Understanding (Neville Longbottom)

2

Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
I slowly returned my heart rate and my breathing to a steady pace.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
I kept my mind focused on just that, just those words, just those movements.
Breathe in.
Everything was ok, I needed to calm down.
Breathe out.
I opened my eyes and stared at the cloudy sky outside the livingroom window. It was very cold to be the end of July. It had been cold for awhile.
My uncle Oberon sustained it was because of all the dementors.
I completely believed him: if there ever was a time when those disgusting creatures could prosper, it was now.
The thought of those... things made me shiver and I could feel my heart rate quickening so I repeated my breathing excercises.

I had been doing those all summer, ever since Dumbledore's funeral.
Everytime I stopped to reflect on what was going on in the country, my breathing would become laboured and my heart rate unsteady.
They weren't attacks per se: I was never overwhelmed and always remained in full control over my mind and with a firm grip on the world around me, I didn't need to sit or stop what I was doing at the moment... it just felt like I was not entirely ok.
It might seem like a very little thing to worry about, and it was; but it happened so frequently that I was feeling almost constantly... not entirely ok. I didn't know how to prevent my body from doing that.
I guess I shouldn't have been so upset with myself: it was just anxiety after all, I just had to learn to deal with it.
I hated not having control over it but, as my uncle said, if I wasn't at least a little bit anxious about the current situation I wouldn't be human.

I sighed and picked up my letter again, looking at the list of new materials required for my seventh year at Hogwarts. It had arrived yesterday and I was going.
There was no question on the matter: by law I was required to attend my last year at school and act as if nothing wrong was going on, even if the headmaster was a Death Eater.
I quickly scanned the list and gathered that I could still procure those things from the shops surviving in Diagon Alley, but the sooner the better: in these days you never knew what could happen tomorrow.
We were at war after all.

I put down the letter on the small coffe table in front of me and got up from the couch, stretching and yawning in the meantime. I took a look around and observed the living room in which I had grown up: it was only 4 in the afternoon but the whole room looked gloomy because of the little light coming from the big windows looking on the garden; the room was big and spacious with little furniture, just two couches, a small dark coffee table, a high backed chair and a fireplace. It would have been very empty if it wasn't for the numerous bookshelves that covered every wall from floor to ceiling, with every tiny space occupied by a book.
Uncle Oberon had completely filled the house with every kind of tome, volume, booklet or brochure about every subject that might tickle his interests (and he had many).
I wondered for a moment what the walls color might have been but then I yawned again and headed towards the kitchen.

Gilly, our house elf, was fussing around getting ready to prepare dinner which was always served at 6.30 at my uncle's request.

"Gilly?" I asked "May I have something to snack on?"

The little thing jumped from where she was standing and, in less than a minute, put in front of me a plate with a small sandwich, some slices of apple and a couple of wrapped chocolate cauldrons and then went on to pour me a glass of pumpkin juice.
I grinned at the sight: Gilly had been my father's and uncle's domestic elf since they were little boys, she had been around since for ever! And I couldn't remember a single time in which, when asked for a snack, she prepared for me something different than what I had right in front of me.

"Thank you Gilly"

She hummed and smiled in response, she never spoke.

I walked with my plate through the tall corridors of the house until I reached my uncle's study, on the back of the building, and knocked.
After a polite pause in which I knew I wouldn't get an answer, I opened the door and approached Oberon who was bent over his desk scribbling away with his quill.
This room too was full of books (the most interesting ones) and the lamps were already shining a golden yellow light that warmed the whole space.
When my uncle finally teared himself away from whatever he was composing, he smiled at me and indicated one of the chairs in front of him, returning briefly to his mad scribbling while I began to nibble at a chocolate cauldron.
Satisfied with his work, he put down his quill and smiled again.