glamour or Polyjuice. Frank and Alice were Aurors, yes, but they were not infallible. Neville does not have a clear memory of those events—and, as I said, is suspicious of what memory he does have—but he remembers watching his parents screaming. It’s the sound which keeps him awake sometimes, wondering whether he really can remember it, if it really did happen that way. Wondering why he can remember something so clearly from years ago, when he can’t remember to put the bins out on the right day, or that his meeting was two and not six. They are screams that ring through his ears, his mind, during nightmares, always the same piercing ones, interspersed with sobs and Neville desperately wishes, hopes even, that his memories are fake because of the pain that it was so obvious his parents were suffering. Why Neville himself was never tortured into insanity—or death, realistically, at that age—is something many people are unsure of but, when almost a full day later people appeared at the Longbottoms house in Cardiff, Neville was found hiding in the utility room, behind the door. Neville does not know who took him to St. Mungo’s after that but, for several weeks, he remained in the hospital with spell damage. Despite not being tortured extensively, Bellatrix had managed to hit a child with the Cruciatus curse more than a few times and it wreaked havoc with his mind and several nerves within his body. One doctor once remarked that he wouldn’t be surprised if Neville’s memory was completely bollocksed: Neville wouldn’t be surprised to hear this theory, nor ashamed to confirm it.

Upon being released from St. Mungos’, Neville was placed in the care of his grandmother. Augusta Longbottom was never the most caring woman but she loved her son, which is largely the reason that she accepted Neville into her life and home without argument. A large part of why there was no argument, however, was Neville’s grandfather, Lysander. Lysander was a cheerful man, friendly to all, honestly, and he loved people. Augusta’s failings were Lysander’s strengths and Neville grew up feeling safe in the knowledge that his grandfather would stick up for him and would not belittle him as his gran, and multiple other relatives, were prone to do.

Neville sometimes thinks he should have been prepared for what happened next: one day he and his grandfather were out flying--yes, because he had done it before Hogwarts, thank you very much--and Lysander fell off his broom, freefalling forty feet through the air and landing on his neck. Neville simply stared down at his grandfather’s body for a moment before running back to the house, landing the broom almost instantly. The wards around his grandparents property would not allow anyone to fly onto it, after all. It was concluded that Lysander Longbottom suffered from a heart attack, caused by old age, which was the reason for him falling off and he would have died regardless of the broken neck he sustained. Since that day, at age eight, Neville has been utterly terrified of flying—and since that day his gran has been entirely convinced he’s a waster, a no good child who isn’t fit for anything, who is not as good as her son was. Neville’s fairly certain that she blames him for her beloved husband’s death, although he cannot even begin to imagine why she would—it’s hardly as if it is his fault Lysander suffered from a heart attack. This didn’t stop the bile filled rants she aimed his way from affecting him however and he's still likely to be deeply affected by them.

Starting Hogwarts was a relief. His grandmother was no longer as hate-filled as she had been once—he now realises it was some kind of misplaced mourning, though at the time he was not aware—but things were strained at home and Neville more often than not stuck to wondering around the Lancashire countryside. Surprised as anyone that he was sorted into Gryffindor, Neville attempted to keep a low profile throughout his school years. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself and, at first, he was sure he managed it pretty well—he didn’t bank on Harry Potter and his great adventures, however. Not that he’s terribly annoyed that he got sucked into them, however. In fact, Neville thinks he would be much more annoyed if he did not get sucked into them.

During his years at school, and due to the many different exploits he was involved in, Neville’s confidence grew. He was accepted in Gryffindor and it helped him immensely—he bloomed to the point were his self-confidence had increased ten fold since he entered school.

His last year at Hogwarts was one were this new found confidence came into play rather a lot, along with his inherent belief in right and wrong. The Carrows were taking over everything, it looked like the Dark was winning and Neville couldn't let them happen—not just couldn't, he wouldn't. A drive to ensure that the Dark didn't win lead him to becoming the leader of Dumbledore's Army, to graffiting the castle walls, to standing up to the Death Eater teachers installed within the school. It wasn't an easy year for Neville, though he doubts it was for anyone, but that year he discovered within himself a courage he wasn't aware he'd had before and it makes him unbelievably proud, even today, to think on.

When the Final Battle happened within Hogwarts, Neville was one of those that fought and he fought with a passion, even killing Nagini, though he didn't know what her real importance was at the time. He's still not entirely sure about that but he knows it is something that he should be even prouder of himself for and so he is.

After finishing Hogwarts, Neville was informed by his grandmother that, like all good pure-bloods who were to carry on the line, he was to marry a fellow pure-blood. Before he had time to protest, he'd already been told the woman's name—Lorna Stewart, a Welsh woman—and the date the wedding was to occur on. It appeared that his gran had already went ahead and made plans without letting him know because, when the date came less than a month later, Neville found that it was extremely well planned and, knowing his gran as he did, he was well aware there was no way she could have managed to do so within two and a half weeks.

Almost immediately after the wedding, Neville found himself moving to Wales, to study Herbology under a master. Lorna, of course, kicked up quite a stink about it—despite what he had first thought he and she did not get along whatsoever. She was bold and brash and loud and petty and Neville didn't like her, let alone love her. Nonetheless, he did what was expected of him—his duty, his grandmother once told him, a phrase that made him feel somewhat ill- and the two had a child within a year of marriage (helped along somewhat, admittedly, by spells and potions for fertility that Lorna had been taking), a daughter whom they called Margaret.

Meggie’s birth was supposed to bring Neville and Lorna closer together- or at least that is what everyone had told them it would do. A child was supposed to bring a couple close, after all, even if they didn’t love one another at the point of conception. Neville views it almost as a personal failing that it didn’t and he watched the breakdown of his marriage helplessly.

Part of the helplessness, he thinks, is that he did not realise that it was breaking down until quite some time after it had started. He had been almost convinced they were chugging along as they always had been- he and Maggie and Lorna, only Lorna wouldn’t call her Meggie. It was always Margaret, or Mags, or Maggie but never, ever, ever Meggie. Neville did not contemplate the importance of this until it was flung at him in the middle of a row, the words Lorna uttered that night cutting him deep. She was cruel and pettier than ever then and he tried not to hold it against her. She was his wife after all.

Yet, when Lorna started disappearing for days on end, when she started coming home looking out of sorts or dishevelled and he started suspecting an affair Neville couldn’t quite bring himself to care. It was at this point, in the year 2001, that Neville realised his marriage, the one he was supposed to make work for blood’s sake and to make his gran proud had failed. It didn’t matter whether she still smiled at him, still kissed him, if she still wore her ring and called herself Lorna Longbottom. He no longer cared if his wife was having an affair and, in a way, he supposes it broke some of his idealistic nature. From that point he’s been almost convince relationships and love aren’t for him, though he never loved Lorna, nor had he initiated a relationship with her.

Lorna died in early 2002. She was visiting family in London and had to cross a Muggle road to reach the entrance to Diagon Alley to get to the meeting space. It’s an age old story, really- she simply didn’t look both ways and got run over by a car. Neville didn’t expect her to return until Sunday, five days later, and didn’t actually go looking for Lorna until Tuesday, as she had often simply “forgotten” to come home when she’d said she would. When he found her, it was Friday. She’d been dead since the Tuesday two weeks before. He wasn’t sure then how he felt about that and he does not think he could adequately put it into words even now.

With her death, Neville was forced to leave training under Tyler-Moore, the Herbologist. He’d wanted that forever, he thought, to be one of those. As it was, though, training and working under Tyler-Moore didn’t pay all that much and there was no fixed date for Neville to finish training. He needed a steady, good income and he needed it rather quickly, because it was only he and Meggie now. Desperately, he put in for jobs wherever he could, even appealing to the Head of Hogwarts for a job. Out of all those he applied to Neville only seriously ever considered getting the ones at a shop, so when he received a letter asking him to go to Hogwarts for an interview for the position of Herbology professor he was shocked, to say the very least. When he actually got the position he was equally shocked- he had not expected that he’d have the qualifications for it, or that he’d impress them.

Nonetheless, he eagerly accepted the job. It gave him good pay and a lot of time off, which was important. There was always the option for him to return to his own home, rather than live in the castle proper and whilst he didn’t take advantage of this at first- it was too tiring a routine to get used to, without having to expend energy Apparating to Wales- recently he has been doing so more and more often.

POTENTIAL PB: M. Ward
PERSONALITY: People expect Gryffindors to be brave to the point of stupidity, rushing in where both angels and fools fear to tread—it’s a stereotype which has manifested itself again and again and again throughout history. People didn’t expect Neville, when he entered Hogwarts, to be brave to the point of stupidity but it has been made all too obvious over the years that this is exactly what he can be. Neville has his own brand of courage and, whereas it may not be one exhibited by some of his classmates, it is in a league of its own: if Neville believes strongly in a cause or a fight he will do anything and everything to try and ensure that that fight is won. It is then it becomes all too apparent why Neville is in Gryffindor—he may not be the bravest person ever at first glance but he will walk through hell and back if it is required of him, he will face his deepest fear if he has too and he will stick up for those in need because it is the right thing to do.

What Neville regards as his greatest strengths could also be taken as weaknesses--he’s hugely stubborn and very determined. Once he takes a position up, Neville is not easily moved from it but at the same time he is not one to argue a point for the sake of argument. He attempts to be level-headed at all times and is generally willing to enter into a rational debate with anyone who will talk without the danger of them erupting everytime he expresses an opinion which does not align perfectly with their own. This doesn’t mean, however, that he will allow himself to be swayed--like I said, he’s not easily moved from a stance he takes on anything.

It surprises very few people that Neville is a shy, awkward individual. He is not and has never been terribly graceful in his interactions with other people and, over the years, has developed an awful habit of being bluntly honest at the most unfortunate times. There are times when he honestly doesn’t realise what he was said until after the fact has occurred at which point it is already too late to take it back--Neville blushes rather easily and this is one such time when it occurs. Over the years, he has had to learn to try and dial back this tendency to be honest when it may not always be beneficial to be, the same way he has had to try and be more graceful in human interactions. It’s not the easiest thing for him to do, however, and it shows; he’s prone to stammering, stuttering or mumbling his words. Once he gets comfortable with a person, though, Neville can be extremely talkative, often rambling at great length.

A trait which does surprise people, however, is the fact that Neville is not stupid. In Hogwarts, he was a fairly mediocre student but this is not Hogwarts anymore—and even in school he was never stupid, either. He’s oddly pragmatic and sensible at times (before stubbornness and stupid bravery dictate that he can no longer be sensible) and attempts to approach things from all sides. He’s rational, or he tries to be, and he is well aware that the world needs people thinking logically and he has made the attempt to continue thinking logically, no matter how hard it is sometimes.

Compassionate and kind to people, Neville can often easily be sucked in by other people to a point--he’s a firm believer in second chances (with some obvious exceptions) and can easily find himself drawn into someone’s attempt to get on his good side and manipulate him. His sense, though, often warns him but it is not impossible to fool him: the fact of the matter is that, at times, Neville is simply too nice to people.

A somewhat absent-minded demeanour and an awful memory, on top of an observant intelligence that is not always one hundred percent, also play a rather large part in Neville’s personality—forgetful is a word that applies to Neville nearly at all times.

It would be fair to say that Neville’s extremely idealistic at times. He’s whimsical and can be a bit of a romantic at heart, whether he means to be or not. And it’s not always love or anything of the sort he is romantic about; it tends to be life or people. He likes to believe that there is good in everyone, anyone, and he likes to believe that everything happens for a purpose. He’s very prone to slipping into daydreams or having fits of whimsy that no one else really understands. He’s not really a loner, per se, but he’s always been very comfortable with just his own company and can be considered stoic at times- and at others he doesn’t quite know when to shut up.
APPEARANCE: Neville inherited his mother’s hair, wild, curly, jet black hair that absolutely refuses to do anything that would be considered behaving and which he doesn’t care enough about to spend the time trying to force it into behaving. He often forgets to cut it, so it’s more than a bit longer than most people would consider proper but it doesn’t matter terribly much to him—firstly, he’s never been fussed about appearance, secondly he often just shoves a baseball cap onto his head and goes about his business. Like his hair, his eyes are a very dark colour, a brown which can turn black in anger at the drop of a hat, and he has an incredibly piercing gaze, something which has been known to unnerve a fair few people although they rarely share this fact with Neville.

Neville was never skinny, and in fact was a rather overweight child. As he grew up, he lost the puppy fat and then chasing after Matt at all times—combined with the fact that he often finds himself doing jobs which do require more than a bit of a work out in the way of running and, well, his fondness for walking—has made him lose more weight. He’s still not skinny and he doesn’t particularly want to be—he’s stocky enough and he likes it that way. Or, rather, he doesn’t particularly like it that way—he’s never been terribly pleased with his appearance, despite his apathy towards the whole thing (hypocrisy is a flaw we all have, after all) -- but he’s comfortable enough with it. On top of the baseball caps he shoves over his head, Neville wears a lot of baggy clothing--jumpers, jeans a few sizes too big for him, T-shirts that are far too big. He often looks like he’s drowning in his clothes or, on the flip side, that he’s larger than he really is. Because of many multiple self-esteem issues, Neville doesn't mind that his clothing—and the fact that more often than not he hunches forward—hides him.

Neville is not a tall man, standing at less than five foot four, and he’s not an overly attractive man. His complexion isn’t the best, his skin blotches easily and, what many males consider a grievance, Neville has never managed to grow facial hair properly. It’s hard for him to so he just doesn’t try.

It’s obvious, watching the man move, that he is not the most graceful person in the world; he’s incredibly clumsy with his feet, constantly tripping over things, the only time he isn’t really is when he’s dancing. He has an innate grace then, one you would think the man incapable of watching him move. He has, however, managed to mimic gracefulness in a way but it’s extremely obvious that it is mimicked if one looks close enough. The only parts of him which is always graceful are his hands.

FEARS/BOGGART: Beth dying
PATRONUS: A bee

USER JOURNAL: aether
SAMPLE RP: This is a narrative. Sorry.

The wind was strong today, the force of it making trees bend and bow. The saplings near the creek’s edge were nearly doubled over, the delicate fingers of their branches brushing the surface of the water and sending ripples through it with every gentle sway of them. Neville watched the ripples spread, the body of water at once reflected and swallowed by dark eyes which glittered slightly at the sight. His knees were drawn up to his chest, arms embracing them, and he rested his chin on his kneecaps as he simply stared out across the water, bottom lip caught between his teeth and a cap perched on his head, shoved down low over wild curls. It looked oddly out of place with his more formal clothing and he tugged slightly at it, his fingers almost itching to tear it off.

He'd never been comfortable in formal clothing and he glared mildly at the cuff 'round his wrist, resenting its presence there. He wanted nothing more than to be at home, alone. Curled up on an armchair with a book, a cup of tea and wearing nothing but pyjamas and his socks. He wanted to be at his home, not out here in Helford, waiting for his soon to be bride.

The thought came and instantly Neville's body jerked forward and he found himself scrambling to his feet, walking slowly forwards, trainers sinking further and further into the ground as the soil got softer the closer he walked to the body of water in front of him. Eventually he was almost sure that he'd sink into the ground himself if he just stayed standing there and he contemplated it for a moment. Surely it would have preferable to being locked into a marriage he never wanted.

It's your duty, Neville.

The wind seemed to whisper the words to him, brushing gently against his ear and his eyes screwed shut. He hated them, those words, hated the voice they were in. First his grandmother's, stern and fierce, but with a crackle in blue eyes that told him she meant it for the best, then his mother's, gentle and coaxing. Weary, as if she wanted to convince him but knew it would not really work. And then- then his father's. Strong, firm, kind, gentle and almost demanding at the same time. Demanding something from him which he didn't want to give.

Neville's eyes squeezed shut as his fingers curled inwards towards his palm, nails biting into tender flesh. He didn't want to be here.

Bending, suddenly, he pulled at the laces on his battered trainers, tugging his shoes and then socks off and pushing up his trouser legs until they were just below his kneecaps. He tossed shoes and socks further up the bank and slowly began to wade into the water of the creek. His toes pushed against the bank of it- pressing further and further into the mud which he could feel seeping up through his toes. The water was at his ankles at the moment but he took another step forwards and suddenly it was nearing his knees as with the step he slipped.

Wavering for a moment, his arms flailing like a windmill, Neville seemed suspended in midair before, with a loud yelp, he fell backwards into the creek, the loud splash! echoing across the creek. For a moment he was submerged completely and when he lifted his head out of water, spluttering, he looked up to see his gran come racing around the creek and into it, hands pulling him up.

"You stupid boy!" she shrieked. "What on earth do you think you're doing?" Her hand connected with the back of his head as she almost dragged him out of the water and the instant his feet were on ground, he stamped hard against it, trying to shake the creek loose from his clothing. His gran's nails were like talons digging into his arm and he knew without looking that there would be half-crescent marks, deep enough to stay for hours.

"Gran," he started, trying to prise her hand from his arm.

Augusta Longbottom spun, then, to properly face him, her eyes blazing and her mouth set in a stern, thin line. She looked old and haggard, he realised. There were deep lines around her eyes and her mouth and her eyes, even when angry, were tired.

"Neville. Atropos. Longbottom. You promised. And you will hold good to that promise or so help me-" She cut herself off then, staring at the wet, bedraggled man standing in front of her, wringing a cap out between his hands. Neville's eyes raised slowly to hers and for a moment there was silence, silence that lasted for what felt like forever.

"No. It's...it's yours- you're- I- Neville, you-"

"Gran, can you dry me right quick?" Neville asked, cutting her off, his voice low but clear. "I've left my wand in the marquee and I- I've a wedding to go to." His hands tightened on the cap, practically ripping the material he twisted it that hard. When his gran nodded he didn't smile, just thrust the cap back on top of his head and his shoulder muscles tightened as he glanced towards the marquee on the other side of the creek, its dove blue sides holding inside it the end of his dreams, fanciful and idealistic as they were.