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Chapter Text

"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same"

--Emily Brontë

///

August, 2014: Preface

Neville Longbottom, now a popular Herbology teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, is here in Patagonia with his wife Hannah. Until recently the pair lived above the Leaky Cauldron in London, but rumor has it that Hannah has not only retrained as a Healer, but is applying for the job of Matron at Hogwarts. Idle gossip suggests that she and her husband both enjoy a little more Ogden’s Old Firewhisky than most of us would expect from custodians of our children, but no doubt we all wish her the best of luck with her application.

--Excerpted from a Rita Skeeter column, 2014

Hannah Longbottom stands in front of the massive oak doors of the infirmary as Headmistress McGonagall presses the wing’s iron ring of ancient keys into her palm. Her former teacher meets Hannah’s eyes and gives a crisp nod and says, “I leave it in your care.” 

Their hands press together for a moment, and McGonagall’s face warms into an expression more lovely than a smile as she gazes at Hannah. “And I am very grateful.”

There is a snap. McGonagall whips her head to Neville and his camera. “You’ve taken two rolls of film. That’s quite enough.” 

“Oh, but--just one more, Minerva, hold on, I need to wind the dialy-thing--wait--the flash just went off, bugger…” 

McGonagall squints at him; she lets out a loud exhale as she turns on her heel and strides away down the hall. Over her shoulder, she calls back, “I will see you both at the Minister’s luncheon.”

Hannah had attended the luncheon in the past as Neville’s guest, but now, this is hers, too. She is an integral part of the Ministry’s new approach to British wizarding education. She is trusted to do all of this. 

She trusts herself. 

She looks at Neville who is tapping at the camera with a slightly baffled expression on his face before shrugging and tucking it back in his leather rucksack. His eyes find her, and he smiles, so effervescent that it fills her belly with a happy fizz. When he smiles like that, he’s so handsome that it’s hard to look at him, the dazzling bright light of him, and process that he’s real (and hers). He grew into his body; he grew into everything. 

Neville didn’t like the term “late bloomer,” however. He had first told her that in the year after the war, eating another dinner together in the post-midnight gloom of the Leaky Cauldron after one of his long auror shifts, virtually alone at the bar in the shadowed heart of the night. She couldn’t remember how the conversation started, but it eventually meandered to that phrase, late bloomer, and Neville said that every plant blooms in its own time. The phrase comes from the folks around it, waiting and watching for something to happen, whinging about how the plant's timeline is wrong. 

“And it’s not,” he had said, finishing the last of his sandwich and picking up his soup spoon again. “We’re just impatient. We’re being so unfair, imposing what we want to happen versus just--letting it be in its own time.” He pressed forward against the bar. “A mimbulus only blooms after a minimum of ten years, and that’s only when it feels the need. Which could be fifty years later, or it could be never, you don’t know. That’s what makes it so special, when its time arrives. The time it chooses.”

Hannah tried to fight the grin spreading on her face. “Or he.”

Neville blushed. “I wasn’t speaking metaphorically.”

She bit her lips together to smother that smile.

“It’s not a metaphor! C’mon, I wasn’t talking about me! I was talking about plants.”

“Wait, you’re not a plant?” she said, finally succumbing to the giggles. “Oh, no, you’re just obsessed with plants, huge difference.”

He began laughing, too, picking up his napkin and covering his crimson face for a moment before tossing it at Hannah. “Maybe I was talking about you! Yeah? It could be about you, too!”

She caught it and tossed it back. “You’re a nut. All of that running after bad guys made you goofy tonight.”

He grabbed it in mid-air, growing serious in the time it took to lay it back in his lap. “I feel like…it’s important to say that I also hate the idea of a ‘late bloomer’ because it kinda makes us forget that, like…that blossom wasn’t alone, that, say, gardenia or rose you’re holding, it came from a bush or a tree with loads of other blossoms which are different and in different places and--just-- different. It’s not just one way we get to bloom.”

Hannah realized she had been holding her breath. “Ar-are you talking about me? Because I--I dunno. Exactly…what…”

Neville hesitated as he held her eyes in his gaze. “Well. If you think you see yourself in that…wouldn’t it make sense? Think about your journey, just here at the Leaky, yeah? You started here as a server, right, for a while during that year you came home. That and helping Tom as a hostess. You thought you were going to be doing that forever, and here you are, you’re the owner of the place, doing all of these great things that have made it so much better and more vibrant...? Think of how many flowers those are, how much you’ve done...” His face had started to lose its flush, but it erupted again. He seemed to stammer silently before he added, “I’m so grateful we’ve gotten--closer, so I’ve been able to see some of them, and I’m jus’ so excited to wait and see how you bloom—blossom, uh, flower-um--bugger,” he said, closing his eyes. “‘Flowering’ sounds rude and maybe a little pervy, sorry—“

He huffed out a breath; his face was nearly maroon. “See, this is why I hate the metaphor! It’s--it’s--clunky, you probably h--” 

“I loved it.” Her cheeks were so warm, her skin was uncomfortable with the burn of heat. Hannah couldn’t bear to look up at him; she investigated the nicks in the bar with her thumbnail. “I want to think…I have more seasons in me, still.”

Neville’s smile was loose with awe. “See, you just changed the metaphor’s meaning, that’s--it’s beautiful, Han. You’re...” He stared at her, slightly unfocused as his gaze fluttered down from her eyes--once, twice. Where was he looking—oh. It wasn't the first time that Hannah had been sure that Neville wanted to kiss her, but this time felt different, humming with the energy building between them. How she was edging all the way up to the bar to get as close as she could, enough to smell the faint scent of peat and earth and rose from his hands and his skin. He was staring at her lips with such intensity that she heard that long ago echo of destination deliberation determination as a drumbeat in her pulse. The little nudge of the tip of his tongue came out as darted it out to moisten his lips as he took in a deep, sharp suck of an exhale. His hands tightened on the bar as if to prepare for bracing himself into a stand--no, to start a lean far over the bar to meet her. 

She held her breath again as he closed the distance between them. 

She wondered if this is how it felt to be a gardenia's bud right before the moment it opened to the world. 

Then his face rippled in a wave of panic as he darted his eyes from her face down to the large bowl that sat directly between them on the bar counter, where his tie was currently drooping into the potato soup, and he froze, looking dazed and horrified, staring at the tie in disbelief.

He thunked into his seat, quietly cursing as he frantically tried to clean the thick coat of soup from his tie with his napkin. She stood, lingering in a horrible, skin-prickling silence until a drunk couple tumbled into the pub, slurring a loud request for nightcaps before heading up to their room. 

Hannah was so relieved they had come in, she gave them their drinks for free. 

She went to bed that night, both convinced things would never happen with Neville…but as her brain ordered her to kill off that dream (he’s not interested, it’s over), it just couldn’t make quiet that voice in her that was starting to whisper, a bit louder every time: I have more than one season in me. I am just beginning to bloom .

And in a sigh under that: Why can’t I bloom--and have him, too?  

If only she had known what was to come just the next day...

It didn’t start with him, how she got here to be a healer, but the path changed when it went from hers alone to theirs. Starting that night with the whispering in her head. Exploding into reality the night his lips finally met hers: They make their journey one step at a time, together. 

He slips his hand in with hers, fingers lacing, his forefinger and thumb meeting in a circle, pulsing a little squeeze before rubbing his thumb up and down hers a few times. She nods a few times, looks from him to--ahead.

Hannah and Neville walk inside.

Chapter Text

Perhaps love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath.

--L.M Montgomery

///

December 1996: You can lend a helping hand

It was five days before Christmas in what should have been her sixth year of Hogwarts when Hannah met Augusta Longbottom. She was sitting down in the Leaky Cauldron by the large, ancient fireplace where two worn armchairs flanked a long leather sofa. It had become her regular spot over the past two weeks, the most time she had spent out of her third-floor room during her three months here at home. 

Well. “Home.” Home was where she lived with her mother, and her mother was not alive, so what did home mean anymore. What did anything mean anymore. She had spent the first two months since her mother’s funeral barely able to exist, not bothered to take care of herself. Eating, showering, sitting upright. It was all too much. She was breathing and blinking and getting up for the loo. Hannah was managing to keep going in a world without her mother; she didn’t have anything more than that. 

It was practically a cause for celebration that by mid-December…she did. Not anything near normal, but something. Brushing her hair again, putting on clothes more substantial than pajamas, shuffling downstairs to take a seat in the same armchair by the fire, her attention fading between a book and watching the people who circulated through the pub (and ignoring the worried eyes that Tom and his staff and his regulars kept trained on her during the day). And here she was, on the edge of her first Christmas without her mother, still upright in that chair, steeling herself for her friends coming home for the holiday to stop by for their first visits since she came home. Susan and Justin and Ernie had written a few group letters over the past couple weeks to--well, request would seem like Hannah had a say, which she didn’t, to have a sleepover with them that first night. She was expecting them. She was prepared to see them and--

“Hannah?”

She glanced up at the round face of Neville Longbottom hovering above her like a kind of sun. 

She blinked a few times. The world seemed to pitch and spin at the collision between this post-mother reality that was now at the Leaky and before. 

Before: Neville had been in the Herbology class, where Dumbledore had arrived in the greenhouse entrance with the same look in his eyes he had when he told the school about Cedric. She didn’t realize until later on that, of course, he would be in personal pain at the news. Annemarie Elliot had been his student once, too. 

“I--er--” He was staring at her, his hands knotting together. “What…what are you doing here?”

“I live here.”

“Alone?”

Hannah felt her body moving in slow motion as she looked over to where Tom was at the bar, chatting with a woman who looked nearly as old as he. “Oh. No. Tom--he’s my great-grandfather. My father’s grandfather. He’s my closest family in the country, so I live here with him now.”

Neville’s sandy-colored eyebrows shot up. “Oh!” He blushed. “I’m sorry, I don’t--I don’t know him very well. Or--well, your family, actually.” At the mention of family, his breath hitched. “Oh, Hannah. I’m so sorry. About your mother.”

Hannah responded with the same wooden nod that she did to everyone who expressed their condolences. “Thank you.” Then she added, “Thank you for your owl. From…before. After I…I’m sorry I haven’t replied. That’s quite rude of me.”

“Oh, no, Hannah--” Neville dropped down onto the couch so that he was sitting as close to her as he was able. “Please. No. I don’t think…well. I don’t think there’s rules about being polite when you lose someone you love.”

Her lips flinched in a kind of momentary smile, and she focused on him fully for the first time. “Why are you at the Leaky?”

He gestured weakly behind him to Tom and the woman. “It’s what my gran and I always do, she meets me at the train, and we go vi--” He hesitated for a moment, then continued, “Er, do a few things in London and then get lunch here. She was friends with--your great-grandmother?” He frowned. “They had some epic ongoing game of Tock, I gather, them and Professor Grubbly-Plank and a couple others.”

“Tom said that the other women were so mad at Nana Liz for passing before they had finished the ongoing round. As if she had died just because she was winning for the first time in three years and didn’t want them to win back their losses.”

Neville snickered. “My gran would.”

And before she even realized it, Hannah smiled, too.

He looked back at his grandmother; Augusta had settled in a bar stool, talking with animated gestures to both Tom and now another woman, a regular named Griselda Marchbanks. Neville exhaled and looked back at Hannah. “How are you?”

She shrugged, her shoulders raising up to her ears and back down in an exaggerated arch. Her eyes began to fill with tears; his face blurred. “I don’t understand why she’s not here.”

His hands reached out and wrapped around hers. “Yeah,” he whispered. They sat in silence as tears slid down her cheeks and dropped into her lap. But she didn’t feel herself drift back into that awful void that she had been in for so long, that chasm of grief. She was crying, she was miserable, but she was upright and here, anchored together by their joined hands. 

“Hannah.” His grandmother’s voice made them jump and break apart. Hannah looked up at Augusta, her vulture hat looming like a thundercloud. “My condolences for your mother.”

“Thank you,” she said in a small voice, eyes darting to Tom who was watching her with his warm, toothless smile from behind the bar.

“Annemarie had been making my arthritis potions for going on twenty years now. When she moved from the Manchester apothecary to the one in Diagon, I changed my shop to stay with her. She was the best potion maker in the country,” Augusta declared. “You-Know-Who and his ilk only target the most talented, you know. Emmeline Vance, Amelia Bones--my son and his wife, of course,” she said with a steely bob of her head towards Neville whose eyes immediately dropped down to his lap, hand sneaking into one of his pockets.

“I hope the Bobbins were generous in taking care of you, given that Annemarie was murdered in their apothecary.”

“It wasn’t their fault,” Hannah said automatically, just like she had told Mr. and Mrs. Bobbin at the funeral. It isn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but the Death Eaters who had come for her mother…why exactly, though, it was hard to know. The auror who had led the investigation--a young woman called Tonks with mousy-brown hair and exhausted eyes--had laid out a quite plausible story based on the evidence left behind: the shattered protection charms, the trail of blood leading to the stockroom, its open vault. The scars of a terrible and controlled blaze that destroyed its contents, the ground carpeted with the still-warm ashes of a variety of exceedingly precious and exotic ingredients, including Annemarie’s prized stash of Macedonian Midas Rose seeds--the rare and essential ingredient to making Felix Felicis, and Britain’s only known supply sufficient enough for brewing the potion.

“Your mum was a hero, preventing You-Know-Who from being able to make Felix,” Tonks told Hannah. Hannah managed to nod, because she could tell that’s what Tonks expected her to do. She couldn’t bring herself to ask about how her mother was found--the body in the casket looked whole, but that didn't mean anything. Maybe it was that quick flash of fatal light. But that trail of blood…no, she didn’t ask. 

Hannah glanced at Neville who was looking up again, though his hand was still in his pocket. “The Bobbins been very kind, though. Everyone has.”

Augusta sniffed. “The question is whether they are still kind once time passes. Empathy too often seems like a conditional thing.” She looked at Neville. “I’m going to dine with Griselda so we can catch up, Neville, you may eat with your friend.”

“Oh--okay, Gran.” 

As Augusta walked away, Hannah and Neville looked at each other. Actually, they weren’t friends, exactly. Herbology pals, DA comrades, absolutely friendly with each other. But Hannah was hard pressed to recall any time she and Neville had ever spoken at length alone, and never in depth. Bollinger, one of the servers, appeared with bottles of butterbeer and to take their orders; he left, and a quiet settled between her and Neville like fog in a valley. She realized for the first time that his eyes were green, just like Harry's, though where the other boy’s were a deep emerald, Neville’s were the light shade of newly sprouted spring leaves on trees. The green of growth.

“We were seeing my parents,” Neville said suddenly. His voice was soft. “That was the--thing we did before coming to Diagon. They’re in St. Mungo’s.”

“I know.” When Neville’s head jerked up, those green eyes wide, Hannah gave him a slight smile of apology. “Well. Your gran doesn’t keep it especially quiet, I’ve heard her mention them before when she’s come to eat here after a visit.”

Neville relaxed. She could see his hidden hand clench and move a bit in his pocket, like he was rubbing something. “Oh. Right, right.” He looked around. “I thought the Leaky and the Three Broomsticks were run by the Selwyns. Abbotts have always lived in, what, Godric’s Hollow before being in the first settlement outside…Londonderry?”

“Derry, yeah. You’re right, though, my Nana Liz was a Selwyn--so was my grandmother, though a more distant cousin--but yeah, Nana Liz's father left the pub to her and Tom. Rosmerta’s like a--second cousin once removed of mine, or something, from my Selwyn side.”

“It must have been real exciting to grow up here, it’s so brilliant.”

“I--didn’t, actually. I--” She winced. “It’s a whole story, you’ll be so bored.”

He pulled his hand out of his pocket and picked up his butterbeer. “I love long stories.”

Hannah let out a breath. “Just remember, you asked for it.” Neville grinned, and she smiled a little back, rolling the bottle in her hands. “Have you ever heard the thing they say about Abbotts?”

“That Abbotts are--emotional. Gran told me that. I figured it was--you know. Some Irish prejudice. Kinda like how nasty people can be about Weasleys and Cornfoots.” His smile got a little sly. “And accurate about Malfoys.”

Hannah giggled. “Well, actually, the Abbott thing is true. Easy to cry and melt down," she said ruefully, wincing as she pointed at herself. "But the family reputation is usually around anger. Tom said that he had an epic row with his family when he decided to not become an alchemist--not that he had the grades or ability, but his father thought he was just being lazy--and move to London. It was so nasty, he never spoke to any of them again...and then my dad did the same with his family when he said he didn’t want to take over the Leaky and instead went off to become a rock musician. It was absolutely nasty, Mum said, she said Dad threw plates.”

Neville blinked. “Okay, suddenly my uncle throwing me out a window looks pretty tame.”

“Your uncle what?”

Neville waved his hand. “That’s its own long story.”

“Of child abuse!”

“They thought I was a squib, you know, they were trying to jumpstart my magic.”

“Which is still child abuse.”

“Your mum was Muggleborn, wasn’t she?”

“Wha--how did you know!”

“Because Muggleborns and Muggle-raised say that to me a lot.” Neville shrugged. “Magically-raised folks, they get how stressed a family can get over a kid being a squib. Kids with Muggle families act like they’re--”

“Dickensian!”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It—it just means your family was horribly mean to you to do that! Magically-raised people think being a Muggle is some fate worse than death, which is ridiculous.”

“Was it a big deal for your dad to marry a Muggleborn?”

“Yeah, but more for my mum, actually. My father’s parents—well, this is the long story part.”

“Oh, good, I’ve been eager to get to this. I feel like I’ve been waiting for a Mimbulus to bloom.”

Hannah hesitated as Bollinger arrived with their food, thanking him and taking in a deep breath as she surveyed their servings. Neville had gotten one of the specials, pie and a heaping pile of mash that smelled of garlic and butter and comfort; the smell of it made her stomach sink. Hannah glanced at her soup--hopefully he wouldn't notice how little of it she could force down. Food used to be her comfort, the taste of sweets and starches lighting up a part of her brain that craved comfort and good things, breaking through the constant twist of worry that seemed to fill her head for as long as she could remember. Her mother would breathe icy disapproval about Hannah's rapidly increasing weight over the last few years, as constant as the chill in winter. As her mother said, she was perfectly capable of doing better, yet Hannah kept making stupid choices, didn't she. Even though she knew better, she knew better.  All she ever wanted was to make her mother happy; all she ever did was disappoint. Fail. Her mind flooded with flamingos, and her stomach lurched as she felt the bitter taste of bile in the back of her throat. She stiffened and swallowed hard as she looked away from the soup, trying to quiet the nausea rattling her very bones, earning a concerned look from Neville. He seemed She saw him give a look of longing at his plate, but he gave it a gentle nudge away and scooted back in his seat. 

"You should eat. Cressida is an amazing cook."

"I'll bring it home with me, it'll keep. Besides, we're on a cliffhanger!"

She grinned at him. “You’re building this way up.”

At her smile, Neville brightened. She recognized that reaction; it was like how Tom and the staff smiled when she started to shower without prompting, eat more than one bowl of soup a day, dress herself. They practically beamed at her when she started to come spend her days downstairs. Nearly threw a party when she smiled, let alone laughed. 

“So,” Hannah said, “do you know about the Knight Bus Disaster? In 1976, when You-Know-Who's minions caused the awful crash…?”

“My Uncle Algie told me a long time ago. One of his best mates from Hogwarts died in the crash.” Neville stopped, a growing look of horror spreading over his face. “And like, a dozen Abbotts died. Oh, I—I didn’t even—oh, Hannah. I don’t know why I didn’t put together—”

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s not okay, but—” Her eyes rolled up towards the ceiling. “My dad and his parents hadn’t spoken in years since he dropped out of his N.E.W.T.s to join a band, and not just a rock band but a band trying to make it in the Muggle world, and he’s dating a Muggleborn he met in school...and told his folks he’d work in the Leaky when unicorns kill. It was legendarily awful.”

“That was fight with the plate throwing?”

“The very one.”

“A member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight joining a Muggle rock band and turning his back on his family…I can see how it would get heated!” His eyes widened. "Plate-throwing, though...this is like a theatrical!"

“Right? Very Abbott of him.” Hannah sipped her butterbeer. “So my father was estranged from his family, but the thing is, my mum was, too. From hers. See...um. My Aunt Louise, that's my mum's younger sister, she came out, and they and my grandparents all fell out terribly."

Neville looked at her blankly. "Came out of what?"

She resisted the urge to laugh, though she grew more wary. You never knew... "It's a, a Muggle expression? 'Coming out,' it means--saying that you're gay. My aunt came out right after she graduated Hogwarts. My grandparents acted terribly, so...Mum told them to bugger off, and I've barely seen them since." She smiled. "My Aunt Louise is amazing, she's a writer? She lives in Canada with her wife who, well, her wife's from there, and she's an artist, and they interact with tons of artists and writers who are Muggleborns and Magical, and their house, it's so warm and--it's just, they're so cool. And funny and creative and lovely and loving and brilliant...I don't get--how you could hate them. At all."

"Your mum sounds like a really good sister."

"Yeah. She was." She cleared her throat and tucked the pieces of hair that had escaped from her Dutch braids. Her mother was a lot of things. "Anyway. Both my mum and my dad were very independent, yeah, and very--stubborn. Always convinced they were right and being bull-headed, charging ahead.”

“That sounds like they were Gryffindors…”

“Dad was. Mum was a Ravenclaw.” What was unsaid: That her mother thought she was smarter than everyone. 

Neville nodded sagely. “Ah.” What was unsaid: That he had guessed.

“My parents fought a lot; they broke up constantly, they called off their engagement twice…they lasted two months after I was born before they broke up for good. He--cheated, again," Hannah said softly, and Neville blanched. "And she just had enough, decided she'd rather be alone than keep doing this with him. So. Mum took me and stormed off to take a job with the Bobbins in Manchester. We lived in a Muggle neighborhood; she never spoke to the Abbott side. Or her own family, to be fair, except my Aunt Louise. So I only got to know Papa Tom and Nana Liz after we moved to London when I was seven, and Tom and Liz’s repeated letters begging to get to know me finally wore her down. I didn’t really spend loads of time here until two summers ago, since Mum went off to America for a month-long potions research thing. And that’s the story. Sorry. That was long and complicated.”

“Not more complicated than any other.” Neville gave her a half-smile. “I always like hearing about other people’s families, how they are, since…I dunno. I can wonder if my life is so odd that nobody’d understand, yeah? But then you realize that all families are complicated, nobody’s got something perfect. I mean, the closest to a normal family I know is Hermione, and her parents do things with teeth,” he said, looking apprehensive. “Their work sounds weird.”

Neville paused to sip his butterbeer and then studied her. “What--happened to your dad?”

She grew still, her eyes drifting away from Neville and suddenly fixating on a dark mark on the couch’s leather. “In July of 1980, he was killed when he was over at his new girlfriend’s flat. Maggie McKinnon." Neville's eyes snapped open wide; she figured he must know the name. Everyone did. "She refused to let You-Know-Who's followers get access to the Floo Network travel logs and things, and...so they killed her. My father was just…there.” Her lips twitched up on one side. “Mum said that he didn’t even like Maggie very much. She was just the girl he went back to when things with Mum didn't work out. It’s weird to think…you know. That the McKinnons were a family of heroes--you know?"

Neville cleared his throat. He got a wistful, hollow look on his face. "Yeah."

"Them, and Susan's family, and the Prewetts...they all were murdered over the next year because they were so brave in resisting him, and my dad was just--some bloke, he doesn’t even get mentioned in the story. He never wanted to help. I don’t understand how he could have lived in that time and been a Gryffindor and gotten together with a McKinnon and didn’t want to fight.”

“He wasn’t like you.”

Her head jerked. “I’m--stop it. He wasn’t like you. You’re the one who fought at the Ministry! You got the points for Gryffindor to win the house cup for your courage! In your first year!”

Neville’s face went scarlet, but he reached out and gave her knee a little poke. “I mean it. You didn’t even hesitate to hex the living shite out of Malfoy and Crabbe and Goyle at the end of last year on the train, remember?” 

“Yeah, with my mates and Terry and Anthony. I’d never be so brave alone, it doesn’t--”

“You didn’t hesitate,” Neville continued, as if she hadn’t spoken, “to do what you needed to do to protect Harry and do what was right. Just like I did. You’d have gone with him to the Ministry, had you known. I know it.”

I would have. It's why she kept her D.A. galleon in her pocket, just in case. Harry might need help; she would be there to give it. I would have. That sudden thought--that tripped her up in ways Hannah couldn’t fully square, the idea that living a life that centered others could override her own insecurities. As if--

As if Hannah, herself, mattered. .

She was studying his red face, thinking about courage, and a need to ask him about something rose up in her like a tide. “Can I ask you something? About your parents?” 

Neville’s face seized, cautious. “Yeah…”

“Is it hard to talk about them? It seems hard for you, and if it is--I won’t bring them up. But if it’s hard because you never get to talk about them, but you want to, you can. With me.” She swallowed hard, her eyes immediately filling with tears. “I can’t--decide. About my mum. How I feel. All of the hurt, it’s all like when a few necklaces get knotted together? And you can’t figure out how to get them untangled, let alone which strands are which. And some days, I can't bear to think about her because it hurts so much, but when I don't, I feel so guilty, I can barely breathe, I...I don't...”

Neville swallowed hard. He had grown a couple inches the past year, started to lean out a bit. He’d grown, so his Adam’s apple was more prominent; it bobbed twice, and he licked his lips. He was quiet for a moment. “I’m all tangled, too.” 

He thrust his hand into his pocket and haltingly pulled out a Drooble’s Gum wrapper. “My mum chews gum nonstop; her healers figure that the repetition of it is soothing to her. Every time I go, she spends the whole visit pressing wrappers in my hand. Gran thinks they’re trash, and I should toss them out, but--I--I figure, if…she loves her gum, it keeps her steady and calm, and she saves the wrappers and gives them to me …she doesn’t know who I am, yeah, but I’m--she gives these to me.” His eyes were dry, but his face was tensed like he was about to sob, though he gave her an earnest, pleading look. “So it must mean--that I matter. I’m--somebody to her.”

Hannah brushed at her wet eyes and took his hand, the wrapper pressed between their palms. “Yeah.”

He squeezed her hand back as he gave her a lopsided, lonely kind of smile. "My mum...she was a McKinnon. She--she was Maggie's oldest sister. She was a hero McKinnon, too."

"I--I had no idea." Hannah stared at him, the whole world spinning and then stopping. She stared into his eyes; they were such an interesting shade of green, so light. She had a sudden thought of springtime, looking at him. "My mum never...I mean..."

"It's cause nobody really talks about them. It's too sad--too hard, to think about what happened to them. It's almost easier just to talk about...you know, the ones who were murdered I guess. Easier," he said again, shrugging awkwardly, as if the hurt of it all were binding him in like a too-tight sweater. "And...they are just talked about as 'the Longbottoms.' I mean. If they are." His eyes darted to the bar--to his grandmother, Griselda Marchbanks, and Tom. “We don’t talk about my mum, Hannah. It’s always my dad. And usually, how…” His expression loosened with relief. “Well. It’s finally better since it’s about how I’m finally living up to him, how great he was, and making him proud--not that Gran doesn’t talk about how wonderful my mum is, I--do you know what I mean? That--of course Gran focuses on my dad, of course, but--”

“But.” Hannah nodded. “Your dad was her child. And he was the center of her world.” She shook her head. “It’s a pretty convincing case that folks shouldn’t just have one kid, yeah?”

Neville let out a snort. “Exactly.”

She paused. “I just…” She wrinkled up her nose, looking at his grandmother, feeling a bubble of anger inflate in her stomach. “I just find it--like…I dunno. You’re the top student in Herbology by kilometers, Hermione and the Ravenclaws shoot you the most openly jealous looks as you hex them on the lessons practically with your eyes closed. You’ll win the Bushwell Award at graduation, no contest, so I…I can’t imagine your dad wouldn’t have been proud of his son being the school’s resident Herbology genius.”

His face flushed, starting on his cheeks, then spreading out to cover his forehead and nose. “C’mon.”

“It’s true! Professor Sprout thinks you’re Plant Merlin.”

“Hannah!” He was still bright red, but he was laughing. “She does not!”

“She does! And it’s caused some massive tension in Hufflepuff, we’ve had the Bushwell winner for the past decade, and you’re gonna snap it.” She was blushing as she admitted with a grin, “Megan and Ernie are so put out.”

“Ernie! But he doesn’t want to be a herbologist!”

“Yeah, but he loves Professor S! The fact that she’s practically singing Celestina songs of love with you drives him mental.”

Neville let out a laugh so loud that his grandmother and Tom looked over. He waved at them in apology and gave Hannah’s knee a swat. “You’re taking the piss now.”

“I can go upstairs and show you the letters from him over the past few months. If you’re asked to be her lead student greenhouse assistant in the spring over him, I’d start practicing counter-hexes. Maybe bribe Susan or Justin to protect you, yeah? Because your battle at the Ministry might look tame compared to what he’ll do out of envy.”

He snuffled giggles behind his hand, shaking his head. Then a thought struck him, and he grew still and serious as he gazed at her. “Wait. Are you not coming back after Christmas?”

Hannah shrugged up her shoulders tight against her ears and then dropped them. “Why would I?”

“For…your N.E.W.T.s. And you’re a prefect! The Hufflepuffs refused to fill your spot, you know, Hermione and Ron said they took a vote, it was this big show of how much they love you, they met with Dumbledore and--”

She shrugged again. “I got a D in Transfiguration.” To her shame, her eyes teared again, and her lower lip shook. “So I can’t take the N.E.W.T., and you can’t even apply for the Healer program if you don’t have a Tranfiguration N.E.W.T. And if I’m not able to try to go for a Healer...” She looked around the Leaky as she tried to stem her tears. “Then this is my future, yeah, to work for Tom, take over someday. I don’t need Hogwarts to teach me how to be a landlady. I’ll learn from him. After the holidays, I'm going to start as a server, do some hostess work, too.”

“But--but you had come back, for this year…”

“Because it mattered to my mum.” Tears slid down her cheeks. “She was really disappointed in me for how I buggered my future and all, but she didn’t want me to drop out. She was always…a little…elitist, about education, right? She was prodding me to get myself back together and work at Bobbins like her, as a herbologist, then apply for their apprentice program after some time proving myself, and...maybe...maybe I would have. But--she’s not here," she said, blinking out a heavier wave of tears. "And Tom’s been so wonderful, so…” 

Neville fumbled to grab his napkin, still clean, and offered it to Hannah. As she wiped at her face, he admitted, “I didn’t know you wanted to be a healer.”

“Only since...always," she admitted with a watery smile. "When I was little, my Aunt Louise got wicked sick with the Freezing Flu, had to go to St. Mungo’s, and I remember Mum soothing me by saying that it was alright, healers were taking care of her. And they saved her.” She got a wistful smile on her face. “Healers were heroes to me.”

He was quiet for a moment, then his mouth opened slightly. “Healers always help.”

Hannah spasmed a kind of nod, wiping at her face. “And--I really like helping. Taking care of people…it feels right to me, and healing…” She took in a mammoth breath and heaved it out, nodding firmly. “But Tom cares for people in this job, so--it’s not that big of a…you know, to do this.” Her eyes drifted over to the fireplace, watching how the flames danced around the logs in lively reds and yellows and oranges. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff colors. “I thought not being able to become a healer was the greatest loss in the world. But now…I didn’t want to get perspective this way, but I did, Nev. I understand that--it’s okay that life isn’t what you dreamed it to be, as long as it can still feel like it’s--doing something that feels like it’s still you. You know?”

Neville stared at her with a mild frown, like she was an exam question he couldn’t puzzle out. His grandmother called for him to say it was time to leave; when he looked at Augusta, he had a slightly distressed look on his face. Glancing between Hannah and her, his mouth was starting to tense, with a hint of insurrection. He sighed and stood up, grabbing his untouched plate of food to get boxed up.

“Well…I dunno if I’ll see you again before we go, but--if you really aren’t coming back…I’ll write you. If that’s okay.”

“I’d love that.”

“Okay. Alright--bye, Hannah. Take care of yourself.” Neville hesitated, then gave her an awkward wave before heading back to his grandmother, his shoulders slumped low. Hannah held her own hand up in a goodbye; she didn’t realize until a moment later that the gum wrapper was still pressed against her palm, a shared secret that Neville had planted like a seed.

///

Hannah had already cried more times than she could count so far that evening--let alone exchanged who knows how many hugs--and they were only starting to change into pajamas. Absent any activities requiring them to be in public, she and her three best friends moved into their sleep clothes after dinner to be the most comfortable for the rest of their sleepover. She, Justin, Susan, and Ernie approached their sleepovers with the same seriousness the aurors did their missions: everything was maximized for success. And tonight had to be a success, this first night that Hannah was with them since they said reluctant, tearful goodbyes following Annemarie’s funeral, practically forced into the Floo back to Hogwarts by Headmaster Dumbledore, Professor Flitwick, and Professor Sprout. This was their reunion--though to Hannah, it felt a bit more like a proof of life. 

“Can we begin discussing this whole Ron-Lavender thing and our thoughts on just how far we think Dean and Ginny have gotten? Because I cannot wait a minute longer,” Susan announced.

Hannah’s mouth gaped open. “How--far?”

“Oh, they’ve shagged,” Justin said matter-of-factly, tying the drawstring on his pants. “He’s touching her in a way I certainly didn’t before Susie and I became intimate.”

“And? Further evidence that they haven’t merely…scored in all three hoops, so to speak, versus winning the entire match? We walked in on them, in what they thought was a completely hidden spot--"

"One of our favorites, not to be indelicate about it."

"--engaging in something that was also intimate--the angle didn't give us a great glance to evaluate the evidence,” Susan said. “They didn’t notice us, thank Merlin and his owl, since they were quite occupied, but I still saw more of Dean Thomas than I ever needed, thank you.”

Hannah gasped a bit as Ernie shook his head. “That Ginny is quite the veela, she utterly broke Michael Corner’s heart, dumping him the way she did to move on to Dean in the next breath. I’ll go so far as to say that Dean should tread carefully around her!” Ernie declared. He flapped his hand at Justin. “Tell her why!”

Justin grinned, lifting his eyebrows. “Harry seems to watch her a great deal, but we can’t tell if it’s out of romantic desire or because Ron’s enlisted him in some quest to guard Ginny’s purity,” he said, and Hannah clapped a hand over her mouth.

“If it’s the latter, he’s done a rather pathetic job.”

Susan snorted as Hannah’s eyes widened even further. Justin held up a hand, grinning, “Fair, fair. Regardless. I can’t tell, but personally, I much prefer a Harry who fancies Ginny than one who is helping her brother police her virginity, I believe that’s a plot best kept for Victorian-era novels.”

“I like the idea that Harry has a crush, though…if that’s true? Between Cho and Ginny, he certainly does like unavailable girls,” Hannah said, shaking off some of her surprise. She tugged on a loose-knit cardigan over her nightgown, the one she had worn all day, pulling it secure over her body--even tighter when she noticed Justin, then Susan, then Ernie all examining her newly reduced frame, the suddenly visible bones of her jaw and arms. They hadn’t said anything, but she knew they worried. And they didn’t seem excited that Hannah was finally thin, celebrating her like most people did. It was as if there was a silver lining to her mother’s death--Hannah was an orphan, and she had lost the center of her universe, but at least Hannah was skinny! But these three, they radiated the same worry that Tom did, that Margot and Cressida and Sonequa and Faunas did--blimey, Bickle cried nearly every day, his hands shaking as he touched her, clinging desperately to utensils as he brought her meals during those first terrible six weeks. At times, he'd hold a soup spoon to her lips, bumping the metal of it against her mouth as he begged, Miss Hannah will try this porridge, this soup, this dish, yes? All Bickle wants is to see Miss Hannah healthy. Miss Hannah needs to eat.

It had been so long without her three, yet their love felt the same. They had slipped in back together so perfectly, their foursome, that Hannah could almost pretend the past three months hadn’t happened. Except there was no going back. Now she was a Hogwarts dropout, and these three were leaping ahead. It was just a matter of time before the great show the Hufflepuffs put on about refusing to replace her as prefect would end, she was sure of it. Hannah would be forgotten.

Except--

He…he had asked if he could write. He wasn’t a Hufflepuff, he didn’t have the loyalty she and her other three did--

Her hand slipped into her pocket, touching the wrinkled piece of plastic she had slipped there after lunch.

“I wonder if Neville will know,” Hannah wondered, rubbing her thumb over the plastic--a small gum wrapper. 

“Know--what, about Ginny’s virginity, status or monitoring thereof?” Susan asked.

“Neville Longbottom?” Justin looked confused. “I say this with no maliciousness at all, but…does he even know what shagging is?”

As Susan snorted again, giving Justin an affectionate nudge, Hannah shrugged a little, her face erupting in red. Ernie shook his head at her. “May I ask what spurred such a comment? I’m having difficulty seeing the link between the two.”

“Oh. It’s…just…” Hannah tightened the jumper around herself. “I saw Neville today. We had lunch, actually. He--asked if he could keep in touch; I…I-I think he meant it. If he remembers, that is. He can be kinda forgetful…”

“You had lunch?” Susan said, eyebrows creeping a seeming inch above her glasses. “With Neville Longbottom?”

“Are we saying his full name every time now?”

“How did this come about?” Justin asked.

“Did he mention anything that Professor Sprout may have said to him about me? Or about who is most likely to be her lead sixth-year spring intern?” Ernie asked, and Justin gave him a gentle scold of a glance.

“Um…no. We--we just had a really nice talk. He and his grandmother came to eat soon after the lunch rush was over ‘cause they had run--an errand after the Express returned. And she wanted to gossip with the witches at the bar, so. It was just him and me.” Hannah fingered the bottom button of the cardigan, absently moving to push it though its hole, just to give her fingers something to do. She had ripped all of the skin around her fingernails off ages ago, keeping them in a perpetual wounded state; she wasn’t sure what else to pick at now, that would feel the same. She glanced up at her three friends, shrinking back in a bit of uncertainty at their confused expressions. “And we talked. He…he’s just so nice.”

“He is very nice. He’s also like a walking sad-trombone noise,” Susan said, trying to press back a grin. “He’s been walking around for weeks with holes in his trousers from the fire-tongued honeysuckle. And his patching charmwork has been…suboptimal. I don’t know how Parvati and Lavender haven’t staged some sort of intervention to get him to understand that navy and black are not the same.”

“Probably because Lavender is too busy giving Ron an hourly tonsil inspection,” Justin said, and Hannah giggled.

“Probably because he wants everyone to know he got a special herbology project and is rubbing it in,” Ernie grumbled. 

“Oh, Ern,” Hannah said, leaning in to hug him. “Professor Sprout loves you!”

“I for one quite like Nev,” Justin declared. “And old sport?” he prompted Ernie, giving him a nudge. “You like him, too, this is your competitiveness talking.” He circled his eyes back to Hannah, plopping down on his cot with a bag of popcorn kernels in his hands. “I like him as a person, but I really like you choosing to talk to someone, anyone, by choice. That…that you want to engage more with the world, even in some tiny Neville-shaped fraction. We--” He suddenly choked on his words, fumbling for Susan’s hand and giving it a hard squeeze; she put her hand on his back, rubbing a slow circle under his shoulder blades. His eyes shined bright and brittle with tears. “We thought we might lose you, Hannie.”

“We really did,” Ernie added, his voice fist-tight. “We truly, truly did.”

“We nearly asked for permission to come and visit you last month,” Susan said, stretching out to take Hannah’s hand, “we were that scared after that owl on Muggle Armistice Day.”

Hannah let herself break, shattering into their arms, not sure if she was crying into Justin’s neck or if it was Susan’s arm around her waist or Ernie’s hands on her back. She didn’t deny, and she didn’t fight; she just let herself be held in the kind cradle of their love. The four of them, bathed in the dappled light of her room’s small Christmas tree, holding all of the ornaments that she and her mother hung every year. Annemarie was gone, but Christmas remained, and so did Hannah; why not make a shadow of a celebration, if only to drown in what would never feel the same again?

But these three…they felt the same. The exact same. Holding her in the deep center of their heart, refusing to let her go. It wasn’t until they all drew apart to wipe at their wet, slippery faces that Hannah’s hand found itself back into her pocket, touching that tiny bit of plastic. 

Neville said that the gum wrapper was a sign from his mother that he was somebody to her. He mattered, somehow. This tiny bit of wax paper was a connection stronger than steel, between him and her--it was years of longing and love reduced down to a thumbprint of a square. He passed it to her--accidentally, yes, but he did, the warmth of his hand sealing it into her skin. Another connection, to the life she had lost--but there was still something she could salvage and reclaim. 

All night, she couldn’t stop touching the wrapper he had accidentally passed in his palm: This is what faith felt like.

Chapter Text

Hannah’s great-grandfather Tom had started working at the Leaky when he was only eighteen, rising from stockboy to server to bartender to the owner’s daughter’s bed by twenty-one and becoming landlord by thirty. In total, he had spent eighty-plus years at the pub. To say the man knew the entirety of the Leaky inside and out was an understatement.

To say that he had committed any of his knowledge to paper was an overstatement. 

After thirty-eight days of bungling her way through managing the pub and its inn, Hannah was half-convinced that Tom had gone out of his way to ensure that nothing about the Leaky was easily found. As she grumbled to Susan Bones one afternoon in late May while pawing through piles of invoices stuffed into a kitchen drawer, their ink indecipherable from grease smudges and stains, “I’m pretty sure he just planned on living forever.”

Susan had squinted over her pint of Godric’s Ale. “Sounds like you should get ready for Tom to pull a Binns on you.”

“Fine! His ghost can figure out how many bloody lamb shanks should be ordered in a week, and I’ll skive off to Canada and move in with Aunt Louise and her wife. Stuff myself with poutine. Befriend a moose.”

Susan giggled, but she followed it with a knowing look. Because of course Hannah would never leave the Leaky. It wasn’t the plan before the Battle of Hogwarts, and it certainly wasn’t now. 

Because now? Hannah started and ended each day at Tom’s bedside. The routine began at St. Mungo’s during that first awful, uncertain month as his worn, elderly body debated whether it had enough strength for any kind of recovery from his wounds. It continued upon his return home just a week ago, settling him back in his flat up on the first floor of the pub. The pub’s elf, Bickle, had pleaded to be responsible for his beloved master--his mate’s --care, and an overwhelmed Hannah had agreed, provided she could have a bit of alone time with Tom during breakfast and his evening cup of tea. 

She was desperate for time with him. Not to try to get him to use a bit of his faint energy on answering, Tom, where can I find…? or how do I …? or what would you do…? But because he was her papa. Because he had come storming into the Battle of Hogwarts amongst a similarly dogged crowd of family members determined to find and protect their children, their loved ones, their friends in that battered castle and fight for them and alongside them, to change their entire world’s course just before the sunrise. That cresting sound that said that the ones who had made it through the night weren’t alone, after an entire year of feeling that way. That sound, that sight, of those people made her heart rush--and then, she saw Justin Finch-Fletchley for the first time in nearly a year, leading a wave of blue-clad Beauxbaton students and the other Muggleborn Hufflepuffs who had fled there--and then, alongside the Leaky’s head cook and tiny Bickle, was Tom--

He followed his heart to find and fight for her, and he sacrificed it. The spell he took felled him before he could even reach the castle steps and left Tom’s heart working so unsteadily, so sluggish and fragile, leaving him with a finite and shallow energy. Its every beat was a gift: the gift of more time--any time--with him. 

The days rolled on; he got no better. 

But she did. Slowly, unevenly, five weeks of stepping forward and tumbling back--and then starting all over again the next morning. She figured out how much lamb to order, how to create a menu with the head cook and her ledger book. How to assign shifts and manage a payroll. How to anticipate the needs of the inn guests and be prepared with extra linens or toiletries to be levitated up in the snap of a wand. How to unclog the fireplace--

--no, actually, that she was rubbish at and usually had Feodor take care of, but today Feodor didn’t start his shift for another three hours, and one of the things Hannah had learned quickly was how any problem in the pub always was her problem. She could melt down and cry, but that damn damaged chimney would still ring the main lounge with acrid smoke if she didn’t cry and get in the bloody firebox and grit out the spells to unclog and scour the flue until she broke through and could see all the way through to the sky.

That sight, of clouds against the warm, darkening shades of twilight: Hannah let out a sniffle and wiped at the grime caking on her face, knees shaking at how her eyes stung from the soot and the utter exhaustion of it all, but she kept looking up. Even though the sun was setting, she could still see the light up above.

Those rays of sunlight, they helped her emerge from the chimney and face an entire pub full of people, including a table full of Gryffindors who had just settled down for dinner--her fellow D.A. members--and leaders. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan and Hermione Granger, Ron and Ginny Weasley, Neville, Harry Bloody Potter who had been coughing at the smoke, bollocks! She braced herself for all of the customers' curled-lip reaction to her black ash-covered self when she emerged. Right, yes, the Gryffindors did: She heard Ginny call out to her, saw Seamus crane his neck in concern, and Neville seemed to stand, but she quick waved a dirt-covered hand and gestured up, as if the mere sooty sight of her were excuse enough of a need to scurry away and get clean. (Later on, she realized that they all saw her, but…they didn’t seem disgusted. Worried, maybe. Like friends. But. In that moment, she hurried from their gaze as quickly as she could.)

They noticed, but barely anyone else looked her way. She was just part of the service scenery, only visible when needed. Maybe some eyes cast her way, but the majority…she was nothing to them.

Truly, though? That felt perfect to Hannah. Unseen was a safe state to be in.

She headed upstairs to Tom’s suite using the service passageways, exhausted. Using a charm, she had siphoned the chimney detritus from her body and hair and clothes, but the dead scent of ash lingered on her like a perfume. Not even her beloved gardenia plants, three of them in the room in various states of bloom, could overpower it. She paused at Tom’s phonograph and grabbed one of the records she had left here, a new one that her Aunt Louise had brought as a gift during her visit last month, an album Louise said all the North American kids Hannah’s age were in to. And maybe…just the right kind of music for her battle-scarred niece. 

Hannah cued up a song from the B-side: Honey, help me out of this mess/I'm a stranger to myself/But don't reach for me, I'm too far away/I don't wanna talk 'cause there's nothing left to say. When she set the tea down on Tom’s bedside table, dropping her body into the armchair beside him, he was already asleep. It emptied her out, sitting there, watching her once eternally-spry papa in the state he so often was now: in a potion-aided rest, mouth hanging open, breath loud and labored. 

A wave of exhaustion weighed her down. Susan was worried about her. Worried that Hannah was surrounded by people but alone, caught up in a gauntlet of too much, taking over the Leaky and caring for Tom, looking as pale as dust as she did. Then of course…there was what had just happened--just ended --with Anthony… Just thinking about it made Hannah’s eyes burn and throat started to squeeze. (And the fact it had been three weeks since their split, and this was still the reflex…well, that was part of why Susan worried, too.)

And if Susan worried, Justin worried, and Justin then looped Ernie in, and then they all had to pay attention to her and take care of her--no. No. She wasn’t worth their precious energy and time. Besides, that worry was easy enough to deflect: Hannah wasn’t unique here, was she, in this post-war place of trying to shoulder a load she hadn’t packed or planned for. Tom wasn’t the only loved one whose recovery was uncertain--for Merlin’s sake, Ernie was still receiving treatment in St. Mungo’s for his Acramantula bite! In fact, wasn’t Hannah lucky? Tom was a shadow-self, but she could sit here and hear him breathe. What would Ginny and Ron give to have Fred’s hand to hold? 

The best tactic, though, was she could turn that worry right back at her best friends, starting with Susan: she was overextended with helping her father at the Wizengamot, and Justin and Dean were bloody leading the Muggleborn return efforts under the Minister’s direction, plus the two of them were visiting Ernie during the five days she had to work--and oh yes, Susan and Justin were trying to spend time together, too, as a couple after a year apart, so the last thing they needed was to worry about their friend being tired and lost when everyone was that and more. So shut up, Hannah: You’re lucky. You’re fine. You’re being a baby. You’re perfectly capable, stop being so weak. Don’t be a burden. Suck it bloody up.

She took his rough, wrinkled hand in one of hers. “Another day down,” she whispered to him. “I hope I made you proud.” 

She held her breath and realized she was so thankful that he was asleep, unable to tell her if the answer was, in fact, no. 

Instead, they lingered in the growing dusk, the hum of the pub below and Diagon Alley outside and the soft curl of the record’s music from the other room filling the silence just enough that it didn’t feel empty in the room. So my darling, give me your absence tonight/Take all of your sympathy and leave it outside/'Cause there's no kind of loving that can make this all right/I'm trying to find a place I belong.

The noise seemed to echo in the hollow place inside of her, a canyon carved through her when her mother died and deepened after the Battle. Maybe that’s how it would always be, the way people who lost a limb said they could still feel phantom pains and sensations where their missing arms or legs had been. It was a feeling that seemed utterly and wholly real, but all it did was exacerbate the reality of what was gone and could never come back.

Tom swam in front of her as her eyes choked with tears. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me all alone.” 

 ///

There was a knock at the flat’s door: four raps against its sturdy, ancient oak, loud enough to echo over the music all the way back to the bedroom. Hannah startled awake from her shallow nap and grabbed her wand to light the candles and lanterns as she made her way through the flat. She glanced through the tiny peephole in the door, frowning at the sight of a tall woman familiar enough to tug at Hannah’s brain, though no name or memory slid into place. 

“Hello?”

“Hi, Hannah. I’m Hestia. Do you remember me? We met when your great-grandfather had to be transported from Hogwarts to St. Mungo’s. I’m the one who--”

“You took him, yeah, I’m so sorry. I didn’t recall you at first, that was so--I’m sorry.”

“No apologies necessary, at all.” Hestia glanced into the flat then gave Hannah a look of total warmth, though her smile was a mere flash on her face. “We were having dinner downstairs and thought I might check in on how Tom was doing.”

Hannah blinked. “But you’re a Healer.”

Hestia paused. “Yes…?”

“Healers don’t make house calls! You--you’re so busy! And your shift is over, you shouldn’t--you deserve to rest, especially after this past month--”

“It makes it even more important to be more helpful, rather than act like when folks leave the hospital that everything was fixed, right? Especially someone who so many of us care about, like Tom.” 

“But his healer is Healer Carmichael?”

“Yes, he is, but I’ve been consulting on his case these past weeks. I’m in the Thickey Ward. Permanent spell damage. So. A bit relevant. Each time I came to see Tom, though, you were working here so I got to meet his elf. ” She gave Hannah another brief smile. “I promise, Hannah, this is not asking too much of me. I’ve been thinking about him a great deal since he left.” Hannah hesitated, and Hestia grazed her arm. “How is he tonight?”

“Okay. Resting.” Hannah finally stepped back to invite Hestia inside. “His bedroom is this way, please, follow me…he sleeps most of the time. Usually from about eight or nine in the morning, then a nap before lunch, again before afternoon tea, and often before dinner--and he’s falling asleep most nights before he can even have his last cuppa. But Healer Carmichael said that was normal, given…I mean. We’re lucky he is still here.” 

Hannah’s mouth flickered in a smile. “Tom said that he feels like a baby dragon with how much he’s sleeping.”

Hestia smiled, tucking a piece of her massive cloud of black spiral curls behind an ear. “Did you ask him how exactly he knew the behavior of a baby dragon?”

“‘Just another day at the Leaky,’ he said,” Hannah grinned, and Hestia laughed.

“I have to say, growing up, everybody always thought that Master Tom and Madame Rosmerta were the two coolest people in all of wizarding Britain. You must have been so popular at Hogwarts.”

Hannah bit at the inside of her cheek. “Well…my mum and Tom didn’t get on for a long while, so…I didn’t get close enough to him to throw around ‘my papa owns the Leaky’ until--well, a few years ago, the summer after the Triwizard Tournament.” 

Her smile grew, lopsided but energetic. “It did help with getting respect as a prefect, though. That first month? I told the Hufflepuffs that every week we have more up than down yellow diamonds in the house-points hourglass, that’s a free round here come Christmas break. And it worked! It just…became a thing that we’d all talk about, every single day, it kept us motivated especially when Umbridge was being proper awful that first term. It took me to the start of December to finally admit to Tom what I had promised, I was so scared he’d be mad--maybe even send a Howler ! Oh, I would have burst into flames in shame! I didn’t have enough saved if more than twenty Hufflepuffs showed up, and Justin said he’d cover me, but that would have been so bad, to have my bestest mate do that when everybody assumed that of course Tom and I--I mean-- but! Instead! Papa was…” 

Eyes choked with tears, she wiped them on the sleeve of her billowing white peasant blouse, then the front of her linen smock, two pieces of her adopted daily uniform--then she winced. Tried to fold herself inward and self-immolate, chagrined. Hestia was a goddamn bloody healer, and Hannah was being so, so, so --

“He was proud,” Hesita supplied softly, putting her hand back on Hannah’s arm.

Hannah’s eyes darted up to Hestia before she ducked her head to wipe her eyes again. “Yeah. He said…the promise of a bribe only works for so long. After that point, if they are bought in, it’s because…” Hannah’s voice wavered and trailed off as she shook her head. 

Even finishing the sentence felt so egotistical: Tom had said It’s because they believe in their goal, because somebody helped them believe. 

She felt like she was clinging to her composure with just her fingertips as her mind flooded with that memory of Tom behind the holly bough-draped bar about two years ago, smiling so wide that every missing tooth in his mouth was on display. He was passing out countless steins of butterbeer--and endless rounds of firewhiskey for those confident enough to ask for it. The way he fired off knowing winks while offering a series of shots from his treasured collection of exotic and expensive foreign liquors to the seventh years lining the bar, all of them excitedly slurring about their post-Hogwarts plans, the ten of them basking in the glow of being the most favored patrons in magical England’s most favorite bar. 

I can’t believe this is your life, Ernie Macmillan had told her with a booze-slowed smile as she, crimson-faced, brought yet another secretly snuck round of Tom’s special shots to the table where he sat with Susan and Justin, Omar Shafiq, and Megan Jones. 

Two and a half years ago.

Less than twenty yards away from where she now stood, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. Stupid stupid stupid . Hannah glanced at Hestia, red-faced, before taking in a breath and opening the door to Tom’s bedroom. He still laid there, unchanged, his sleep-breathing heavy with effort. The effort of keeping him alive--and here. Hannah knew: He wasn’t working this hard just for the Leaky. He was fighting for every second and breath for her. To stay alive, here, with her. Just like she asked.

I can’t believe this is your life.

Hestia didn’t move to Tom at first; her eyes were still on Hannah, as if she had tumbled into a pensieve memory and watched what was playing in Hannah’s mind, too. No, it was more than that: She was looking at Hannah like she knew the very sentence that Hannah couldn’t bear to finish.

After that point, if they are bought in, it’s because… 

Hestia’s gaze was more gentle than the breath-light touch of her fingers on Hannah’s arm. “I only wish I had you for a prefect.”

Hannah’s face erupted into a blazing blush as Hestia headed inside towards the bed, pulling out a stethoscope, one of the few Muggle medical instruments that the healers and mediwitches used, too. 

“Hello, Tom, it’s Hestia Jones,” the healer said, just loud enough to be heard, just quiet enough to land with care if her presence startled him awake. “She of the night with the dragon-talon rum twenty-two years ago, which I then booted all over your lovely wood floor.” 

When Hannah let out a reflexive gasp, Hestia shot her a sly grin. “Just another day at the Leaky.”

“So I’m learning,” Hannah smiled. It faded. Because she had to learn. Because...

Tom didn’t do more than stir as Hestia touched him, letting out a mumbled groan as Hestia listened to his heart. Watching a healer monitor him, care for him, it made Hannah’s eyes burn with a wave of sobs, and she battled to choke it all back. 

“Healer Carmichael--” She didn’t even realize she was speaking until her voice reached her ears. “When we left last week. He said that…”

Hestia pulled the stethoscope from her ears, frowning at Hannah in concentration. Hannah didn’t resume speaking, so she prompted, “What did Silas say?”

“That it was a Healer who must have cursed him. But that--” Hannah’s eyes started to river out tears that she couldn’t stop, no matter how much her brain screamed at herself to stop it stop it you’re so bloody stupid stop it stop looking like an idiot stop it stop stop stop-- “That…it likely wasn’t a curse, it was the spell that healers used to revive a stopped heart, so…” 

Hannah looked down at her fingers; she hadn’t realized she was picking at the cuticles on her nails, one of which she had torn enough to draw blood. She quickly twisted her hands together to hide it, a tiny trail of blood arcing over her fourth finger like a ring. “I wanted to be a healer when I was little. I thought…the idea that spells that are supposed to…help. Being used to hurt, to kill, a spell like that to a man his age, with a heart that--everybody says, you only do that to kill someone…”

She looked at Hestia, her mouth open but no words came out. Because Hannah didn’t know what to say. 

Then again, she didn’t know how to talk about the Battle of Hogwarts, let alone that entire year at Hogwarts. Finding the right words—knowing if there were words strong enough to even bear what was said—seemed far too hard anymore.

She just sniffled and wiped again at her face, shaking her head in a sharp, abrupt motion. Hannah felt lost inside of herself, her own feelings, and her head filled with a weird echo of Ernie badgering her back during their O.W.L. year about how much she was studying and how if it was less than eight hours, it wasn’t enough, so bloody stupid, eleven hours of studying and three hours sleep and yet, and yet, after all that, you can’t even remember, instead you fucking fall apart, you and your emotional Abbott side-- 

But wait. Hestia deserved an answer. So. Yes, that was all true, but—

Blinking hard, she whispered, “I’m sorry. I--don’t know what I…I just don’t understand. Why . Someone who took an oath to help…I don’t understand.”

Hestia was so still, Hannah wondered if perhaps someone had cast a petrificus spell on her. But then: “Neither do I.” Hestia moved to check Tom’s pulse, but her eyes stayed on Hannah. “I don’t think…most people can make sense of it. Using what’s supposed to help in a way that hurts.”

“I’m supposed to help,” Hannah whispered, then she tensed as she realized she had said it out loud. “But--everyone is.”

Hestia gave her a small curl of a smile. “I don’t think…you yet understand…that it’s not.”

“Not what?”

Hestia gently tapped at a few of his joints, studying what jerked and what stayed still, then she waved her wand, studying the lights that glowed over his body and what flickered or stayed dark. It wasn’t until she was done that her eyes darted over to Hannah. “If that’s how it works, not everyone got the memo. So. The rest of us simply have to work more.” 

Hestia stood, a handkerchief appearing with a flick of her wrist. She offered it to Hannah. “How about we have ourselves a cup of tea? Or firewhiskey. Maybe not at the same time, though.”

Hannah blinked a few times. “But--you’re having dinner. With your partner.”

“Oh, he’s having a nightcap with a table of your D.A. classmates from Gryffindors. They’re liable to talk for hours, I’m sure.” She rolled her eyes. “He spent the whole day working with a few of them, but lord knows none of them can rest until ‘the work is done,’ as if the work is ever done or ever will be done, with what needs to be done after…everything.” Hestia headed towards the sitting area, waving her wand to summon a bottle of firewhiskey from Tom’s kitchenette and a few tumblers to pour it in. “Though I think it’s more that Kingsley just loves your classmates. From the moment he met Dean Thomas in the spring, at Bill Weasley's, he’s been going on and on about him, and of course Harry, then he met Frank and Alice’s son and practically swooned, and that Seamus--oh, don’t get him started on how he thinks your best mate Justin is some visionary with his ideas on international cooperation from what he learned from fleeing to Beauxbatons.”

Feeling stuck in place, Hannah’s mind raced to process everything, leaving her gape-mouthed. She barely managed to take hold of her firewhiskey glass when Hestia offered it. “Kingsley…the Minister?”

“He thinks you’re just utterly lovely,” Hestia added quickly. “I’m sorry, that was rude not to tell you that first! Sod your friends, he just thinks the world of you, Hannah. He’s really appreciated you setting up that private parlor for him. It’s been so perfect for him to have meetings in a more relaxed setting, after hours. Actually, I’m sure that’s where he and the kids have retreated to…” she mused, conjuring two perfect cubes of ice for her tumbler.

“The Minister.” Then she smiled a little. “The Minister thinks Justin is--well, Justin is brilliant. But--that the Minister thinks that…Justin’s been a little worried, that he’s been…overstepping. With sharing his thoughts.”

“Kingsley wouldn’t ask if he didn’t want to hear.” Hestia took in a breath through her nose, raising her eyebrows. “I think the fact…the Ministry has only wanted to hear certain voices, maybe only the same voices, saying the same things, ensuring that we stay essentially the same for so long is part of why we are in the moment we are.”

Hannah took a tentative sip of her drink, eyes flinching at the burn of it over her tongue. “That’s what my mum thought.”

“Yes, she did. It’s what your dad thought, too.” 

“You knew my dad?”

“I was in Gryffindor with him, but six years younger—though your dad was far too hip to hang out with me even if I had been closer in age. He was in a band! Grim’s Mark was the coolest . The guys would play Muggle rock music for us, on the phonograph? It was…I didn’t even need your dad to know my name, the fact I was in the Gryffindor common room to hear ‘Gimme Shelter’?” Hestia let out a whistle. “Life-changing.”

“You’re Pureblood?”

“No, but I grew up in Hogsmeade, so I was pretty sheltered. Meeting Muggleborns was big in the first place, but meeting a Pureblood who was so into it was…yeah. Life-changing.”

“Tom…made it sound like my dad liked Muggle culture because it was an easy way to rebel. To be ‘independent.’”

Hestia shrugged as she sipped at her firewhiskey. “I don’t know why Thomas got into Muggle things, but…I don’t think somebody who lit up the way he did as he sang that music along with the records…I don’t think that’s just to rile up their family.”

Hannah nodded slowly, absently swirling her glass and watching the firewhiskey orbit around its sides. “My papa didn’t--doesn’t--talk about him much. My father. He talks about my late grandparents much more. Even about my mum. They weren’t particularly close, Papa and--him. Thomas. And Mum didn’t like talking about him, so--I don’t know much about him. Other than his music. Mum got his albums for me to have, one day.”

“You know, Kingsley can tell you about your dad. They were in the same year.”

“Really? You don’t think he’d mind?”

“I’m dead certain.”

“Thank you.” Hannah paused. “Is that…how you and the Minister…met? In Gryffindor?”

“Oh, Merlin no, I was six years younger than him, too.”

“Right, sorry, that was dumb.” 

Hestia’s face flickered in what almost seemed like a frown, but then she said, “You’re fine, Hannah. Kingsley and I met after the Quidditch World Cup, he received a burn in the pursuit of the Death Eaters who showed up the night after the final. I treated him. He came back the next night to call on me.” She smiled. “We had to pretend to break up last summer, for safety reasons. It was actually quite entertaining, we let--” She hesitated, her smile flashing sad and small. “We let Tonks help come up with the whole scene, she was having an absolute blast suggesting hurtful remarks and when we should be raising our voices, when to cry. I told her--Tonks, you missed your calling as a theatrical director.”

“I knew Tonks.” Hannah was watching her drink; she was still, and so was the last of her firewhiskey. Her entire mind was filled with the memory of Tonks, her muddy hair and tired eyes, as she earnestly told Hannah that your mum was a hero . “She’s the auror…she was leading my mum’s…investigation.” Hestia’s eyes drooped to her lap, and she took in a slow, sharp breath through her nose. 

A cold, leaden feeling spread through Hannah’s stomach as she watched Hestia. They weren’t just here to chat, were they. All of the air evaporated out of her lungs. “Is my papa--okay? What else can I do to help?”

The older woman put her hand on Hannah’s shoulder. “You and your elf are doing wonderfully. Truly, we couldn’t ask for more attentive home care.”

“Healer Carmichael said that…the top priority for us, every day, was to make him comfortable.”

“I agree with Silas.” Hestia fell quiet, but she looked at Hannah. Waited.

“He didn’t say--it was to help him get better.”

Hestia leaned back on the sofa they were sitting on; the healer was cast in shadows, though her brown eyes caught the candlelight, flashing like amber at Hannah. “No.”

For a moment, Hannah held her breath, waiting for the collapse inside of her. It was always the same, after her body went numb. Next would be the hiss of that nasty, tar-heavy voice that never went quiet: stupid stupid stupid. Then her breath would seize in her throat and the choke of it would trip a panic in her belly that raced up to her brain, and before she could even register them, the tears would be filling her eyes and spilling at any moment and then--then--then…she couldn’t fully explain what happened next in these moments, same to how a person swallowed by a tsunami tumbling in a disoriented blur only feels the pound of the water and their impact against debris. Swept away, until it receded. (Or most likely they drowned, but Hannah--no. She couldn’t think about that.)

Her body stayed strangely removed from any sensation, like she had slipped out of her own skin and stood a few feet away. She watched her Hannah-body nod without feeling it. No choking. No tears. Just nodding. 

“How much longer?” Hannah whispered.

“It’s hard to know. It could be days, it could be months. Let him guide you, as to how he wants to spend his time. And know that you are doing a wonderful job caring for him. As well as any healer could,” Hestia said, a glint of light seeming to dance over her eye as she gazed at Hannah. Though Hannah ignored it, her face crumpling as she slammed back into herself, as her mind echoed over and over: could be days. Could be days. Could be days.

“Oh, love.” Hestia moved to sit beside Hannah, rubbing her back, while Hannah cried. She was so deep in her own sobs, her eyes squeezed shut, that she couldn’t tell what the flash of light that suddenly filled the room for a moment was for; she truly didn’t care. Her light was in the other room; her light was fading. 

Hannah was trying to slow down her sobs when there was another knock at the door--her head snapped to stare at the entrance, and she couldn’t sort out who she hoped would be behind it: Susan, Justin, Ernie. Anthony. Her aunt Louise.

Mum.

Ginny Weasley didn’t wait for someone to open the door like Hestia had, she just came in, Seamus and Neville behind her. Then Dean. And like a wave nearing shore, the sound of three voices coming up the stairs, their conversation weaving and interlocked: as always, a perfect Trio. 

“I’ll send for Susan and Justin,” Seamus was saying as he came in, then his eyes lit up. “Oooh, we’re having firewhiskey!”

“Cheers, Seamus, that’s exactly the reason we came up,” Ginny snorted, stopping as she surveyed Hannah. Her face folded, gentle and concerned. “Oh, Han. Hold on, lemme conjure up some tissues--actually, Hermione…? Can you cast--”

As the room started to fill with noise, Hestia cast a quick Muffliato to seal Tom’s bedroom from the cacophony as she stood, her hand grazing Hannah’s shoulder like a sunbeam. Before Hestia’s spot on the sofa beside Hannah could even feel empty, another person plunked down. Hannah was staring down at her lap as she wiped at her eyes--and she watched as a hand crept to her, palm up and open. She sniffled and looked up to lock eyes with Neville. 

“Hestia sent a patronus, saying you needed your friends,” he said softly. Behind him, Harry and Ron were loping inside, both giving her similar awkward, endearing waves of hello. “I hope it’s okay it’s us.”

She managed a nod. She planted her hand in his.

Chapter Text

“Hello, Hannah.”

“Good evening, sir.” Hannah paused in the middle of pouring herself a pint of cider. Wait: why wasn’t Kingsley in the Minister’s parlor… “Is there something wrong with your dinner?” she asked, her eyes going wide. “I’m so sorry, I--”

Kingsley blinked and leaned forward on the bar as he settled himself on a stool. “No! No, of course not. It’s always perfect here.”

“Don’t say that. I mixed up a drink order yesterday, and Mr. Copperpot nearly hexed me into the next time zone. He really hates rum.”

“Every man has to take a stand, I suppose,” he said, and Hannah giggled. “No, Hestia was called back to St. Mungo’s to assist with a patient, so I need to, as Muggles say, ‘cool my heels’ for a bit. And there was something I was curious about…”

Kingsley pointed at one of the bottles lining the mirrored wall behind the bar. “Is that Johnny Walker Blue?” She nodded, and he beckoned her to bring it to him, letting out an appreciative breath as he surveyed the label. “Ah. Hello, friend.”

She giggled again. “You’re familiar with it?”

“Quite. I went to a training on law enforcement hosted by MACUSA early on in my career, and towards the end, one of the American aurors introduced us to this bit of magic.” He gave it a fond look. “I find that Muggle spirits have far better and more complex flavors--magical spirits are either antiquated, like butterbeer or mead, or they just get you intoxicated faster.”

“Like firewhiskey.”

“Now Muggles…I went into a Muggle liquor store when I was young and the sheer amount of choice, it was enough to make my head spin. It’s something I told Tom ages ago, that I appreciated just how many Muggle drinks he offered here.” Kingsley gave her a crooked smile. “I think I was expecting him to perhaps wax rhapsodic on the superiority of Muggle drinks, too, but he told me it merely a business decision. Nothing more.”

Hannah nodded slowly. “Yeah. Because there are a lot of Muggleborns who come through here--with their Muggle families--so they will spend a lot more here if we provide what they are familiar with. Coca-Cola for kids, beer for the parents…” She shrugged. “The Hogsmeade pubs don’t have to worry about--‘a diverse clientele.’ That’s what Tom called it. Plus, we get a lot of international visitors. Well, not a lot but enough. Enough to…yeah. Want to not be limited.”

Kingsley surveyed the taps. “You’ve gotten more--diverse in the past two months, I’ve noticed.”

She blushed. “Well. Personally, I like cider. So. I was kinda selfish about adding that. Then a few of my Muggleborn friends who know beer said that Tom’s usual picks were…not great, so I did a swap with our supplier. Oh. And Seamus Finnigan begged for Guinness.” She smiled a bit wider as her face grew more rosy. “I guess I’m just trying to keep my mates happy.”

“Mmm. That’s not the worst reason to do something.” He looked around the pub. “Seems like the changes have been--well-received even from the non-Muggleborns.”

“Yeah, it really has. Maybe it goes back to what you said--about Muggle drinks just--being good.”

“Indeed. On that note, pass me a glass, I’d love to have some of this. Neat, please. And a double.” He smiled at her as she came to pour him a tumbler of scotch; his eyes held hers, and his face changed as it became serious. Not unkind, not a bit less warm, but serious. Drawing on a deep calm that fixed his face into something too steady to smile. She opened her mouth but closed it soundlessly, watching him. 

“Hannah…you went to Muggle primary school, yes?”

“Yes, sir. Both in Manchester and then here in London.”

“When you got to Hogwarts, did you know what to expect? In terms of how different the curriculum was from your Muggle school?” 

“I--I’m sorry, I don’t…think I understand?”

“Did you know there wouldn’t be maths or literature, that sort of thing? Just magical instruction?”

“I did, yeah. But that’s more because my grandmum was a Muggle secondary school teacher, she was really in a way about how she felt Hogwarts didn’t teach kids to grow as people as much as train as wizards. She said it was nothing more than a posh vocational school. It caused a huge row between her and my mum and my aunt Louise, since Louise decided she wanted to write but she didn’t get any instruction on it, so…” 

Hannah sucked in a breath, her eyes rolling up. “She took classes at the local uni, and my grandmother said she was shocked at Louise’s level of education at the start, and…anyway, it got really messy. Especially when Mum decided to send me to Hogwarts instead of staying in Muggle school. She didn’t disagree with my grandmother, but she also--felt…if you didn’t go to magical school, you were denying a part of our identity as wizards, so. That’s why, during Hogwarts, they all sent me books to read every month--Muggle books, fiction and non-fiction on science and world historical events and whatnot. At least four a month. They wanted me to be well-rounded in a way they felt Hogwarts--didn’t provide students.” 

“So they had you studying for some family G.C.S.E.’s as well as your O.W.L.s.”

“Pretty much--” She stared at him. “How do you know about general exams?”

“I knew about them before, to an extent, from my Muggleborn friends, but--Dean and Hermione and Harry, let alone your friend Justin, they’ve been filling in the gaps.” He leaned forward and placed the glass gently back on the bar. “I’m sure Justin’s spoken to you about the request he made. To attend Muggle university. To have his record--translated for admission.”

“Yes, Mr. Minister.”

“Hannah.” His smile was gentle. “Kingsley. Just Kingsley.”

“Yes, sir. Kingsley,” she corrected quickly. “Blast. Sorry.” She huffed out a flustered exhale, trying to focus. “Right. Um. Yes. He has.”

“What do you think?”

She blinked. “What do I think what? About Justin?”

“Yes, but--about attending Muggle uni in general as well, after seven years at Hogwarts. Would you want to go, for instance.”

“Me? No. I can’t leave Tom or the Leaky. I’m not even going back for my last year at Hogwarts. So…” She hesitated and slowly began, “And I think for some people, going to uni…might make it harder to want to live a life that’s mostly magical. The magical world is incredible and rich, but it’s also very small. From what my Muggle friends, and Justin, have told me, uni…like, is a gateway to an even bigger world. There are lots of things that you learn and want to do that--you might not find in the magical world. Or not the same. It might be hard to make yourself small again when you realize just how much more you can be.”

“That’s true. On the other hand, do we really need wizards to stay cooped up in our world, provided they respect the Statute of Secrecy? What’s so bad about wanting to study literature and then…go become a librarian for the British Museum? A Ravenclaw in my year did that. She went to UCL, did that…yet her kids were in Hogwarts when it was their time.”

“But how many of us even know that’s an option? That the Ministry can do whatever it is you do to get Hogwarts students into Muggle unis?”

“Very true.”

“I’d guess that girl was a Muggleborn like Justin, right?” When Kingsley nodded, Hannah took a drink from her own pint. She wiped her upper lip dry with the side of her thumb. “Justin’s parents are well-educated, they both went to uni, his dad even has a second degree from America, so he knew. Plus, I mean, his parents did expect him to go on to higher education, they didn’t know that in our world, you...don’t. So there was that. But, you know, being kept safe at Beauxbaton this past year…he wants to be a diplomat, do international relations, and how do you learn that in our world? When that’s something you can literally learn at uni! The London School of Economics has a whole college devoted to international diplomacy--not that Justin would go to LSE, Finch-Fletchleys only go to Cambridge--”

“He mentioned that, when this was first broached--” Kingsley suddenly gave her a sly grin. “I got the feeling Justin’s family is…ah, exceedingly comfortable, I believe the Muggle euphemism is.”

“Just a bit,” Hannah grinned. Her stomach made a loop, a swoop as she added, as casually as possible, “And…Anthony Goldstein, I think he’s interested, too?”

“Yes, he is. Justin brought him and Morag Macdougal to speak with my Education Minister about applying.”

She bit down on her lip to catch herself from asking for more details. She was over Anthony! Very much over! Mostly over. Kind of? It was so utterly confusing, his habit of popping up at the pub, sometimes ignoring her, sometimes chatting like a mere friend. Sometimes sliding into her bed. She wasn't sure how much of her feelings were being pulled by actual affection versus a hunger for mere attention.

“Ant wants to figure out how to make Muggle electronics work on magic, and he thinks studying electrical engineering would really help since right now, he’s just self-taught by his own curiosity. And Morag--” She caught herself and shook her head, gripping her pint glass harder before taking a few gulps. “I’m telling you what you already know.”

“But I’m hearing it in a different way. What’s interesting to me is, Justin and Anthony and Morag--and Kelly O’Connor back when I was young--all of them knew what they want to do when they, quote-unquote, ‘grow up.’ For those four, Muggle university is just a means to that end. Versus Hermione Granger, who told me that she needs her last year of Hogwarts because she wants to come directly into the Ministry--uni studies would be nice and perhaps helpful, but she doesn’t feel it’s necessary to be able to do policy work.”

“To be fair, si--Kingsley, Hermione is so brilliant, she can read literally anything and know what to do and do it perfectly. All you need to do is give her, like, the directions on how to do the job, and she’ll probably draft two hundred laws in the first month. Besides, Susan says that doing Ministry law is half knowing how to work the system, half knowing the people in the system.”

“A very practical outlook. I’m shocked to hear that came from a Bones,” Kingsley smiled, and Hannah grinned. “Having Hermione sit in some Oxford library for three years studying political science and legal theory might be better in the long run, but out of sight, out of mind around here.” His face had drawn serious again, and it was unnerving to be watched that closely; Hannah turned to refill her drink. “What your grandmother said…about Hogwarts merely being a magical vocational school…do you agree?”

Hannah hesitated. She drank again. “Well. I don’t think I’m the person you really should talk to. I mean. Hermione. Brilliant isn’t even the half of it. And Harry and Dean, of course, Dean has Muggle siblings so he probably has the best perspective--oh, well, and Justin, maybe Dennis Creevey, during his and C-Colin’s,” she said, her voice suddenly choking and eyes starting to burn, “year hiding in their uncle’s caravan, they were using their cousins’ schoolbooks to not get too bored, so…”

Kingsley held up a hand before letting it float back down to pick up his drink. “With all due respect, Hannah, I’m asking you.” 

She bit back what she really wanted to back: Why do you want to talk to me? With a slow exhale as she lifted her glass, she looked at Kingsley through the sloped side of her pint glass, his reflection warped by the amber cider.

“I do,” Hannah said. “But…I don’t think that’s a bad thing, exactly, except…” She took in a shaky breath. “Because we don’t…grow a lot, except in our magic, if you don’t know what you’re doing when you graduate…I--I think it can be hard to then--find a place. Your place. Because we don’t have a thing like uni where you get to kind of…explore, change your mind, figure it out. And if you want to do something else, you can always go back to uni and do it again.” 

She frowned. “We don’t really…because who we are and the jobs we do are kinda the same? We don’t really give people the room to decide that who they thought they’d be at sixteen or eighteen isn’t who they are when they’re older. Not in the Ministry, that is. Susan? Susan wants to go into the Wizengamot and do judicial work, like her aunt. But if in five years, she wanted to…I dunno, go be an auror or a hit wizard the way so many others in the D.A. are? She can’t. She didn’t take Potions as a N.E.W.T. She didn’t think she needed it. And there’s no way for her to take a potions class outside of Hogwarts. So. I mean. I--could--there’s a lot more, my head’s kinda racing, I mean--yeah--and, and we should all take literature. And history, too, because wizards make the same mistakes Muggles do, Justin talks about that a lot, and--oh god, Muggle Studies needs to be required! It’s so dumb that we don’t have telephones to begin with, let alone a faster way to communicate than bloody owls, but that Ernie thought you had to shout to be heard--are you kidding!” 

Hannah stumbled to a stop, shaking her head as she took a desperate drink, wishing the glass was bigger--and opaque--enough to hide her. “Sorry.”

Kingsley let out a laugh. “Hannah, I’m going to have Arthur Weasley, that's Ginny and Ron’s dad, come on by because you’ll absolutely brighten his week by telling him that. About telephones and Muggle Studies. I introduced him to Anthony after our first meeting, and I swear, it was the first time since the Battle that Arthur was genuinely cheerful again, discussing circuit breakers and whatnot. Talk to him about that, and put it on my tab.” 

Hannah let out a relieved huff of a breath, a shadowy laugh of disbelief on the edge of it. “Okay?”

Kingsley stood, waving his wand to refill his drink before he picked it up. “If you don’t mind--you have given me a great deal to consider, I am so thankful, Hannah. I’d like to go on back to my parlor and put this in my notebook before Hestia returns.” He hesitated. “Before I do, may I ask you a final, personal question?”

“Of course, Mist- Kingsley,” she corrected hastily.

“What you were saying, about Susan changing careers…I’ve mulled on that before. Why we don’t allow chances for people to go back and switch careers. I think about the aurors and healers and Unspeakables who never were because we were so unyielding.” Kingsley set the bottle back on the bar. “Hestia told me that you had dreams of being a healer before your O.W.L. results. If--there were ever a way to retrain to be a healer, would you want to try?” 

Hannah frowned, shaking her head in a jerky motion. “But--wait, what else would--I mean, I’ve never--I don’t--that’s how it works . Your O.W.L.s, that’s how it works.”

“But why does it work like that? Who decided? Is that still working for us?” Kinsley breathed out heavily. “Hasn't the past year, if not more, taught us that ‘this is how it’s always been’ is a poor reason to keep on with the way things are?” He stared at her so hard, it felt like he was plunging right into her heart. She held her breath. “Put aside how it is now. Would you?”

“But--Tom--and here-- ” Her eyes wheeled around, her chest growing even tighter. “I have responsibilities, this is all I have--”

“I know, I know. I’m just--play along with me, just for this moment, can you imagine a world where you didn’t: Would you?”

Hannah felt like she was swimming up to the surface from the bottom of a very deep lake, her lungs were burning, and she had a sudden feeling like she was racing against her own body to will it to break through--she had a sudden memory of a vision of sunlight through a smoky flue. 

She let the breath out; it shook like a cart on cobblestones. Her voice was so soft, it barely carried beyond her lips as she told him, “Yes.”

///

“Hannah?” The night manager, Margot, stepped into the supply room where Hannah was doing inventory (with a pint of cider she had already refilled twice). Because why not do inventory at eight at night when your brain is racing and every other shift is full and your friends are busy and your brain is racing and really all you want is to put on the telly to fill the silence in your flat and drown out the noise in your head but stupid magical world there is no telly so why not do inventory while listening to an old Madonna album far too loudly?

Margot paused to turn down the volume on the portable phonograph. “There’s a young man at the bar asking if you’re working tonight.” 

Her stomach swooped. Damn it. “Is it Ant? Anthony?”

“No. Neville? The one who is in Harry Potter’s usual group.” Just the way Margot said Harry’s name, with such reverence, like it was holy, made Hannah even more glad that she had gotten Harry set up with his own private room. She sighed and put the ledger down as Margot added, “He seems…a little agitated.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…he ordered a firewhiskey to have while I came to find you? And…he had it gulped back before I could clear the bar. And he’s--twisting his hands so much, he is kind of reminding me of you, when you’re--” Margot flashed a wince of apology. “Agitated.” 

Hannah did a slight double take. “Oh, dear. Alright.” 

She hurried to the bar area, spotting Neville quickly from where he was standing to one side, shifting from foot to foot. He held up a hand crookedly in an embarrassed greeting as she reached him, putting her hand on his elbow to steer him towards a stone hallway that took them out of view. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Hey. Um. So.” Neville quickly licked his lips and sucked in a breath. “Okay, so please don’t judge me--okay, no I get if you judge me a little or maybe even more than that, but I hope that you don’t see this as definitive as to who I am you know, like that kind of judging, you know, does that make sense because I don’t think I can--” 

He gasped in a breath. “I just kinda need to get drunk tonight. I tried to get Ginny or Luna to come out, but Ginny wasn’t feeling up to it--I mean, right, I didn’t tell her why or that it was a big deal, I didn’t wanna--since she’d, y’know--she sti-- anyway, and Luna’s trying to finish packing for her trip to Bavaria, and I didn’t tell her either, but that’s more ‘cause when--like, the one time I’ve seen her just full-on pissed, she said some really wild stuff, even for her, and I wasn’t totally in the mood, not that I’m complaining about Luna being Luna, I swear, just--” 

Neville squeezed his eyes shut and then popped them open, rolling them in a wild, reeling way as he picked up speed: “There’s literally nobody at home, at, you know, Grimmauld Place, Harry’s place, where, you know, I moved in this month--Merlin, Hannah, Gran’s so put out that I did, but--that’s not the point, so--right, yeah, Ron and Hermione and Harry are at the Weasleys--they’re over there way way more than in London--and Seamus is on shift and Dean on holiday with his family, so it’s just me and Lee Jordan and I barely know him, I feel so stupid and gawky and I won’t leave my room, and I think if you drink as much as I really want to and stay in your room that’s when people get worried about you, so I kinda just thought, you know, you’d maybe be the person who’d be the nicest if I got drunk in their pub because I’d feel just generally weird going to get pissed at our Hogwarts bar, you know, I’d feel like Rosmerta was baby-sitting me and I think if I went to his, Aberforth would totally shit out a bloody v--oh, I just cursed, that’s so rude, bollocks, ahh, I’m--I’m just-- I’m just --”

Hannah’s hand shot out to grab Neville’s, holding it tight. “Give me, literally, one minute. Two, tops. And after that, I will get you so shattered that you won’t be able to spell your name--and then get you into a bed tonight and leave an absolute vat full of water on the table.”

“Really?”

Hannah smiled, pulsing Neville’s hand in hers as his face melted with relief. “Just another night at the Leaky, Nev. Meet me up on the fifth floor, by the portrait of the centaur herd.”

As she turned around to face the shelves of liquor bottles, one of the other servers whispered to Hannah, “Is he having a breakdown or something?”

“Ohhh, that seems very possible.” She selected two nearly-full bottles. “Let’s see if this makes it better or worse…”

She popped into the kitchen, emerging a minute later, calling out a final thank you to the night manager, a bag slung over her shoulder holding the bottles and a covered plate in her hands, before heading up the stairs. Neville was standing where she had told him to meet her, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other again, as if warming up for a race. She wished that Tom were here, too, he was so good at ministering a patron who was using booze as a liquid therapist (not that the magical world had heard of therapy, which was why she had so many people crowding the pub here in the unsteady time following the end of the war). 

“Okay, hold on.” Hannah gave him the plate and aimed her wand at the door, putting her hand on the knob. “Alohamora.” The knob flooded with warmth, and Hannah turned it, pulling the door open. “Since the weather’s so nice, I think we should go outside.”

“Outside…?”

“Turn right--that window, it opens--yup.” Hannah led them onto the flat roof that spanned half of the story, looking out over Diagon Alley. She pointed. “My flat’s at the end.”

Neville walked out towards the edge, glancing down at the stores on the street. “Oh, there’s Madame Malkin’s…gosh, I wonder what they’re going to do with Fortescue’s, do you know?”

“One of his daughters will reopen it. They just aren’t ready yet. Still healing.” Hannah lit the outdoor lanterns that Ernie had helped her hang outside and with a wave of her wand transfigured two comfortable chairs out of the ratty folding ones she had brought out here, too. Plopping down, she began untwisting the top off of one of the bottles. “You got smashed with Luna?”

He startled slightly out of a reverie, but then he relaxed into a grin, heading back to her. “My first time ever getting drunk, yeah.”

“When!”

He sat down next to her, turning slightly to better face her; she did the same as she filled two shot glasses before charming the bottle and settling back. “Cheers. Uh--a year ago, a week before school began, Ginny invited us to her brother Bill’s for a night. We camped out on the beach and had a metric ton of her sister-in-law’s French wine. I remember--we were so tense about the year ahead, but we had this truly perfect night together. That’s when we decided, no matter what, even if it were just the three of us again like at the end of my sixth year, we weren’t going to give in to Snape and--and Voldemort. We had to keep up the fight for Harry.” 

Neville’s eyes were unfocused as he gazed at a point she couldn’t see, somewhere in the darkness that stretched behind the rooflines. His mouth flickered up slightly as he shifted his eyes back to her. “And Luna got just shattered. I was bad, but she discovered that she really liked dessert wine and kind of refused to share. And the next thing you know, she’s basically drawing a diagram of the--what is it, Rothwang, Rotfang Conspiracy involving aurors bringing down the Ministry of Magic through--like, teeth? I can’t fully remember, I had so much by that point, and it was so funny--Ginny was practically leaking wine through her nose, she was laughing so hard. Thank Merlin Luna didn’t notice. Or care. Whichever.”

He belted back the shot and recoiled. “Blimey! What is that!”

“Vampire Vodka. Brewed by a clan of them who live in Poland: they say it’s the vodka with a bite.”

Neville groaned a laugh before yelping slightly as the bottle swooped up to refill his shot glass. 

“You said you wanted to get drunk.” Hannah added in a whisper, “You don’t have to drink…it…” she said, trailing off as Neville tossed it back with a loud shudder. The next pour, he only took a small sip from; he still shuddered, and Hannah giggled, taking a sip of her own. And shuddering, and now he giggled, too.

She bit her lip. “You know…we all thought you and Luna were… you know.”

He coughed, nearly dropping his glass. “Wait --what!”

“Well! Of the six of you…you two were single, so wasn’t it inevitable?” 

“No.” He waved a hand frantically. “Not that Luna’s not pretty and smart and a fantastic friend. In fact, I get bloody frustrated that people talk about me and Ginny that--that year, forgetting her. Gin and me might have been more...whatever, but we wouldn't have done it without her. Luna’s brilliant.” Neville froze, mouth poised to speak, but he hovered in silence, his eyes incrementally starting to narrow. He finally said each word so slowly, like he was placing breakables down on an uncertain surface: “But I don’t think the way Luna sees the world is one that would be a good match with mine. If for nothing else that I’d need her to change, and that’s not fair to Luna. I--I mean--”

He pointed at the vodka. “Vampire, right? Yeah, Luna tried telling me that fanged geraniums are geraniums spliced with vampire genes.”

“Uh, what? No. No! Vesper Gunge-Hyde created them in the late 1600s to keep the venomous hares out of her herb garden.”

“Exactly. And now you know why Luna didn’t pass her Herbology O.W.L.” A shadow passed over his face. “I love her,” he said softly, staring down at his glass, “I do, I can’t tell you how dear of a mate she is, but…”

The silence stretched longer. Hannah reached out to skim her fingers against his arm, the way Hestia did to her each week she came by to check on Tom. Hestia told me you wanted to be a healer. Hannah swallowed. “Nev?”

“She was wonderful,” he began in a whisper, “when I told her about my parents. She was the first person I chose to tell. It was after that fight at the Ministry…” He lapsed into silence again. “So understanding and encouraging…and then…” His hand gripped at the glass. “She has those kinds of theories about St. Mungo’s, too. And suggested we try healing potions made with the bones of creatures that don’t exist, plants that don’t…” Neville sighed; his eyes were usually such a light green, springtime eyes, but in the weak light, they were darker, a sorrowful shade of sage. “I loved her enough to just nod and say thank you, but.” 

With a sigh, he spread his empty hand out, then pressed it against his knee. “Yeah,” he repeated, more like an exhale.

“Yeah.” Hannah watched him sip at his drink. “Nev.”

He took in a breath through his nose and sat up straight, though his eyes stayed down. “So you know how it was my eighteenth birthday last week? The next day, this owl arrived. From the Ministry, saying that ‘the abeyance of my guardianship of the incapacitated adults--Longbottom, Franklin Eugene and Longbottom, Alice Lenore--had reached its conclusion, transferring responsibilities from one Augusta Longbottom to,’ well, me. We had a meeting today with the Wizengamot, it’s--done.”

“I don’t understand,” Hannah whispered. “What’s--abeyance, is that right?”

Neville finished his shot and gratefully took the refill. “My parents were ruled incompetent to take care of themselves--incapacitated, unable to make decisions--due to their…injuries. Back when it happened. I should have been responsible, but I was just a baby. So Gran--and my Grandpa, he was still alive then--they were named guardians. Gran, she didn’t realize that it wasn’t permanent, they were only appointed guardians until I came of age. But. If I was still in school at the time of my seventeenth birthday, it would be paused--held in abeyance--until the first birthday after my graduation.”

“Last week,” Hannah breathed. 

“Yeah.” 

“And the meeting today?”

“It was Gran saying that she never meant for it to fall to me. And they said, well, your mistake isn’t our problem, and if we want to transfer it from me to her, we can go through the hearing process. That’s what Gran says we should do.”

“What do you want?”

Neville let out a shadow of a laugh. “That’s why I’m getting piss-ass drunk.” He swayed from side to side. “Let Gran stay in charge, like she wants…or take responsibility, like I want to… Even though I’m so scared I’ll fail them. There’s so much I’m carrying, it’s so easy to act like a little kid and skive off on this one.”

His hand moved so fast over his eyes, she didn’t realize they were wet. “Neville.”

“But she wants to be in charge, so am I doing the wrong thing in not wanting to fight this…” His words were starting to get blurry, softened and fuzzed by alcohol, but his gaze was so sharp, it landed like a spear in her chest. “I have no clue what to do, Hannah. I have no clue how to do right by--them, by Gran.”

“By yourself, too,” she added.

Neville was shaking his head before she even finished. “No. That’s not about me.”

“Yes, it is. They’re your parents. This is also about how you feel.” Hannah barely noticed the bottle refilling her own glass. “You always want to do what’s right for everyone else."

“It’s always--even when it’s hard, deciding to do what’s right by others--” Neville looked at her. “Have you ever been lost in the woods? I have been. You don’t know where to go, it’s so dark and frightening, but if you look up--when you look up, the stars always guide you home, if you know. North Star, Orion in the southwest, Vega and the summer triangle--it’ll lead you.”

His expression was so open, guileless, Hannah wanted to take his face in his hands and hold it forever, this rare treasure to cherish and hold. The urge flooded her fingers, and she had to will herself not to reach for him. “Doing right by others--that’s my map of the stars. Figuring out what’s right by me? That’s--the forest and the trees.”

“Nev? Why did you decide to become an auror?”

He smiled slightly and took in a massive cycle of exhale-inhale-exhale-in. Neville stared at her, and then he let out a breath again, his whole body squaring towards her. “Because the fight’s not over. Harry needs me. I’m not stopping until--we can stop.”

Who decides? When you get to rest?

She pushed that to the side and reached for Neville’s hand to give it a quick grasp. His mouth flickered, in a blink of a moment here and gone, before he gave her hand a little squeeze back. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

His lower teeth jutted out and scraped over his upper lip. “Han…”

Hannah didn’t even process the urge that overcame her, she squeezed his hand tight, sweeping across the small space between them to kiss his cheek. “That’s why we talk about you, with last year. That, exactly, is why, Neville Longbottom. It was the three of you together, then you and Ginny, but…”

Red exploded over his cheeks, forehead, nose. He ducked his head and spluttered out something unintelligible, an attempt to protest, to deflect, but Hannah held hard to his hand, not looking away until he dared to meet her eyes. “You were our North Star, Nev.”

“Hannah.”

“It’s true.” She tapped their hands against his knee. “Making decisions on--oh, bollocks, three shots of vodka? Four? Plus the firewhiskey you had? That’s not a good idea, yet--”

“Do I know what I want to do, about my parents?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t even know,” he sighed. “I do need to talk to Ginny. And Hermione. And Luna, too. I feel like…there’s something I’m not seeing,” he said before taking a sip. “Maybe there’s a way to--placate Gran and take care of my parents.”

“It might be as simple as saying you won’t make any decisions without talking with her. And come up with ground rules for how do you handle disagreements. Ernie and I did something like that as prefects, since Professor S was worried he’d bulldoze right over me if we didn’t come up with--parameters.” Her eyebrows went up. “You know…Professor Sprout may be someone to talk to. Considering how close you--are. Were?”

“Are. We still write a lot. She just sent me a flutterby bush shoot to plant in Harry’s garden. Harry’s. My. Ours? Yeah.” He looked pensive, a little hopeful, before wincing. “Is it weird that my best friends are all girls?” he asked Hannah, finishing his shot. He seemed to lose his center slightly, wobbling even though he was sitting; he held tighter to Hannah’s hand, as if it were an anchor.

Hannah grinned at him. “No! I think it’s actually the biggest endorsement that you’re amazing--forget being part of Harry Potter’s inner circle, look at yours! Girls don’t have boys as their closest mates unless they’re worth it.”

“Parvati thought it was weird.” Hannah’s mouth puckered, and Neville let out a loud groan, flopping back into his chair; their hands broke apart, and he covered his face. “Oh, Merlin, you know.”

“Nev… everybody in the D.A. knew. I think Professors Sprout and McGonagall knew, Susan and I saw them exchange this look in March--” She grimaced in apology as he groaned again. “I don’t know how much I’d take stock by her opinions about you, Nev. She didn’t seem to…care very much about anything except…” She braced herself: This is so embarrassing! “Snogging. Somebody fit. To kill time.”

“I am not fit.”

“You so are. And I would know because she and--” Her body seemed to hit a brick wall at even the idea of this name, but she pushed through, even though her voice wobbled, “Lavender--” He closed his eyes, sucking in a breath, but he didn’t recoil in grief; they had gotten just far enough away from that night, it seemed. “--had us create rankings of the Fittest Blokes in the D.A. You were always top three in her list.”

“Did you make a list?” His face burst with a delighted smile. “Oh, Han, was it always Anthony at the top?”

“No.” 

“From November on?” When Hannah looked purposefully away, he burst into a giggle. “Oh, Hannah.”

She dipped her fingers into her vodka and showered him with droplets. “You let Parvati snog you for months, you don’t get to tease me!” She put her shot glass down on the roof and reached into her bag to pull out the other bottle and a fresh glass. “I need something nicer to end the night…”

“What’s this?”

“It’s a Muggle spirit. Butterscotch schnapps. My mum and my aunt would pass a bottle of this back and forth every time one of them would travel to see the other. It fueled all of their catch-up sessions. It’s like candy.”

“I want to try, too!” 

“Hold on…I need to…” She picked up her wand and fought through the vodka fog that was starting to descend to end the refilling charm so they could turn to the schnapps. “So. Back to how you’re fit.”

“Back to how you’re fit! Always have been!”

“I hate it,” she blurted out, too loud, so loud that Neville startled; his words had bounced off of her without being noticed at all. “Do you know that I know Anthony wouldn’t have noticed me until I--what, couldn’t eat for months, barely ate for even more? Every kiss I’ve gotten from him, from--well, it doesn’t matter who. What matters is that all of the sweetness I should have gotten from all of these first kisses, all of these kisses that had led to--” She broke off, her head sagging down. “It all tastes so sour. To know…there are different Hannahs that matter.”

“Do you know how awful it is to have… fans,” he said, practically spitting out the word, “for what I did that day? With Voldemort, with the snake? I was exactly who I was back during my first bloody year when I stood up to ‘the Trio,’ just then I was…more awkward. Pudgy. My teeth…” He gnawed at the inside of his cheek. “You get taller, leaner, see a dental healer. And suddenly, the same kind of things…” He looked so hurt, Hannah reached again for his hand; she was a bit surprised to find that he was in the midst of reaching for her, too. “I didn’t expect it to hurt like this. Ron and Seamus tell me to enjoy it, but…it hurts.”

Hannah felt tears spring in her eyes, and she bit at her cheek to will them back. “Yeah. It does.”

His face buckled, but he didn’t look away from Hannah. “We must not tell lies. Right?”

“Right,” Hannah whispered, holding hard to Neville’s hand. 

Neville pulsed a beat from his palm against hers and sucked in a breath before he finally wrenched his eyes from Hannah’s, though he kept his hand wrapped around hers. “Do you keep waiting for everything to make sense?”

“Ever since my mum died.” She shrugged, giving him a rueful smile as they both downed another shot of the smooth, sweet schnapps. “I haven’t given up, but my hope is starting to wane a bit.”

“Well. As long as you are still slightly optimistic…” 

They stared at each other. Then Hannah let out a snicker. Then a snort. Then he snorted, which burst into a guffaw, a burst of laughter, and then--out it came, from them both, an explosion of laughter, the kind so irrational and stupid that it snowballs and captures people completely, Hannah and Neville doubling over and wheezing, grabbing their stomachs, waving their hands for mercy. 

He gasped laughing, leaning over to the side for a minute before swaying back up into a sit, snorting into a hand as he grinned at Hannah. In the space of a blink, his expression shifted as he looked at her, his eyes darting from her own eyes to her mouth, and Hannah felt a sudden spacey, distant feeling in her own body since she had seen that look a few times from boys before--each time, it ended in a kiss--

Wait. Neville?

Wait: Neville. Wait--Neville--

“Han?” 

Not Neville. No--the voice was coming from her flat, from the giant window that she used to access this very roof. From where Anthony was leaning out, his hands on the sill, his face frozen in a half-smile for her, half-surprise for Neville. Neville, who seemed to have the alcohol slam against him all at once, reeling his head back as he stared at Anthony, mouth sliding open. Stricken.

Stricken? Why--

“I…heard from the Ministry, about Cambridge…I came to see…if you’d like to celebrate,” Anthony was saying, though it felt like the words were reaching Hannah in slow-motion. 

Her stomach started to swoop in that way she was so bloody used to, used to now for months --

--as her eyes locked with Neville’s.

Chapter Text

August, 1998: The stars and the planets are calling me a billion years away from you

Ginny knocked on the door, but she didn’t wait for Neville to say anything before pushing it open and coming in. There were no such things as closed doors or privacy at the Burrow, and the Weasleys acted the same way here at Grimmauld--even Ginny, who didn’t even live here, not technically. “Hey,” she said, heading to where he was stretched out on his bed. “We all just got back from the Burrow--you want in on dinner? Harry’s gonna make spaghetti, and I’m gonna try making Mum’s garlic bread recipe. Ron and Hermione are even going to make some veg--I mean, as much as mash made with a gallon of cream is still considered ‘veg’...” 

“Sure.”

“You--okay?” She waved her hand at him. “You got a whole mopey, hangdog ennui thing going on here.”

“Ennui?”

“It’s a Percy word, he uses it when Harry’s quiet and brooding. It means--like, well, brooding, I think. But classier, ‘cause it’s French.” He grinned slightly, and Ginny did, too. “What’s going on? Wait--is this ‘cause nobody could go out with you on Friday night? Oh, partner, I’m sorry, we--”

Neville sighed, shifting his hand under his head. “No. No, no. That’s not it. S’fine, actually, I went over to the Leaky and hung out with Hannah. We got piss drunk, then she practically poured me into an empty inn room. I woke up to a glass of water, a scone, a vial of hangover potion, and some really blurry memories of a butterscotch liqueur.”

Her eyebrows shot up as she flopped down on the bed. “You got drunk with Hannah Abbott?” Ginny rolled onto her side to better look at him. “Anything happen?”

His eyes slid over to her as his cheeks flushed. “What do you mean, ‘happen’?”

“Y’know…” Ginny made a fist and lightly knocked it against his arm. “Didja snog?”

His jaw dropped, and he got a guilty look as his face turned a deeper red. “Wh-wh-I-why, why would you say that!”

“Oh my god. Nev. Because you have a crush on her? And have for-sodding-ever?” Ginny said. “Duh?”

“You knew?” he asked, looking vaguely sick.

“Well, yeah, I know you. I was around for the Astoria Pathetic Crush Era, was I not? Aww, c’mon, don’t worry,” she told him, rubbing his arm, “only me and Luna have clued in. The boys are oblivious as always, and Hermione’s in such a hurricane between her parents and helping McGonagall with the whole making going back to Hogwarts feel, y’know, not terrifying, she can barely keep her wits about her. So. Just me and Lunes. And since she’s now in Sweden snuggling pygmy puffs, your secret is literally safe with me, innit?” Neville exhaled, though his cheeks stayed crimson. Ginny rubbed his arm again. “Though…mate, if Hannah knew, I bet she’d be right chuffed that you fancy her! She clearly thinks you’re the best thing since banoffee pudding. I mean. She always laughs at your jokes--I figured, she either secretly fancied you, too, or she’s got the exact same dorky sense of humor that you do, which means she’d be ideal for you. Or both!” She knocked Neville’s arm again. “She’s single, you should go for it!”

“She’s not. Single.” Neville looked back up at the ceiling, his still-scarlet face slumping. “I was working up the courage on Friday. To go for it. I was--I was thinking--I was starting to, like, lean in? A little? To kiss her? And then Anthony showed up. Like he had some locating spell on her that went off, knowing that I was--you know, gonna…and before I could even sodding blink, he had her in his lap, kissing her, steamrolling everything with how he just got into Muggle uni.” He slapped his other hand over his face. “And I was like, Oh, yeah, let’s celebrate, tell us all about it ‘cause I felt guilty that I was making a move on his girl!”

“Neville!” Ginny swatted him. “They were broken up!”

“I know! I know! But--clearly, she didn’t want to be. I mean, I haven’t tried anything all bloody summer ‘cause Ernie told me the two of them were still…you know. Like me and Parv were last year, but...more serious.” 

“You mean, shagging? They’ve been shag buddies?”

Neville blanched. For a moment, he looked so miserable, he seemed lost inside of himself, and Ginny skimmed her hand down his arm, glancing at the door as if weighing calling someone else to come in. Then he sighed. “Yeah. But--more than that, that she…still has feelings for him.” He shrugged slightly, eyes drifting away, an expression washing over his face, one that he had never had during that year: defeat. “Clearly, she still loves him.”

“No, if she still loves him, it’s more that she only thinks she loves him because she has no idea what love is supposed to look like. She thinks that what Ant can give her is what she deserves. Which is, y’know. Pretty shite.” Ginny squinted. “I mean--she’s the one whose mum was…kinda Snape-y, right?”

“I mean, kinda? But…it wasn’t that simple, it sounds like. Hannie worships her mum. Which I get.” Neville started fiddling with the end of his sleeve. “Her mum was a hero, stopping the Death Eaters from getting all those potions supplies.” His eyes darkened. “Not that Snape didn’t turn right around and give them whatever they needed from Hogwarts’ vaults.”

“Hey.” His eyes slowly slid over to Ginny, meeting her frown. “C’mon. You know he was a double agent. Harry said--”

“I know what Harry said.” His mouth was so rigid that it sliced off any other conversation.

Ginny watched him for a moment before sighing and thumping her head back on the pillow in resignation. She exhaled heavily and then said, “Anyway. Han’s got a buggered idea of what love looks like, yeah? She doesn’t know she deserves better than what she’s got with Ant. But she’s smart, she’ll figure it out. And if she doesn’t…well, Justin’s around now: he’ll get through to her if this goes on too long. Ernie and Susan telling her what to do didn’t work so well, but Justin’ll hug her until she cracks.” She eyed Neville, a tiny grin starting to play over her lips. “But. I got faith that Hanners’ll wake up on her own. I actually think…she might have a flicker of an idea to want more this time around. Starting to see a different way and all. So.” 

His brow creased in a quick frown of confusion, and her grin grew. Ginny elbowed him. “But in the meantime, partner, I know for a bloody fact that oodles of girls at the Ministry, and all over the bloody country, have been throwing themselves at you. I’ve been a little preoccupied at…home and all, but I’m clued back in, and I’m very aware of you being Magical Britain’s Most Eligible Bachelor now that Harry and Ron are all snapped up!”

“That is absolutely not true!” Neville spluttered, bolting up in a shocked sit.

“Oh, yeah? Put aside how the Prophet writes about you,” she said, earning a humiliated groan in reply, “Ron told me all about that actuary from the M.L.E. in the cafeteria from last week!” Ginny needled her finger into his upper arm, cackling as he swatted at her. “And Megan’s coworker at the Holyhead nursery? And the reporter from WWN? Dean and Shay said those three are just the bloody tip of the iceberg--Harry’s even noticed that girls are throwing themselves at you. Harry! He was telling Mum and the rest all about it this weekend--Captain Oblivious has noticed your iceberg of fit ladies, Nev!”

“Well, you know, an iceberg can sink a whole bloody Muggle boat,” Neville said, maroon-faced and squirming. “Parv said I need to steer away from the fame sla--er, chasers and find my way to girls who are going to be--special, right, ‘cause I’m not like Ron was when he did his first…thing with Lavender, I want…more. I want…to find…you know. What you have,” he said, his smile wobbling slightly, and Ginny let out a soft breath. “And the WWN girl is not that. Almost nobody is, really,” he sighed, his eyes drifting over to the gardenia he had bought a week ago.

“Wait. Wait. ‘Almost’? Nev! How bad do you have it for Hannie?” When he spluttered, unable to get out a word, Ginny widened her eyes, watching him with concern. “Okay, clearly, I need to remind you that Hannah Abbott is not perfect. C’mon, mate! Hannah is most high-maintenance bird in the D.A., she’s not the yardstick to use here!”

Neville flopped back on the bed and fixed her with a flat look. “Gin, you’re high maintenance.”

“I absolutely am not, take it back!” Ginny gasped, hauling her hand back and punching him hard in the upper arm.

“You so are, and in fact, you’re so much worse than Hannie ‘cause you act like you aren’t.”

“I am not! Hannah cries, like, every hour on the sodding hour.”

“Yeah, so you know exactly how she feels, no guessing, and can help. While you practically tie an Order of Merlin around your neck every time you brush off how you truly feel so then nobody knows that you’re actually hurting under your avalanche of jokes and whatever. It means somebody has to do so much bloody work to pry how you actually feel out of your deep, dark vault of secrets--high maintenance type efforts, eh? And you are so bloody stubborn and independent that it’s practically impossible to try to help you so you almost always need to be this close to utter catastrophe to admit you’re in the muck.” He poked her. “And you have a nasty temper.”

“So do you!”

“Yeah, but I got a fuse longer than Hadrian’s Wall. You, you’re a redhead cliche!” Neville giggled as Ginny stuck out her tongue and swatted him with her hair. “But, see, you aren’t high maintenance to Harry. Being all emotionally constipated is his idea of a good time.”

Ginny let out a loud snort of a laugh. “Okay, you totally got that from Parv.”

“I did. Her and--” He hesitated for a split second; swallowing was suddenly difficult. “Her and Lav.”

Ginny was quiet, her eyes drifting away for a long, gray silence. Then she gave Neville’s arm a little shove. “You like girly girls. Girls who love pink and cuddle puppies and bake you cookies and sing to your flowers. You’re the cliche.” She stuck out her tongue again, blanching like she had tasted something bitter. “You should have dated Lavender, not Ron.”

“Lav wouldn’t sing to the flowers. She wouldn’t care about them at all. She’s the kind of girl who’d take a bouquet and just like the gesture of it, caring not one whit about the flowers themselves--”

Ginny squinted. “You’re…supposed to?”

“--and she was thrilled to not take Herbology at the N.E.W.T.--hell, she got an A in her Herbology O.W.L.,” Neville said, his nose wrinkling. “Barely.”

“I got an A, too!”

“Yeah, and it took me a hell of a lot to get over that! At least you passed. I’m still trying to wrap my head around what Luna put on her exam to get a P.” He grimaced, shifting his hand under his head. “She’s mad at me, y’know, our goodbyes before she left were--tense.”

“Oh. I know. She ranted about it yesterday. Nev, I’m telling you, you have to just ignore her when she’s away with the fairies with her Luna Shite. Just let her go off and enjoy the show.”

“But those weren’t genunmbly bumblies or whatever, they were Hericium erinaceus mushrooms! It’s illegal to pick them in the UK!” He spasmed with frustration, clenching his hands. “It’s a matter of respect!”

“Respecting the law?”

“No, respecting the plant!” 

Ginny rolled her eyes, but she was grinning wide. “Dork.”

“Bossyboots!”

“What, that’s an insult?” Neville giggled, bumping his arm against her. Ginny’s grin grew as she said, “You love it.”

“Okay, Gran.” 

Ginny slugged him again, but the two of them were laughing, crashing against each other as they wheezed with giggles and tickled breaths. As they sagged back against the bed, Ginny gave his arm a squeeze. “Listen. I do think you need to start exploring things with other girls. You don’t need to be a Cassanova or anything, just…get out there. If you think a girl is nice, get a cuppa with her in the Ministry cafeteria. Get a drink after work. Start with the bird from the nursery, ‘cause even if you don’t like her, you know you can talk plants with her at least.”

“That’s true,” Neville murmured. His nose wrinkled. “Michael says he wants to set me up.”

“Mikey?” Ginny frowned. “What’s he playing at?”

“He says this is his apology to make up for blowing everything up with the D.A. in April. Which--is wildly unnecessary, but he's quite insistent he owes me.” He rolled his eyes. “And that I’m so hopeless with girls, he figures this’ll make him a national hero, getting me my first shag.”

“Classic,” she snorted. “Well, I’m loath to do anything that lets Michael Sodding Corner have leverage on you…on the other hand, the swot hates to lose, so why not let him win at finding you the right lady?” She bumped against Neville again. “Though I don’t think you’re hopeless, not at all. I know this is going to sound mad, but I don’t think it’s a bad idea to let somebody else set you up since you often pick girls who, you know…aren’t it.”

“That’s true. Literally every single crush I’ve had has been hopeless. Starting with you.”

“I’m a heartbreaker, it’s my curse. If things with Harry don’t work out, I’m gonna go fashion myself after Blaise Zabini’s mum--at least that way, I can make a profit off my trail of destruction,” Ginny shrugged, and Neville laughed. He grew serious, and she pulsed his arm again. “You’re not a sad sack anymore, Nev! You’re a national treasure! Don’t get Eeyore-y about this--”

“I’m not! Really. I’m not. See--okay--” Neville screwed up his face. “Every girl I’ve had a crush on, it was like…I was getting another piece of the puzzle of who my dream girl would be. Literally starting with you--you had this amazing, warm smile and hair that I just wanted to…to touch, it looked so silky,” he admitted with a blush. “And Lily--I mean, Su? I loved how creative she was. Watching her do her watercolors of the greenhouse flowers was…like--” He cut himself off with a wistful sigh. He drew in a new breath, saying, “With Hermione, it was how bloody smart she was. Ron said Hermione’s brain is beautiful, and I get that. It really is! It’s like--her words, her thoughts, they were…” He turned a bit brighter red as he grinned. “Like your smile and your hair.”

Ginny grinned. “You’re lucky I’m not offended that you weren’t mooning over my brain.”

“Well--when I met you at your aunt’s that summer, you were practically feral with your brothers, there wasn’t much conversation,” Neville shot back. “And then at Hogwarts your first year, you were so quiet, I didn’t get to know how brilliant you are! By the time I did, I had moved on.”

“How come you didn’t get a second crush on me like you did L-Su?”

He rolled his eyes. “Because you were so out of my league by the time I was over Hermione, I knew better. I’m pathetic, not brainless. Besides…Su had started using magic in her watercolors that made the flowers move. How could I resist?” He bobbed his head, shifting his hand further to better cradle the back of his head. “But really, I kinda made myself fancy her again just because I was trying to get over Astoria, god, I was mad for her for how long?”

“Forever. More or less.”

He got a slightly dreamy look on his face. “Blimey, were her roses magnificent.”

“You know, from most blokes, that would be a euphemism about a part of their body, but I know you literally mean her roses,” Ginny teased, and Neville blushed again, looking towards the small chandelier above his bed. “But Astoria wasn’t right for you; a passion for gardening alone does not a true love make, yeah. She’s quite nice, but she…can be sharp like Daphne--and--” She sank into her pillow, studying him with a shake of her head. “--you need someone who doesn’t have ‘arch banter’ as one of her go-to moves. You’re too earnest for that. Girls like her would eat you for breakfast.”

“And tea.”

Ginny laughed before studying him. “So, despite me just gassing you up about other girls, it sounds like you still have Hannah on the brain. ‘Cause you are saying that she’s all of us previous Nev Crushes wrapped up in one: kind and patient and loves gardening, is smart, has a wonderful smile, and I know you well enough to know you must want to tuck those little escaped hairs from those plaits behind her ears.”

“All the time.” He gazed wistfully up at the iron curls of the light fixture, hard little leaves at the base of each candle. The black metal seemed to suck up the light, casting the room in a permanent gloom once the south-facing windows lost the sunlight. “And she’s so creative, Gin, just in how she thinks! And she loves music--she’s always putting a record on the gramophone when she gets to the greenhouse, and she doesn’t even realize it, but she dances and sings along? And her voice, it reminds me of honey, it’s--sweet and golden…” He trailed off and watched the way the shadows licked at the candlelight. “Hannie is just…magic.” Neville fell quiet for a moment before slowly letting out a breath. “I want Hannah to want more.”

“Huh?”

“What you said before. That Hannah doesn’t know to want more. I think…it’s not just with her and Ant, I think it’s--in her whole life. She doesn’t see herself the way we do. The--” He licked his lips slowly. “--the way I do. On Friday, she said…she said the nicest things about me, it made me feel…like…” His cheeks colored again, peony pink. “Like I was some Harry-version of myself, somebody special.”

“Nev, you are special. Go on back to Hogwarts and ask the Sword, I think it’s gonna agree.”

He squirmed for a second, then cleared his throat. “Uh--erm--that’s--not like that, I mean--like…just me is special. Like--everyday Nev.” He gave her an almost embarrassed smile as his face began to radiate red. “Like…I’m cool. Like just normal, non-Sword non-hero me is worth spending loads of time with because I’m fun and good to talk to--like I’m good. Just me.” 

“Partner. You can’t separate you from Hero You. You’re the same.”

He shot her a skeptical look. “Hero Me is who wants to discuss container drainage materials for my potted trees?”

Ginny hesitated. “Okay, fair. I can see how…you need a certain kind of girl to find that interesting. Let alone sexy. Wait, don’t tell me: you and Hannah recently discussed that subject.”

“She said she used pine cones to fill the bottom of her indoor lemon tree’s pot!” Neville said eagerly. He glared at Ginny, poking her. “I saw you roll your eyes!”

“They glazed over in boredom, mate, a little different.” 

Neville snickered despite himself before exhaling himself quiet again. He stared somewhere towards his toes, his face now a color deeper than Christmas poinsettias. “She…she said that I’m like the North Star. You know? That I’m…something bright, and--constant. I felt…so special, Gin, that someone like her is always looking to me to…bring light, someone like her who is so kind and has one of the strongest moral compasses, I…”

Ginny put her hand on his chest. “Nev. If she’s this special to you…then…she’s not gonna be with Ant forever. I meant it. There’s no way they last more than a couple months, partner, don’t lose hope.”

“No--no, I’m--” He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment. “It’s not about just dating Hannah. I mean. I--I hope, maybe, th--but--no, anyway--it’s, it’s about being…” He shifted so that he was better looking at her, setting his jaw square. “There is something that I can’t explain that tells me that I got to have Harry’s back. More than just knowing it’s the right thing, it’s way more than that. It’s like--a shout in my soul that says that where Harry leads, I’m going, too. And I got this same feeling right now that having Hannah Abbott in my life is gonna make it better, make me better. But I guess I’m realizing in talking to you that…that I think I can be something to her, too. On Friday, I was trying to tell her that she’s special, too, but it just bounced right off of her, and I think…like, you’re right, you know? She is…high maintenance, I guess, but I’m not bothered. I love when a flower needs extra tending, it makes me feel like I’m needed.”

He stared at Ginny, his eyes as blazing as hers could be. “I think Hannah needs a friend like me as much as I need her, too.”

///

Michael fought against the waves as he made his way in from where the remaining members of the seventh year class of Ravenclaws and their few guests had waded out to play some strange game that they all seemed to know intimately, tossing a ball around and tackling each other into the sea, their shouts and laughter curling their way to where Hannah was on the beach. Morag lay a yard away, dozing silently in the sun, while Hannah and her aunt’s old copy of The Thorn Birds stayed safely protected by an umbrella Anthony had conjured from a stone, best to protect her milky skin from the light. And also from any athletics--she wanted to avoid that just as much as a sunburn.

“You need a rest?” Hannah said to him as he neared.

“No. A drink. I am starting to sober up, and that’s just poor planning on my part. Terry was right to do a few shots.” 

He stopped at the cooler and then plopped down on the towel beside her, gazing out at his housemates, the group of them looking like any other collection of young people enjoying the bank holiday (how nice that Gringotts followed the Muggle calendar like that). At Cho leaping on Anthony’s back, causing him to drop the ball and splat into the surf, her team erupting in cheers. He thrust up a fist in a show of victory and cracked open a bottle. Hannah bounced against Michael’s arm. “You and Cho seem to be getting on again?”

“Yeah, but…this isn’t it. Not--the way we’ve gotten into it. I dunno. Cho wants a bloke like me? But not me, and she--” He cut himself off, staring at her before shaking his head. “And Padma keeps telling me that ‘she’s so hot’ isn’t the basis for an actual relationship, and she’s right, but…” He shrugged and stretched out his hands helplessly. “She’s so hot. And when she’s not pulling her shite on me, she’s great, so. I dunno. I dunno,” he said again, more of a sigh, into his cup as he took a drink. “I--truly don’t have the energy right now to figure it out.”

Hannah exhaled, her lips flexing in sympathy. But before she could even try to say something, he turned his head and looked at her, nodding towards the group in the water. “He’s still good?”

She felt her cheeks start to burn, and she reached up to pull her sunglasses down from where she had pushed them up like a headband to put back on her face, blunt his stare. But the hinges snagged in her hair, and she yelped slightly, fumbling to get them free. Her face burned even harder. “Of course he is. When are you going to stop asking?”

“When you two stop dating.”

“Why would we do that?” Hannah struggled against the urge to scowl. Or worse: cry. “We love each other. This is our chance to start over. Everything got so awful because everything got so awful those last…well, from the prefect punishment, that’s when it started to go downhill. A lot of people struggled, Mikey.”

“And they didn’t go there, Han.” He took a long sip from his cup. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

“Did I ever lie then?”

Michael studied her, and she fought the urge to yank up her caftan and hide from his searching eyes. “Not--intentionally.” Hannah’s cheeks erupted in heat, and she looked out at the group playing in the water as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. “What does Justin say?”

“Jussie…” She gave Michael an almost wounded look. “He asks me almost every other day if I’m happy, he keeps checking…you--you and Terry and Padma, you haven’t…I mean--”

“Han.” The iron-weight of his words made her wince. He stared at her. “Don’t insult us. No.” He nudged her. “But maybe you should listen to your most best friend in the whole w--”

“Maybe you should listen to me when I say that he’s different.”

Michael gestured at her with his cup, tracing the string around her ribs in a sharp arc. “You gonna tell me you wear that bikini if he didn’t press you to?”

“It’s not the same,” she said sharply.

“Jesus--” Michael’s mouth flattened, and he glared at her, and she shrunk back, his whole expression melted in worry. “Hannie.”

“Please. Please just be happy for us. We’re happy.” She wiped at her tearing eyes with her fingers. “When Tom’s out for the night, and I feel like I can leave him, that he’ll still be there in the morning…I’ve gone back up to my flat, and--Ant’s there. I’m not alone.”   

Michael’s eyes rolled up to the sky, searching for something Hannah couldn’t--no, didn’t want to seek out herself. “Alright.” 

“You’re not happy with me.”

He reached out and tugged the end of one of her braids. “Aw, Hanners, I haven’t been happy with you since that night over at Susan when you made us watch that horrid movie about the psycho little boy who violated his dad’s privacy and caused the poor bloke to earn a bloody stalker. And the movie acted like that’s love!”

“Stop acting like Sleepless in Seattle is a horror film!” 

He tugged her hair again, and she swatted at him. “Stop acting like it’s not a portrait of a felony and rampant boundary crossing! Shite like that is why you’re broken with Ant.” She scowled again, and he wagged a finger at her. “You’re deranged, Han.”

“You’re the worst! I’m telling Cho to go find someone better.”

“Cool, do that. Condemn the woman to a life of being alone.”

Despite herself, she let out a laugh, reaching for her Aperol Spritz. “They’re showing When Harry Met Sally… at the Tottenham Court Odeon next weekend. You’ll love it. The male lead is unrelentingly cranky and cynical.”

“Now you’re talking. Wanna get kebabs before?”

Hannah giggled, nodding, as Anthony jogged up. “What’s so funny?”

“We’re gonna double next weekend, go to a movie that Hannah claims is more romantic than Stalking in Seattle--”

“Sleepless! Sleepless in Seattle!”

Anthony rocked his head from side to side in thought. “On one hand, that movie was unrelentingly dumb, and I think I lost brain cells,” he said, and Hannah winced apologetically, her face flushing. “On the other…those movies put her in the mood, sooo: What a great movie! Love it, tickets on me. Should we get kebabs after?” 

As she giggled, he leaned down to give her a kiss, and Hannah felt her whole body flutter. Being chosen, being loved--this is enough. She had a strange flash of Neville, the way he looked when she called him the North Star…the way he looked when he seemed to be--no. No. He had been so bloody drunk that night--no. He had been utterly pissed, and Anthony had been sure. So. She put her hands on either side of Anthony’s face to kiss him more firmly. They were happy now. This is enough.

“Have I told you how hot you look lately?” he said, plucking the string around her neck as he drew back. She blushed, and he winked at her. “Even though it’s showing off the most Irish skin in existence.”

“I know, I thought I was running up to the Grey Lady, she’s so bloody translucent,” Michael said.

“How do you garden regularly and stay this pale?” Anthony said, playing with her fingers as he straightened up, but held onto her hand.

“Sunscreen, reflective charms, and wide-brimmed hats.” She nodded at him. “Proper sun protection is like a coaster for your skin.” 

Anthony and Michael burst into laughter. “You and your coaster fetish, it never misses, does it.” Hannah giggled, and Anthony reached into the cooler and grabbed a bottle of firewhiskey. He took Hannah’s pine wand and, after a quick check to make sure they were all still alone on this magically isolated stretch of shore, Transfigured the glass to be unbreakable plastic. “We’re adding in shots for missed passes. You coming back out, Mikey?”

“Yeah, let me finish this quick,” Michael added, lifting his drink. 

“Oh--hey, speaking of gardening…did you tell her?” 

“Tell her what?”

“About…” Anthony rolled the bottle of firewhiskey in the air in a prompting motion. “C’mon! Who else do we know is a giant nerd for gardening?”

“The Greengrass sisters,” Michael said promptly. “But they’re not nerds. They’re genuinely cool; if they were the face of Hobby Gardening instead of Hanners and--oh, duh, Neville,” he said, lightly thumping his forehead with his drink in a gentle scold. “The man singlehandedly made plants boring just by his association.” He shook his head a bit more emphatically. “I can’t believe I’m about to do this to Lisa, ‘cause if I’m wrong on this, I’m condemning her to the most dull afternoon of her life. It’ll make her post-battle stay at St. Mungo’s look like a bloody breeze.”

Hannah caught herself from scolding them for being so mean (that was why her cheeks felt so hot all of the sudden, right?), instead squinting at Michael. She looked out at the crowd in the water, seeing Lisa and her mountain of chocolate-colored curls for a moment in the scrum. “Do what to Lisa?”

“I set her up with our ol’ leader: her and Neville are going to the Kew Gardens on a proper date tomorrow.” He took a swig of his beer. “Despite every girl in the damn country flinging themselves at him, Nev gets all flustered and him about it all, so I offered back in June to save him from himself and set him up with someone who’d go at his speed.” He shrugged. “I figured it was the least I could do to say I was sorry for fucking everything up in April.” 

“You don’t have to. A lot of us--” Anthony licked his lips, his eyes skidding over Hannah before squinting out at the water. “A lot of us did things we regret.”

Hannah reached up to take Anthony’s hand, and his fingers stumbled to find their way between hers, though once they did, they held so tight that she could feel the blood moving under his skin, the tell-tale beat of his heart held there. “That’s why--we keep going. So we’re more than our worst moment.”

Michael was eyeing Anthony carefully, but he raised his eyebrows at her. “Cue a flock of flamingoes?”

Her face burned as if she had stuck it in the sun. “Something like that.”

Michael cleared his throat. “Anyway. I feel like I need to, if only ‘cause Lisa’s been so down after everything with Josef ended, and I know he won’t have a problem with how she’s quiet. Plus she loves the outdoors, he loves things that--you know, are outdoors…I think it’s perfect.”

“Especially since you’re off the market,” Anthony said to Hannah, his eyebrows jutting up.

“Stop it,” Hannah said, frowning at him. “I told you, you’re wrong about…that. We’re just good mates--he feels comfortable talking to me is all.” Not that he had been around in the month since that night on the roof; he went to Harry’s parlor along with Ron and the other aurors after work most evenings for a drink or a meal, but he didn’t sit at the bar for a chat how he had started to over the summer. And there certainly hadn’t been any times on their own. He was his usual friendly self, but she saw how his eyes looked for Anthony, and the brightness of those spring green eyes seemed to dim, as if he had drawn back a bit of a distance, just beyond her reach.

(Why would she want to reach him?)

Her hand was still knitted in with Anthony’s. He hadn’t loosened his hold on her; it was firm and sure. She was hard, demanding, frustrating. God, how she frustrated her mother with how difficult she could be, always making mistakes, always failing when she was perfectly capable of doing it right. The way she cried and wibbled and flushed and galloped off into the wilderness of her imagination and thought stupid things and did dumb things, let her emotions run all over her until she was a sodden mess that someone had to scoop up. Her mother still loved her, despite it all. Anthony still wanted her, despite what she required a partner to carry when they took her in their arms, their heart. Yet he didn’t hesitate: he picked her. Her. That wasn’t just enough; it was everything. That was all.

Hannah shoved the memory of Neville and that moment on the roof deep down inside of herself, below the other memories she had smothered, burying the memory of Neville’s rose of a mouth beneath the flamingoes and Support Cedric badges and all of her stupid stupid things that her mind wanted to grab and replay anyway. She was perfectly capable of it, of letting go of dreams and possibilities. This wasn’t the first time. 

Hannah pushed back her shoulders, giving Anthony’s hand a squeeze. “I--I like that I’m a person that people can trust, when they need to talk. It means a lot to me to be able to be a good friend. It makes me feel like--like I’m a prefect again, taking care of my house and all of the younger years.”

“It’s why you’re a born bartender,” Michael pointed out, and Hannah blushed, grinning down at her lap, though she felt a sadness slosh inside of her in a way she couldn’t fully name. She suddenly felt...small.

“Well. I can’t blame Nev that if he needed somebody to listen that night, he thought of you. You are the best bloody audience in Britain, no competition.” Anthony gave their hands a swing. “But! Soon he’ll have Lisa, and it'll all be sorted.”

“Damn right. I might have nailed it in my first go. Otherwise, I'm gonna have to haunt the local garden center and chat up any age-appropriate girls who also have far too much dirt under their fingernails,” Michael said. He cocked his head to the side. “D’ya think they give out Order of Merlins for helping heroic nerds lose their virginity? I feel like that’s totally a Third Class-level move…”

“No!” Hannah scolded as Anthony nodded, saying, “I’ll nominate you.”

Hannah looked offended. “You two are so mean! Go away, I’m going to get back to my book, Ralph is about to leave for Sydney, and he and Meggie are going to kiss--and then he’s going to break her heart--”

“Run,” Anthony said flatly, kissing her hand before letting go and backing up. “Next thing you know, she’ll start sobbing over the flippin’ will again--”

“He betrayed her, putting his own ambition over what was right! Despite how much she loves him!”

“--and the evil sheep farmer, and the illicit island sex with a priest--”

Michael raised an eyebrow as he stood. “Actually, that I wouldn’t mind hearing.” 

Anthony broke off with a laugh, and Michael gave him a shove forward towards the sea. Hannah’s boyfriend didn’t look back as he bounded back into the water, but Michael tossed a look over his shoulder, mouthing something at her like he was tossing a note into her hands.

I’m not done asking.

Chapter Text

“Here,” Hannah told Tom, holding the bowl closer to his mouth and bringing the spoon up to his lips. “Let’s try that again.” 

He gave her a feeble attempt at a smile, eyes heavy-lidded and dazed, cracking his lips open just enough for her to ladle a bit of soup into his mouth. He took another sip before sinking back into his pillows, closing his eyes and letting out an exhausted breath.

“Mister Tom needs to eat,” Bickle the elf urged from the other side of the bed, patting the old man’s arm, but Tom made a small moaning noise. He didn’t open his eyes.

Hannah looked at Hestia, the urge to cry crawling up her throat. “It’s been like this for the whole week. We can’t get him to have more than, maybe, a cup of water at most and barely any broth. If that. Bickle’s offering him water and food all day to get him to have just a mere fraction--I mean, it’s not enough, but…we’re putting in valerian root and violet vapor, energy elixirs, cheering charms before we try…don’t know what to do.”

“Bickle will do anything, miss,” he pleaded Hestia. “Bickle can use any magics and make any foods the madame healer needs to make Mister Tom better.” 

“I know, Bickle. And you have been doing a magnificent job in caring for him.” The elf had never blushed in all of the years Hannah had known him, but the way he bowed his head--down, slightly crooked, smiling bashful and humble and so warm--felt deeply familiar to her. It felt like a blush.

Bickle could not take a compliment about caring for Tom; to him, Tom was not a master but a dear, true friend, who opened the doors to the Leaky decades ago to a cast-out elf, the innocent focus of one of Tom’s father George Abbott’s famous rages after a failed alchemy experiment. That anger had to go somewhere, and that place was the family house elf who had an entire tray of instruments and a shirt thrown at him before he was chucked out into a rainy Derry night. All he had was a memory of young Tom storming off himself to London and an announcement of a marriage, of living in a famous pub on a famous street. 

It had been sixty years standing at Tom’s side. Bickle now stared at the man who gave him a home, a room, respect. His eyes were full of tears. “Madame Hestia can heal him,” he said, patting Tom’s arm again, more like a plea than anything else.

And Hannah found herself fighting the reflex to childishly say the same. But she knew the truth, had absorbed and mourned what was coming months before in the safety of her friends’ support. She reached over Tom to give Bickle’s hand a light graze. “What can we do?” she asked Hestia, though she was watching her papa’s face twitch. 

“You’ve already done everything that I’d try…the violet vapors and use of cheering charms was really quite clever of you,” Hestia added, giving Hannah an approving nod. Hestia moved her wand over Tom’s body, watching balls of light rise up out of his skin; Hannah winced at how dim some of them were, the places where lights did not rise at all. “It’s been like this the whole time since my last?”

“Yeah.”

She flexed her lips. “Well. We’re deep in the bubotuber pus now, I’m afraid.”

“How much more time do we have? Like--it’s Terry’s birthday tonight, I’m supposed to bartend…should I see if Margot or Sonequa can take my shift--?”

“I think we have a bit more than that. You should be fine. I’ll stay with him tonight, Kingsley and I, and if we see a decline, I’ll be able to get you back up here in a flash.”

“You and--no, the Minister must have better things to do than--”

“Than…sit with his fiancee and read his files, just here versus at home? Trust me. He doesn’t.” Hestia shook her head as she tugged the covers up a bit higher on Tom’s chest. “In fact, he’ll likely crash your party, use it as an opportunity to ferret out more opinions on his genius educational revolution. Since someone we know helped him get his hands around some thoughts he’d been having,” she said, raising an eyebrow. 

Hannah opened her mouth in surprise, but Hestia was leaning in, patting her great-grandfather’s chest. “Tom? I am heading home to get my book and collect Kingsley, but we’ll be back to keep you company tonight.”

Tom managed to open his eyes enough for a sliver of gray iris to be visible. “Doctor Dragon-Talon Rum,” he rasped. Then he closed his eyes. “Minister Scotch.”

“The man knows his patrons,” Hestia smiled. 

Tom’s eyes opened once more. “Old friend,” he murmured to Bickle. And with effort, he moved his head, then a hand to Hannah. “My Hannah Leigh. She has my son’s face, grandson’s face, a Selwyn face. I miss my son. I miss my wife.” She could feel every bit of the bone under his paper-thin, crumpled skin. “Your mother’s eyes.” 

With a wheeze of a sigh, his eyes closed as he breathed, “Soon…”

///

Hannah wove through the thinning crowd in the parlor, setting the refreshed tray of cupcakes on the console table, letting out a huff of air as she peeked at the status of drinks, checking who needed refill charms, who wanted to switch to something else. When she passed by the knot of people around the west fireplace, where Harry sat--giving him a new glass of pumpkin juice and gin in exchange for his empty pint of beer--she snuck another glance at Neville and Lisa Turpin. It had been a month, yet they still seemed like they were on merely their first date. 

She returned to where Anthony, Terry, and a few of their closest friends in had settled by the east fireplace. “Hey birthday boy, what can I get you,” Hannah asked Terry as Anthony reached up to rub the back of her thigh, fingers slipping under the hem of the mini-dress she had worn for the party, the one he liked so much (though she insisted on wearing her apron smock, too, like a security blanket). Over in the other circle, Susan caught her eye, shooting her the same flat look that she had been training on Hannah for the past six weeks. Hannah eyes flashed back, sharp and dismissive, putting her hand on Anthony’s shoulder even though the way he was touching her wasn’t…well, her first choice. 

“Nothing, Han, cheers. It’s been perfect.” Terry grinned. “Unless maybe you can get Azalea to come on back this way…”

“She’s barking up the wrong tree with that one,” Kevin Entwhistle snorted, his eyebrows raising as he watched the young hit witch chatting up Seamus. 

“Don’t,” Su Li warned, yawning slightly as she grabbed the bottle of white wine she had seized from the bar about an hour before, refilling her glass herself. “Lisa and Padma are both over there, maybe we should try to combine all of the chairs and things, so we can all be together?”

“That’s not a bad idea…unless you think Lisa’d be--you know. With all of us watching. You know her best, Su.”

Su shrugged. “She’ll be fine--she’s still trying to suss out if she wants to get serious with a guy who talks to his plants like they’re about to talk back.”

Hannah settled on the couch beside Anthony, making him move his hand; he settled his arm over her shoulders. “Well--many magical plants do understand human speech, like dogs and cats do, and develop relationships with their gardeners which absolutely impact their behavior and growth. And Muggle plants not only appreciate when humans breathe oxygen on them through speech, as well as…maybe it’s silly, but a lot of us really feel like plants can tell when we invest a lot in them. I swear my kitchen herbs do, and my Nana Liz had the whole Leaky garden filled with ordinary Muggle roses that she insisted thrived the more time she spent with them.”

“Hufflepuff in the house ,” Michael Corner laughed. “Somewhere, Sprout just gave you fifteen points.”

“I loved getting points from Sprout, she always gave you that little tip of the chin when you nailed it, like--” Terry pointed at his eyes with two fingers and then turned his fingers as if at an invisible Professor Sprout. 

“No, for me, it was getting points from McGonagall. That woman was like the nun teachers I had in primary school, you had to know your shite with her.”

“I think we have to be more worried about Neville than Lisa, wouldn’t you say, Hannah?” Anthony asked, his fingers squeezing her upper arm. “Since you’re his best best friend now.”

“Aww, that’s cute,” Michael said, his smile crooked enough to be either sincere or smirking, Hannah often couldn’t tell with him. “I was thinking he’d be lonely without Ginny around, and Luna. And Hermione.”

“I always thought he had a thing for Hermione,” Hannah heard Terry mumble to Su.

“No, it was Ginny, right? They went to the Yule Ball. Then he switched to Luna.”

“It’s nice that you’re the newest member of his Girl Crew,” Kevin said with an exaggerated thumbs up before letting his hand flop at the wrist. “I swear, if he didn’t smite Voldemort to his face, I’d--”

“Knock it off,” Hannah snapped. She stood up, eyes icing. “Next time, I hex. And put you on the pub’s ban list.”

“Merlin,” Kevin said, holding up his hands, giving the others a wide-eyed look. “Alright, I won’t tease Longbottom.”

“Yeah. And you’ll stop with the weird homophobia, too,” Hannah said, giving him a final hard look before heading back to the bar, hearing Anthony in a lower voice telling them, “She’s sensitive, her aunt…”

She could see Ernie, sitting beside Dean, lean forward, peering at her in mild concern with a gesture to come and join him, but Hannah’s face stormed darker as she crouched behind the bar, telling herself it was very important at this moment to see how many bottles of liquor they had gone through tonight and what might need to be restocked or topped off the next day.

Anthony’s legs appeared at her eye level. “Will you come back, please?”

“I am working, Ant. I’m not just here to hang out.”

“Uh huh, sure, Hannie.” Anthony let out a heavy exhale, and she looked up at him. Michael was the classic Hollywood handsome that Cedric had been, too, the kind of gorgeous that could land girls like Ginny and Cho with just his smile. He was the unreal masculine beauty like the men she swooned over in Sixteen Candles and Dirty Dancing and that glorious BBC Pride and Prejudice. Anthony…he was Tom Hanks in Sleepless in Seattle. Attractive, certainly, but more that he was so magnetic, so irresistibly cute that she found her body drawn towards the television screen like there was a lasso slung around her heart, held in his hands. It was so rare, to feel that.

(She had only felt it for Anthony. Yes. When she was looking at Neville that night--it was just a delayed reaction from seeing Ant. Yes. Duh. Don’t be stupid, Hannah.)

Anthony’s hand floated down, and he curled a stray lock of her blonde hair around a finger. “You’re right, he’s--he’s a tosser on that stuff. I thought it, too. Just we’re at a party, you know?”

“Funny, I thought it was that I am ‘too sensitive’ because of Aunt Louise and her wife.”

“I’m not going to throw down with Kevin at a party. When everybody’s been drinking. I was looking for the path of least resistance, okay? It's the smartest thing to do here.”

Hannah stood up. Her hand flexed into a fist, but she forced it to relax; her fingers brushed over Anthony’s sternum. In a low tone, she said, “It’s not enough to disagree in your head, you need to say it. I’ll always be ashamed that I didn’t say that I believed Harry wasn’t hurting people our second year, and it wasn’t right. I didn't hold fast in my convictions. After--last year, didn’t we all learn that it was really important to put our thoughts into actions? To do what’s right. Or else, what are thoughts worth? Are we worth?”

She hesitated and then smudged a kiss on his lips; his face didn’t change, though he gave her bum a light squeeze as she headed towards Ernie, who made a show of creating room for her next to him and Dean on the sofa as she neared.

“Anybody need anything?” Hannah asked.

“Just for you to relax,” he announced, his gaze around the group more like a challenge than anything.

“You’re giving us better care than you give us over in Kingsley’s parlor, Han,” Dean told her with a warm smile.

“Well, you’re only trying to rebuild the wizarding world, Special Assistant Thomas. This is a D.A. birthday.” 

Ernie laughed and clapped his hands around hers, and she smiled wide at him. He could be the human equivalent of an affectionate eye-roll at times; Justin said that Ernie was perpetually engaged in some “‘Prime Minister’s Question Hour’ cos-play,” which made her both laugh hysterically and also nod in fervent agreement. Because yes, that was their Ernie, who probably emerged from the womb as some ambitious Labour backbencher from a deep purple district, every word crafted to make the best sound bite for his reelection pamphlets. (And yes, she and Justin had debated whether they should coach Ernie to be better at acting Muggle and run for Parliament: young and liberal was in vogue at the moment, perhaps Ern could catch the wave!) 

She had been closer to him when she was younger, pudgy and shy and desperately thankful that someone like him--smart, well-spoken, posh--found her a worthy audience. He adopted her as a sidekick. He was even her first kiss, an awkward peck in the greenhouses at the end of third year when she complimented his hovering hydroponic system. (It was an isolated moment of romance; by that evening’s dinner, Ernie and Hannah had locked into a brother-sister bond that felt much more correct.) Fourth year, after Justin and Susan got together, she got caught up in their gravity--they had crossed a boundary into a soft shadow of adulthood that charmed Hannah, created an echo to the way her mother often treated her more as a partner than a child. The way the two of them bonded with each other like puzzle pieces, elevating to some more grown-up place…tagging along to them felt so much more natural than with Ernie and his more childish positions--alright, to be blunt, he could be a touch boring. Ernie's idea of a good time was always working towards the future--he was the man who had drafted a twenty-year plan for his future success when he was only fifteen, after all.

Still the distance between them was minimal, so easily bridged by her affection for his grandness, as if he had fallen out of a Jane Austen novel, and his love of how Hannah wrestled with her shyness and her Muggle-raised bluntness as the Muggleborns and Muggle-raised blithely trampled on magical conventions without any idea that what was obvious and normal to them was still antiquated and narrow to the magical-exclusive citizenry. Too many who were Pureblood or basically Pureblood clutched at their metaphorical pearls; others, like Ernie, like Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet, like Michael Corner, found it top fun. Thrilled to wear modern Muggle clothes and listen to Muggle music, read Muggle newspapers. Use Muggle slang. This, this is why Hannah loved Ernie, despite his pretentious facade, despite his discomfort at the idea of a sloppy snog, how he hesitated to sign Hermione’s list of the initial D.A. members even as Hannah surged forward and scrawled her name without a second of pause because either she was loyal and bought in to Harry or she wasn’t, that was the end of it. 

True Hufflepuff loyalty…Michael didn’t even know the half of it. 

Back on September first, as a large group of the D.A. collected to drink out their difficulty with sending friends and loved ones back to Hogwarts, Ernie had grandly pronounced, “Hannah’s loyalty is second to none, and I am certain in declaring that had Hannah returned this year, she’d have been the Head Girl. Nobody has her moral compass. No offense, of course,” bowing his head to Harry and Ron.

“None taken, I’ll leave that between you and Hermione,” Ron said with a wink of a smile.

“I think Ginny’d have felt it was a punishment to be Head Girl,” Harry snickered. “So.”

Here, in this room, Hogwarts felt a million lifetimes away. Hannah felt so torn, she didn’t know what to do. There was the certainty of Ernie and Susan and Justin’s adoration; the tentative certainty that the others in the D.A. cared about her; the truth that only Anthony had been willing to be unabashedly public with snogs and groping that other boys had kept hidden during her aborted sixth year-- god, she was ashamed to admit what she did in the dark Leaky storerooms in the hopes that the handsome Scottish server would love her, the rakish Italian summer bartender would physically adore her in public the way he did in the secrecy of her bedroom. Anthony was the first, and he had chosen her twice now; being the first meant something special.

Didn’t it?

Ernie’s arm was firm against her, and when she glanced at Susan and Justin, they were giving her the same looks they always did, screaming out that they hoped she’d rush at them and tell them that she was over with Anthony--

--Hannah dared to look at Neville. His body was pressed against Lisa’s, and all of the signs of his attentiveness were present: her most recent drink that he had personally come to refill from Hannah at the bar, the plate of snacks that he had retrieved from the buffet, the absent single piece of cake that he had let her exclusively eat since she so loved salted caramel. And what couldn’t be seen, namely how Hannah had observed the way he monitored conversation to bring it back to Lisa’s world. Ron mentioned how Hermione’s knitting had improved? Lisa’s mum is a champion knitter. Most of her jumpers have come from her mum! Katie said that she’s invested in the Portsmouth Quidditch team as Lisa’s eyes glazed over in boredom at the sports talk? Lise, doesn’t your family have a summer cottage near there in Lyme Regis? Seamus telling Dean about a song he heard on the radio: Let me pull up the lyrics for you, Lisa, have you ever seen Muggle ‘liner notes’ in their albums? Hannah told me about them--isn’t it brilliant?

Hannah swallowed a gasp, realizing Neville’s eyes were already roaming the part of Hannah he could manage to see from where he was sitting in the circle; once she met his gaze, he froze. He slowly smiled, cheeks like carnation blossoms, then winced and hung his head, chin so tight against his chest that she couldn’t see his face at all. His hand seemed to go a little limp as it rested on Lisa’s. Slowly, he began to pull up, and she could make out the sweet green slices of his eyes as they started to lift to meet hers square on in a way he hadn’t over the weeks since that night on the roof--

“Hey, I don’t see a sorting hat anywhere here, let’s break down some house walls, eh?” Michael Corner announced, levitating a chair as he crossed the room to the group by the west fireplace. 

“I’m already doing my part,” Anthony called out as he and Terry swept their wands to reorganize the furniture, giving Hannah a wink, and despite herself, she felt herself blush.

“Just following my lead, Goldie.”

“Actually, you both are following in Cho’s lead,” Su pointed out. “Fun fact, according to the Prophet, Hufflepuffs are involved in the most interhouse marriages.”

“I’m not surprised to hear that,” Susan shrugged. 

“Says one half of Hufflepuff’s golden couple.”

“I can’t help it, Hufflepuffs are the best, sue me for wanting to date one, too.”

“We’re just a capital bunch,” Ernie declared, his eyes shooting over to Morag; Hannah chomped on her lip to stop from giggling. Or from looking at Susan, lest the other girl mouth so obvious! at her and make her full-on laugh. 

Anthony patted the arm of his chair as the group bantered on; Hannah kneaded her lips together, but otherwise did not move. His head arced to the side, and he widened his eyes, as if prodding her, and then patted more deliberately, almost forcefully, as if each pat was saying: Come. On. Han.

An echo, from the April before: “Come on, Hannah,” he had said, so exasperated. About what, she couldn’t remember anymore. All of the fights from those few weeks before the Battle blurred together.

“Stop bossing me around, it’s all you ever do!”

“Because all you ever do is worry yourself into knots about what the ‘right’ thing is when there is no right. Somebody has to make a decision, Hannie.”

“Sure, but when other people make a decision, they don’t need to make you feel like you’re dumb for not deciding it yourself.”

“Well, good for them, I can’t help that you are being kinda dumb when you sit around and wring your hands and cry.”

“You’re making me sound like a baby. You know, there’s room to care about--I’m trying to protect the younger years. I’m trying--”

“Stop trying. Just stop. Just follow my lead and stop. We don’t have the room to let people lead with their ‘hearts’ anymore, Han. So get behind the people who are using their brains first, okay?”

Come. On. Han. She felt something sag in her. Her eyes unfocused for a moment. Stop trying. 

“I think Ant’s trying to get your attention,” Dean murmured to her. She blinked a few times to make Dean’s face come into focus. “D’you want an excuse to keep ignoring him?”

“I’m not ignoring him. I’m…debating.”

“That’s familiar. Well. She did more of the debating, I think, but…” He seemed to contemplate for a moment, his head listing to the side. “End of the day, you spend a lot of time and energy fighting to find a way forward and it still ends. And then you’re standing in the middle of a room full of all your friends, watching her snog the living shite out of your really good mate. And you realize that maybe all of that time and energy could have been better spent because maybe all of those debates? Were a sign all along. Most things come to an end, and it’s actually totally okay.”

Dean hesitated, an exaggerated look of thought on his face. “Okay, maybe that was a little too specific.”

Hannah let out a hiccup of a giggle. “Maybe a little. But. There was enough--generalness in there to be helpful. Thanks.” She started pushing at the cuticles on her thumbs. “You know, I haven’t been able to tell you: It’s so cool, what you’re doing with the Minister. Kingsley. He’s told me that--you have an artist’s mind and Gryffindor courage, and you’re not afraid to think out of the box. He says you’re ideal to bounce ideas off of.”

“That sounds like an ad slogan for me,” Dean said with a little laugh, glancing over at--maybe Seamus, maybe Harry, she wasn’t sure.

“Kingsley likes to nutshell things. People. So that everybody can quickly get on the same page. Sorry. You already know that.”

“Hannah? With how much you apologize when you don’t need to, we could all play a drinking game and get absolutely pissed within about thirty minutes.” Dean’s smile was gentle, a little teasing. “That’s one big takeaway from last year when I was told to be sorry about who I am: I won’t apologize for just existing.” He leaned in and stage whispered, “Feel free to steal that.” And when she giggled, he grinned. “Ant looks so annoyed, by the way. I’m feelin’ pretty good.”

“Sounds like Ern, Justin, and Susan have been sharing their opinions.”

“Oh, you bet,” Dean said with a near cackle. 

“I’m changing the subject,” Hannah said dryly.

“Go ahead and try.”

“Your boss is upstairs as we speak, actually.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah. Tom’s--” Her breath hitched, and her eyes watered. “Hestia and he volunteered to stay with him tonight while I’m here since it’s--it’s, um--it’s…he’s--um. You know. I’ll probably not work for the next few days after this, so I can…be there. When it happens.”

As she wiped her eyes on her sleeve, Dean’s face slumped, mouth slowly opening. “Hannah…why didn’t you say something.”

“No, no, you all--you were so wonderful this summer, it’s fine. I’ve gotten all this time with him, I don’t want to bother you--”

“Oh, for god’s sake, Han.” He raised his voice. “Shay? Harry? Nev? Tom’s--Tom’s at the end.”

“No, it’s fine,” Hannah said quickly.

Anthony frowned. “Han doesn’t want a fuss.”

“With all due respect, I don’t care what Hannah ‘Don’t Look at Me’ Abbott wants,” Dean said, raising an eyebrow. “Tom matters to the whole wizarding world.”

“For every single Muggleborn or Muggle-raised kid, Tom was the first face we saw in this world, and all he did was meet every single one of us with a smile and excitement,” Harry said firmly. “You don’t know what that meant.”

“It meant I felt like I was where I belonged, even though it was scary,” Michael said, and Hannah could tell this time, unquestionably, he was sincere. “Tom meant that to me.”

“Me, too,” Justin said.

“And me.” Su gave Hannah a searching look. “I was so scared I was a Squib, I didn’t have super obvious signs of magic, so getting my letter was a relief…but Tom smiling at me as my family entered the pub, how chatty and welcoming he was when we got rounds of butterbeer…it was like he told me I absolutely belonged.”

“And if you were scared, he did his very best to make you feel excited instead,” Neville added with a rueful smile. “Besides, he knew how to handle my gran, so that made him even more special to me.”

“Wait--did you know Tom was this bad?” Harry asked Neville.

“Why would he know,” Anthony said, his eyes arrowing at Hannah; her face started to pink, but within a moment, attention was wrenched back to Ron.

“Alright,” Ron announced loudly, “the question is: Is Tom up to visitors, and if not, how can we let him know how much he means to--to us, to everyone?”

“I can’t imagine he’s in any condition for us all to troop up there,” Padma said, wincing at the very thought.

“My kingdom for a camcorder,” Justin sighed, though Susan looked at him in confusion. “Ant, the second you can get one of those to work…”

“Tell me about it, mate,” he sighed. “I’d say we should take a photo, but is it the same if he can’t hear anything--even if we hold up a sign or something…”

“My kingdom for Hermione, she’s probably read a book on how to get a photo to talk,” Harry said with a sigh. 

“Making a photo like a magical portrait?” Hannah asked.

“Yeah.”

“Wait. Why not just--” Neville squinted. “If the issue is time, a portrait of Tom buys us that. It buys us--all the time in the world, right? To talk to him? It’s not him, but…my gran always said that if she had a painting of my dad, she’d have been able to, you know, say things. And he’d have heard it--and--she’d have known if, if he knew those things. It’s not them, but it’s not not them.”

“Sure, but where are we gonna find an artist at midnight?” Anthony shot back.

Seamus’s arm bolted up; he pointed at Dean who looked thoughtful before grinning, shrugging, nodding. 

“Does anybody know the spells to make a portrait come alive?” Parvati asked, looking excited.

“The Minister of Bloody Magic is literally upstairs--if he doesn’t know, I’m sure he can wake somebody up who does,” Justin said, as eager as Parvati. 

“What do you think, Han?” Ernie said, putting a hand on her knee. “Mind having a piece of Tom around the Leaky for all time?”

Hannah stared around the circle, the faces of all of her friends--Harry, one of the people she respected most in the world. All of them coming together for the person she loved most in the world, because they loved him, too. The last time they all banded together, in the heart of the night, it was for the fight of their lives. This--was just about life. Celebrating how precious it was, the things and people who kept them bound together. She managed to take in two heaving breaths before the tears overwhelmed her; she put her face in her hands and sobbed, barely able to nod, faintly hearing some of the girls letting out coos and awws as Ernie pulled her in for a hug. 

“Okay, mates, let’s get this plan in motion,” Ron was saying, though Hannah stayed in Ernie’s arms, crying against his shoulder. 

“Oh, Hannah,” she heard a few times, felt hands touch her arm as they walked past. Felt Susan and Justin take seats on the sofa with her and Ernie. Heard Lisa’s voice move closer and then grow quieter with distance as another voice lingered--

“Here. I found…carrying this is helpful when you’re friends with--you know. Somebody whose heart isn’t on her sleeve, it’s right in her hands.” Hannah gulped and looked up at Neville, who was offering a handkerchief to Justin. He startled at the sight of her looking at him.

“That’s very sweet,” she sniffled, reaching out and taking it from him so she could blow her nose. Neville’s head bowed down, slightly crooked, smiling bashful and humble and so warm. She had such an urge to stand up and slip into the warmth of his hug; was it odd that, from the way his arms had lifted up, just a bit, and then awkwardly drew back, she thought he did, too.

He bit hard at his lip and then pointed at the door in a nervous kind of way. “I’m gonna--Lisa--uh, go, um. Goodnight.”

“Bye,” Hannah heard Anthony said, the word iron-heavy with sarcasm and dismissiveness as he stepped in front of Neville to catch Hannah’s eye. “Is there…any room for me here?”

“Actually--” Susan began.

Hannah wiped at her eyes. “Ern--Suz, Justin, can you take the leftover food upstairs to Tom’s flat? For Dean and anybody else who is up there while he paints.”

“Of course,” Ernie said, kissing her forehead as he pulled away; Susan hesitated, but he and Justin tugged at her elbows.

Anthony took Ernie’s place, tucking damp pieces of Hannah’s hair behind her ears. Wordlessly, he charmed the handkerchief clean and dry, handing it back to her to use again. 

“I really should carry one of these,” he murmured, though he didn’t say anything else until those last three had left the room. Then he sighed. “Are you mad at me?”

“No.” She stared down at where his hand was resting on her leg, playing with the hem of her dress. “I’m just…trying to figure out what’s changed with us? That what led us to end before won’t happen again. Because it’s…starting to feel like we’re walking the same path that we did last spring. And god, Ant, I don’t want to start fighting with you again.”

Anthony’s eyes closed for a moment before he pulled Hannah in for a hug. “Yeah.”

They breathed with each other, hands against the other’s back. Anthony kissed her neck, and for a moment, she let herself unspool against him. She sighed. “And I have no bloody clue what your issue with Neville is.”

“Uh, the fact he has a massive crush on you? Where my mate Lisa is a desperate attempt at self-denial? Michael and Terry and I can see it from bloody space?”

“Oh, well if Michael and Terry agree--” Hannah exhaled. “We’re friends, really. Truly."

"I know you think that, but let's ask him, yeah?"

"You know what, okay, fine, even if he does have a--a crush on me, that’s no excuse for you to be--like this. Because you’re the one I chose. Unless…you’re feeling so unsure about us that…you’re lashing out at him because you don’t know what to do for us.”

Anthony’s lips flickered a bit. “That was--pretty profound.”

“You sound surprised.”

He gave her a guilty look, yet he sighed. “Yeah.” He stroked a hand through her hair. “So--what do we do? To fix this?”

Hannah’s eyes drifted up, to the ceiling, to where Tom was taking in what could be his final breaths, his heart its last struggling beats. Her eyes, her throat, began burning with the urge to cry, and she put her head down on his shoulder. Soon…

Chapter Text

The gavel strike echoed in the large Wizengamot chamber, and the participants of the resolved case began to move out of the courtroom’s well. “Next on the docket: Matter 98-dash-12-dash-four hundred and six-dash-5. Will the parties move to the floor.”

Neville’s head jerked down to look at the court paperwork resting in his lap. “Not us.” 

Hannah glanced over to where his grandmother was sitting at the center of a group of similarly old and severe looking people, one of whom had a moth-eaten wig and ornate robes and an expression of utter contempt for anyone under the age of twenty. So: Neville, Hannah, Harry, primarily. Augusta was checking her paperwork, too, leaning into the wigged man as he whispered in her ear. Neville glanced at her before staring down at his lap again. 

His leg started to shake, making all of the papers rattle. Each breath sounded more like a heave. Harry put a hand on Neville’s back, giving him a few pats, but that leg didn’t stop. Hannah reached out for his hand, pulling it over to rest on her steady thigh as she started smoothing her thumbs over the inside of his wrist before moving to his palm, the way her best friends would do when her anxiety would start clawing its way out of her belly and shredding her from the inside. 

Slowly, his leg stuttered back to calm. He took in a ragged breath and then slowly let it out, closing his eyes. He turned his hand so that he could slip his fingers between Hannah’s and clutched at it, squeezing so hard that she could feel his grip in every one of her nerves. She put her other hand on top of his; his body sank against her arm, and he started to brush her thumb with his as he took in a rhythm of steady breaths in and out and in. He was exerting so much effort into staying calm, and she could feel how much energy he was burning through in every moment; it was a familiar feeling to her. It absolutely shattered her heart. 

She could hear Harry crackling his knuckles, the right hand, then the left, then back again; the little pops echoed. In this giant room, Hannah had never felt so small.

The three sat in silence, idly watching the next proceeding, a hearing to schedule another hearing. Towards the end of it, Susan entered from the door high at the top of the Wizengamot justices’ benches, wearing her robes but not her hat, a long purple set of cords dangling from around her neck signaling that she was in her apprenticeship years as a justice. She was putting on a good show of looking for something important before retrieving a heavy, leather-bound book with a clear ah yes, I have found the object I was so desperate to find, what a great relief pantomime, and as she straightened up, looked directly at the small group of her friends, giving Harry and Hannah each a flat-lipped and intense smile, adding in a brief wink and tiny nod to Neville. He tried to smile back, shifting a bit, as Susan reluctantly turned around and left the chamber.

With one hand, Neville sorted through his paperwork to find the note Susan had handed him that morning over breakfast, all of the things she’d whisper in his ear if her role didn’t prevent her from it: Magistrate Goatleaf is exceedingly fair and excellent in family disputes. Speak from the heart. And SPEAK SLOWLY, take deep breaths when you are nervous; he does get impatient with constant stuttering because the recording quill has trouble writing it all down.

“Next case: In the Matter of 98-dash-12-dash-two hundred and twelve-dash-9.” 

“Oh Merlin,” Neville breathed, standing in unison with Harry. Hannah hurried up, too, letting go of Neville’s hand to give him a hug, though his arms were around her before she could pull him in first; again, he held her so hard, it was nearly crushing, but this time, she squeezed him as tightly as she could in return, whispering a kiss against his cheek. He was starting to pull away before he pulled her closer to do the same; his lips were so close to her mouth, she could tell how his breath smelled of rosemary. They drew apart, and Hannah felt more than a bit dizzy. Impulsively, she reached out for Harry, and they hugged briefly as well.

“Fingers crossed,” he whispered to her, and in a somehow quieter tone added, “If she comes after him, I’m gonna set that woman’s stupid hat on fire, I swear…”

Harry and Neville reached their swinging gate to the chamber floor sooner than Augusta and her advocate; Neville was settling into his chair with Harry taking his place behind him as Hermione and Ginny rushed into the visitor’s seating, coming to where Hannah was re-seating herself closer to the courtroom floor and more to the side so she could see everyone’s faces. 

“Bugger bugger bugger, did it start?” Ginny hissed, dropping beside Hannah. 

“They are literally just getting in there--and then the clerk has to give the presiding magistrate the paperwork, they read it over, so…we have a few minutes.”

“Thank fucking…McGonagall was held up by the stupid prank war the third years have been waging, the Ravenclaws and their bloody paper tigers again--so she was late getting back to her office to Floo us.” 

“Did Luna already leave for the Azores?”

Ginny’s smile was rueful. “Yeah. Last weekend. She’s torn up about not being here, but…she was getting so anxious thinking about what happened--” She let out a disgusted, almost defeated huff. “--exactly a year ago today--I mean, you were there, you saw…” 

In the span of a second, they both were back on that train, watching Luna grabbed, ripped away in a swirl and a flash--Hannah had an urge to be sick, and she breathed through it. What must Luna feel… However, Ginny brightened somewhat as she added, “But she already sounds so, so much more relaxed from this last owl. She’s already ‘identified’ several plants that I don’t think actually exist, but hey, if she’s happy, she can make up an entire Herbology textbook for all I care.”

Beside Ginny, Hermione was a whirlwind of motion, pulling out several files and scrolls; her hair seemed to grow larger and more animated as she laid out all of her materials on the bench in front of them, then she frantically waved to get Harry’s attention. He looked visibly relieved, then poked Neville, who turned in his seat and broke into the same kind of smile. As his eyes moved to Ginny, his smile changed--no less warm, but different: Hermione brought competence, Ginny brought comfort. Harry chuffed at Neville’s shoulder, and he nodded, as if fortifying himself. 

Before he turned back, he ran his eyes over Hannah before holding her gaze for a second. She wrung her hands tight in her lap as she stared back, and the two of them took in and let out breaths at the same time. 

What did she bring him?

Beside her, Ginny and Harry were engaged in a silent conversation; she heard the barely audible mouthing of McGonagall and a point at the watch on Ginny’s wrist, the balling of furious fists--ah, Ginny telling Harry why they were late. Harry rolled his eyes. Then he jerked his head at Neville, grimaced and jittered, then exaggeratedly let out a breath. 

Ginny nodded.

“What?” Hermione whispered. 

“Nev’s been alternating between anxiety and forced calm.”

“Oh.” She then looked at Harry and mouthed, over-enunciating and stage whispering along, “Where’s Ron?”

Harry pointed between himself and Neville, then held up the number three and reduced it to one, jutted out his thumb, pointed towards the door, then made a motion of scribbling on his palm.

“What?”

“Because Harry and Nev had to be here, Ron was tasked with going out to interview the witness in the Cagarada ring,” Hannah whispered.

“Whoa, you got all that?” Ginny said.

“Yes, I’m really talented.” Hannah held it for a beat before giving Ginny and Hermione an embarrassed smile. “No, they told me.” Ginny snorted, nudging Hannah in reply.

Hermione looked a bit deflated, but she drew back up quickly and nodded. Then she seemed to absorb Hannah’s presence. “Sorry, Han, hello…is Susan able to join?”

“She’s not allowed to sit with us ‘cause of her role, but she just did a little pop in to give a show of support. We had breakfast with her, too, and she has prepped them within an inch of her bloody life, I swear.”

“She’s so lovely. She’s been writing with me for weeks now on how to best prepare. It’s been fascinating, honestly.”

“Hermione and Susan are new BFFs: they have bonded over the law, and they’ll never look back,” Ginny added in a whisper. She was grinning at Hannah, but there was something appraising in her look, the way her eyes roamed over Hannah’s face. Hannah’s mouth started to dry under the heat of the youngest Weasley’s shrewd, penetrating gaze. What was Ginny looking for? 

They began to settle in, but Harry was still looking back at Ginny. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Ginny surreptitiously pointing a finger at Hannah. Harry’s eyebrows shrugged, and he bobbed his head to the side in an almost impish way. Ginny then ran her hand over her long ponytail; Hannah couldn’t see her face, but she heard the other girl let out a soft, Mm! But Harry’s face shifted into a soft longing, sighing as he gazed at Ginny, so Hannah looked the other way. She wasn’t fully sure what they were trying to say at this point, but it felt fully private. 

She focused on her cuticles, shoving them back from her nail beds as hard as she could. The fact that she started to feel pain, drew blood from her left ring finger’s nail bed--it was good. It was a relief. It gave her something real to focus on. 

“May the parties please state their name for the record,” the clerk, a young man that Hannah vaguely remembered as a Slytherin a few years ahead of them in school, announced, watching the auto-quill beside him as it stood poised at the top of a fresh scroll.

“Mrs. Josiah Longbottom, given name Augusta Ottile Longbottom. Formerly Cornfoot,” Neville’s grandmother boomed.

Neville flinched. As did many people around the chamber. When he spoke, though, his voice was steady: “Neville Francis Longbottom.”

“Do the parties have advocates present?”

“I do,” Augusta said.

“I do.”

“Please state your names for the record.”

“If it may please the magistrate and the hallowed institution of the Wizengamot,” the bewigged man began, heaving himself to his feet. He bowed slightly to the magistrate and then clutched at the labels of his robes. “Atlas Maximillian Tottingham the Fourth. Retired member of the Wizengamot, Junior Mugwump Emeritus, Order of Merlin Third Class. It is my esteemed honor to advocate for Mrs. Longbottom in today’s proceedings.”

The clerk made a few notes and then looked at Neville and Harry. He made a motion at them with his hand.

“Harry James Potter.” Harry shrugged. “I’ve saved the world a few times.”

Neville--and Ginny--let out identical snorts, and a ripple of laughter went through the courtroom, though Augusta’s group of supporters let out the same disapproving gasp that Hermione did.

“This is not the place for cheek!” she hissed at Ginny. “It’s a courtroom!”

“Yeah, but that was for Neville. Look,” Ginny whispered, and Neville was visibly more relaxed, even grinning. 

The magistrate had a slightly amused look on his face as the clerk, unmoved, announced, “This is a hearing on a petition submitted by Mrs. Josiah Longbottom against the estate of Frank and Alice Longbottom, of which Neville Francis Longbottom is named guardian and trustee, to challenge the estate’s guardianship. Mrs. Longbottom has requested a reversion of the guardianship back to her.”

“Thank you, Orion. We may proceed.”

“Point of order,” Mr. Tottingham the Fourth said. He jutted a finger at Harry. “We wish to petition for the removal of the opposing advocate.”

“On what grounds?” the magistrate asked.

“On the grounds that, as Mr. Potter so wittily alluded to, his status in the wizarding world is so august, no court could hold a critical or impartial position against his stead.”

“That’s funny, my experience with this court kinda makes me conclude the opposite,” Harry said dryly. 

The magistrate was a man who resembled Dumbledore in his advanced age, with similar snowy white hair and wire-rimmed half-spectacles, even his slightly affable and aloof air; however, his glasses were square, he lacked facial hair, dressed far more more sedately. He peered at Harry. Then he looked back at Augusta’s advocate. “I think I can manage to keep my adulation in check,” he said calmly. 

“Master Magistrate--”

“We can move on, Atlas. And please, a reminder to you as well as Mr. Potter, I do prefer to hear directly from our parties as much as possible. This is not a formal tribunal or final hearing where advocacy is essential. Your role is primarily for support in the moral sense.” He leaned back; he was set quite a bit higher up than Augusta and Neville, so it made his pinched features even more peaked. “Mrs. Longbottom, I have read your petition in full. I think it is important to acknowledge, for the record, that your care of Frank and Alice has been nothing short of exemplary, a true model of loving, thoughtful guardianship of those too incapacitated or infirm to manage their own affairs.” 

She squared her shoulders but dipped her head in acknowledgement, and Neville stole a glance at her, smiling a little, his face wrestling between love and appreciation and a sadness so deep, it made Hannah gasp in a breath. 

“But…that is not the standard for removing a guardian, especially one where there is no evidence of any kind of malfeasance. Indeed, since guardianship reverted to Neville on his eighteenth birthday, I see…” The magistrate pulled out a piece of parchment. “I have an affidavit from Healer Hestia Habibah Jones that there have been four medical decisions requiring Neville’s approval since 30 July: First, treatment of a fungal infection in Frank Longbottom’s left toes in the middle of September; second, treatment of a fungal infection in Alice’s toes in late September; third, treatment of Frank for a concerning excess of saliva secretion on 3 October; and fourth--” He paused, just for a second, just enough where Neville winced preemptively. “--on 18 October, treatment of Alice for a urinary tract infection, requiring the use of catheters for two weeks, which Healer Jones notes has been a current issue for Alice since her original hospitalization in 1981. According to Healer Jones’ statement and the medical records provided, these treatments are unexceptional and, as I noted, are even continuing care that you yourself authorized in the past.”

“Sir?” Neville raised his hand. He looked like he wanted to stammer his words, but he stopped, took a breath, then spoke with deliberation. “Healer Jones is a--friend of a friend, and I wanted to be sure that…you had a second evaluation of my parents’ care. So I had another Healer who’s never seen my parents evaluate everything, too. Um. Healer Pravash Patil? I think he submitted his affidavit last month,” Neville said, glancing back at Hermione. She nodded, looking poised to rush a copy of the statement down, but the magistrate was already nodding himself.

“Yes, I saw Healer Patil’s submission, but neither the petitioner--your grandmother--nor I have any reason to challenge Healer Jones’ attestations about your handling of your parents’ care. Besides,” he added, that same amused look ghosting over his face, “I don’t feel particularly fussed to challenge the expertise of the Minister’s fiancee without provocation. I would hazard not even Augusta would pick that fight.”

A light ripple of laughter went around the room again. Augusta gave the magistrate an almost playful smile. “Oh, Bert, I was perfectly comfortable telling Deedee Fudge and Xander Bagnold--Merlin, all the way back to Cassius Tuff my piece, Hestia knows to expect the same. But I agree, I don’t challenge any of her medical conclusions.”

Augusta let out a loud sigh, shifting in her chair. She conjured a small table and then swept her giant vulture hat from her head, setting it down. “I said this very thing in my petition, but let me make this crystal clear,” she said, raising her volume (even more), directing herself towards the scribbling quill. “This is not questioning, at all, Neville’s ability to care for my son and his wife. How could anyone challenge his capability and valor after, well, not even last year, but from the battle against the most deadly of Voldemort’s followers here at this very building when he was only fifteen!” 

She leaned forward in her chair and looked at Neville. “It’s that this should not be his burden.” She flung her arm around. “We relied on a children’s army to be the moral and physical tip of the spear for years . They had to be brave and courageous and act like adults while their faces were full of acne, when they should have been playing and going on their little dates to the teashop in Hogsmeade. It’s pathetic, how widespread our failures were and how much we ceded to them. Of course my Neville stepped up.” She drew up an inch taller, her face bright like a lighthouse. “He’s Frank’s son.”

“No, he stepped up--” Hannah’s hand flew up to her mouth, her eyes wide and shocked that she had spoken out loud. She bit at the backs of her fingers to stop herself from finishing: Just because he’s him. 

Ginny squinted at her, giving her that incisive, shrewd look again; Hannah recognized it as the way her face fixed as she was thinking, the one she got before putting pieces together, before giving the D.A. the details of a plan. 

Hannah had spoken quietly enough, though, that it went unnoticed by those down in the courtroom well, where Augusta was continuing, “The point is, he never should have had to. Children shouldn’t have to. And he shouldn’t have to now, either, with Frank and Alice’s care. Children shouldn’t be asked to do this, when adults can and should do the job.”

“Gran…I’m not a kid anymore. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve been a kid for a really long time,” Neville sighed. “Longer than before the Ministry fight.”

Augusta frowned at him, then glanced at Harry. He stared unblinking back at her. She took in a breath. “Well. Doesn’t that prove my point? That you have shouldered such a burden, there is no rush to add this on top of it. Not when I’m in such sound body and mind to continue forward while you focus on your career and this new phase of your life. You deserve to enjoy it! Living with your mates--even though you could have stayed at home, mind, but I came around--going out to dinner at the pub constantly, even though the amount of money you’re spending eating out to this degree really isn’t prudent, Neville, but have I mentioned that?”

“Actually, yes.”

“But I let it go, didn’t I, because you have friends who want to spend time with you--you have friends --” The sentence snapped off as her face rippled, and her eyes began to grow glossy with tears as she added, in naked relief, “Finally.” Neville’s head fell. 

Augusta reared back. She gestured up at Hermione and Ginny. “Hold on. The term doesn’t end until Friday, shouldn’t you two be in school?”

Hermione shook her head. “We’re exactly where we need to be.”

Augusta swept her arm back to the magistrate. “You see? Look at what has happened to this generation! Young people should get to have carefree times, not talk about their mother’s urinary infections with their mates.” She looked at Neville again, her face growing so stern and strong, Hannah had a vision of her towering over a small Neville when he was just a boy, that terrifying kind of intimidation just inherent in some people’s very bodies making him wilt. No wonder his shoulders used to have that permanent roundness that drew him inward and down, slumping his posture.

She looked at him for a second more, and Neville instinctively flinched before breathing out through clenched teeth, straightening back up again as Augusta told the magistrate, “My son and daughter-in-law’s life span is going to be seriously truncated; they’ve already started declining in health, and soon, it will be like a chain reaction of maladies--why should he be expected to deal with this over the next ten, fifteen years at the most? Who at his age should worry about this?”

“Because it could happen to me! If I get married, like, tomorrow, right, what happened to them, it could happen--I mean, to me, sure, that’s a given, but what if it’s my wife?” Neville burst out. He was gripping the sides of his chair, gritting his teeth as if the effort of sitting still was herculean. “You wanna break me, you don’t kill me, you torture the ones I love, it’s pretty obvious, right? Harry and I have talked about this, how there’s a London-sized target on our backs from what we did at the Battle, from who we fought and got imprisoned, and who we--well, not Harry, we don’t think, at least not directly, but--me?”

Neville’s knuckles were rigid, stone hard from how hard he was holding onto the chair. “I killed Fenrir Greyback, and you bet I meant it, what he did to Professor Lupin when he was just a kid, and the Montgomery twins’ brother, and Bill Weasley, an--an--and t-to Lavender?” Ginny’s whole body flinched, as Hermione and Hannah sucked in breaths like they had been struck. “Never again. I don’t know how many people know that,” he added, glancing at the moving quill, “buuuut beyond that, from everything coming out in the trials, there’s plenty else that’s on my name, and on his,” he said, gesturing at a grim-looking Harry, “and that target’s gonna be there for a really, really long time. Though it’s weird that we’re not like--like, I dunno, I don’t think about it most of the time at all, there are consequences to doing the right thing and I’m not scared for myself, it’s like--just--normal, but, like, I went on a few dates with a girl that our mate Michael set me up with, and everybody thought she broke things off ‘cause she wasn’t a big fan of how I love gardening since she thinks dirt is kinda gross--and I assure you, that didn’t help, but really, it was when she was listening to me and Harry and Ron--Ron Weasley--make jokes about this credible threat that was made against--well, us, we had these plans in Hogsmeade…I’m sorry, I’m rambling, Susan said not to…” 

He closed his eyes. “Li--the girl, she aided the D.A. and fought in the Battle, she’s really brave, really, but couldn’t keep doing this, I mean, who could, when it felt like the nightmare wasn’t gonna stop, and she called things off right after Terry’s--though, I dunno, Ron thinks she thought--that she picked up on--” 

Harry reached out and gave Neville’s hip a hard slug, shooting him a sharp look that screamed, Mate! You’ve lost the bloody plot! Neville gasped, turning tomato red as he froze, his eyes wildly swinging from the magistrate to the girls, barely focusing on them before Harry punched him again and then made a rolling gesture with his hands back towards the magistrate's bench.  “Uh, anyway, and that was it for us. Right.” Shorter than a second, though, his face began to melt. “She said being with me meant that it would never end. And still can’t believe she didn’t die that night at Hogwarts, and it wasn’t personal, but--she didn’t want to worry about dying like that, not until she was, like, old. Being with me…there wasn’t…it’s really hard.” 

His eyes were starting to shine with tears, so he lifted his face up, eyes tracing the intricate crown molding of the chamber. “There’s so little I know about my parents as people , but now I get…maybe why they got together. ‘Cause I always kinda wondered that, right, how people who didn’t get together at Hogwarts got together because it really feels like most people lock it down in N.E.W.T. years. That M.R.S.-N.E.W.T. joke, right? So--how and why did they become them? Now I get a part of it, that they both got it, what the risks were. Not that they thought that--this is what would happen to them, but to enter into a life together without fear, without letting the possibility of loss get in the way…that takes a really particular kind of heart and soul, and it’s hard to find in someone who doesn’t choose to carry the baggage that aurors and hit wizards do. But they both did.” He trailed off, brushing over his eyes. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

The entire room, so silent, was punctured by the sound of Augusta blowing her nose loudly, otherwise quiet tears flooding her sharp face.

Neville looked at her, and the motion made a small stream of a tear dislodge from both of his  eyes. “I guess…it’s that I have to live life assuming that the worst can happen to everyone I love because the worst did happen. Over and over and over again. What happened to my parents…three of my best friends were hunted for a year…another best friend was tortured in front of my very eyes,” he said, glancing back at Ginny, making Harry’s face go instantly pale and frozen, “countless of my other friends were, too--oh, and another one of my best friends, Luna, was kidnapped a literal year ago today and then imprisoned for month--Merlin, Harry was killed--” He looked back at Harry, shaking his head. “I still don’t get how that all worked, come to think of it, but you know, most people who are killed don’t come back.”

“Most,” Ginny repeated with a watery laugh, wiping at her own eyes. “Nev.”

“You certainly have a lot of best friends, dear,” Augusta said, dabbing at her eyes again with a handkerchief. 

“Hannah says ‘best friend’ isn’t a title, it’s more of a tier,” Neville said with a nod, pulling out a familiar handkerchief of his own to wipe his face dry. Hermione caught her eye and nodded, mouthing, So true. “Which is so brilliant when you think of it, right? That you can have so many people you love in your life and give you that back, and it fills you up so much more than you could ever dream. And because--I didn’t have all that until…well, actually, the last year? I appreciate it even more. Them more. Anyway, it means there are so many people who may need you in those terrible times that come up. In whatever way that looks like, and however long. And sometimes, that need is…you know. Not…the most fun.” 

His head moved towards the three girls, like a bob, though he kept facing towards the magistrate. “Another best friend? She had a family member who was very poorly, he was actually bedridden. That meant she had to vanish things from bedpans and change his…” Despite his face being already red, he somehow blushed on top of it. “Diapers. From June until he died months later.” 

Hannah stared intently down at her shoes, though she hadn’t been able to see anything clearly for a while now, she couldn’t clear the tears away fast enough, even using both of her sleeves; Merlin would she love to have that handkerchief…or maybe just disappear through the floor. It was actually getting hard to breathe--for a moment, she could have sworn she forgot how. 

“Actually? The thing about my mother and the recurrent UTIs? The fact my friend was doing that for her p--family member, talking to me about it, not being ashamed of what she was doing because that’s just what you do for the people you love, it made it so much easier to talk about what my mum needed, too. We talked about it. We even laughed about it, how bodies can be so weird and complicated and sometimes gross, but she thinks it’s all interesting, which is why she sh--” He held up a hand, stopping himself. “Bottom line is, she’s the same age as me and talking about bed sores and diaper rash on a grown man, and it’s okay because this is what you do. In fact--it can make your bond with them even stronger. Caring for somebody when they’re in those terrible places and times. Your wife, your parents--” He turned to Augusta. “And when you’re not in sound mind and body, I’m gonna take care of you. Twenty years, fifty, tomorrow.”

Augusta wiped at her eyes, her body starting to lose its rigidness, its fight.

He then paused and leaned a bit forward in his chair. “I love you, Gran. Do you think I want to do anything that hurts you? But…” 

He glanced down at his hands, flexing his fingers; they were so long and tapered, hands that were meant to create and do. To hold. Living things thrived in those hands.

“Harry talked about the power of love, when he was facing down Voldemort. Love. It’s the strongest and greatest thing any of us have, our real magic--his mom used it to save his life, he used it, for us. For me. Voldemort should have--with the spells he cast on me, I shouldn’t be here, I should have burned to death in front of--but it was love. I mean, bloody hell, even Snape used love to protect Harry, and I dunno, it’s gonna take me a while to wrap my head around him, but--god, love is more powerful than any spell that even a hundred Dumbledores and Hermiones together could cast.”

Neville ran a thumb in a groove in the chair’s wooden arm. “Love’s all I have to give my parents. I can’t make them better. I can’t ever make them--” He choked slightly, as if he had been hexed. “-- know me. Know what I’ve done, what I’ll do…won’t be at my wedding or know my kids, even if they live long enough for either to happen. But Gran…I really think…if that’s all I have? Just loving them? Then…this is one way, one really important way, to use my love. My strength. My magic. For them.”

Neville’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he seemed on the wobbly edge of his emotion, but then he breathed out, his shoulders squaring again. “That’s all,” he said, turning back to the magistrate. “Thank you.”

The courtroom hovered in silence for almost a full minute. Harry stared at him. “You’re really good at talking. That was like--better than the speech you gave before killing the snake.”

“He gave so many inspiring monologues last year,” Ginny called out. Hannah lifted her head and nodded fervently: Neville would give the speech, Ginny would lay out the plan, Luna would make it feel totally doable. 

“I’m feeling totally comfortable with talking about UTI as well as adult diapers now,” Harry added.

“Honestly, Harry,” Hermione said, though she was battling back a grin, wiping again at her eyes. “It’s the Wizengamot.”

“Hey, I’m not attacking the head justice and stealing their cursed jewelry this time.” He lifted his hands in a shrug. “We’re already playing with house money here.”

“I don’t believe my jewelry is cursed,” the magistrate said, glancing down at his watch, “but noted. We’re very proud, Mr. Potter. Excellent growth.”

“Oh, he was totally mates with Dumbledore. I have a feeling this guy got full-on hammered at the Hog’s Head with ol’ Albie D countless times,” Ginny whispered. 

“They probably sat next to each other on the Wizengamot and passed snarky notes during every hearing,” Hermione added with a giggle. 

“Aww, that’ll be you and Susan one day!” Ginny patted Hannah’s leg. “You said it yourself, Han: Best friend’s a tier, and Suz is absolutely in Hermione’s now, don’t be jealous.”

“Stop it,” Hermione hissed, her grin erupting. 

The magistrate been writing for a moment already, the bald crown of his head bowed as he worked; when Hermione and Ginny lapsed into silence, the whole room seemed to still, reduced down to just the motion of the old man’s wrist and his peacock-feather quill. Hannah glanced over at Augusta’s group of friends; all of them had that same softness in their posture that had come over Neville’s gran, glancing over at him with fondness instead of their previous chill.

The magistrate finished his script and passed the scroll to his clerk. He took a sip from a large goblet and then folded his hands, skin paper-thin and wrinkled with age; Hannah had such a strong memory of holding Tom’s similarly wizened hand in the moment that he died, she felt momentarily dizzy. 

“Given the productive dialogue over the course of this hearing, the preference of the court is to encourage a private settlement between the parties that can be entered for certification by the Wizengamot. I will set a deadline for next month on the thirty-first of January for a resolution to be submitted to the court. The clerk of the domestic matters magistrate will follow up with appropriate instructions. If a mutual agreement cannot be achieved, we’ll proceed to a full hearing. But I trust that the parties can find a way to settle the matter. Perhaps over the holidays. I find a Christmas eggnog liberally spiked with firewhiskey to be the most productive lubricant to any difficult conversation as well as immensely tasty.” 

The magistrate held up his hand to the recording quill. “Off the record…” 

It laid down on the scroll.

He trained his gaze on Augusta. “Gussie. You have to talk about this with your grandson. Not at. With,” the man sighed, taking off his spectacles and starting to clean them on his tie. Augusta looked a bit stricken, blinking rapidly at the man. “What happened to Frank and Alice was, and continues to be one of the greatest tragedies from that first war. No disrespect to our present company and his own family’s sacrifice and loss,” the justice said to Harry with a bow of his head. 

“None taken. Besides, I completely agree,” Harry said with a sigh. 

Both Longbottoms jerked just slightly, though Augusta’s chin jutted up while Neville’s sank down.

“The point is…if it lets Neville feel a connection, express his love in this narrow channel, to them by taking on this role, no matter how much you assess its value, hear that. And…” The man put his glasses back on. “I urge you to remember that bravery is a lot bigger, and more meaningful, than what is merely done in moments of battle.” 

He let out a breath. “And please call on my wife, Gussie, she’s wildly bored in her recovery from shingles.”

The man looked up at the spectators--at Hannah. “Are you--are you Melisandre Selwyn’s little girl?” he said warmly, smiling at her. Hannah looked up at him, hesitated as she felt the freeze of every eye in the chamber upon her, but nodded. The man beamed. “I thought so. You look just like her. Blue eyes, though; hers were a quite striking shade of amber. Liz was a dear, dear friend--and quite the canasta player. Please accept my deepest condolences on Tom’s death.” A knot of tears lumped in Hannah’s throat. She desperately swallowed it down and dropped her head again, managing a nod in reply, as the magistrate then gave a deep nod to Hermione and to Ginny, adding, “And let Molly know Bert Goatleaf sends his very best.” He rapped the gavel lightly and then handed a file to the clerk and accepted another, becoming oblivious to anyone else in the room, the matter with Neville and his gran promptly shelved in his mind. 

“Next matter…” the clerk was saying, the two gates that had let the two sides onto the chamber floor opening automatically to usher them out and the next people in.

As Neville came up the steps to where Hermione, Ginny, and Hannah were sitting in their row, she could see that there was a slight tremor in his hands, though his face was so stunned, eyes so dazed, he looked like he had been pummeled about the head with bludgers. Ginny hurried to hug him, nearly driving him fully across the aisle with the force of it, her and him swaying from side to side as they embraced; meanwhile, Harry and Hermione were hugging as well, him picking her up off the ground as she let out a gleeful squeak, holding tight to her dearest friend. 

Hannah stayed sitting in her seat to give them room, suddenly struck with the memory of what it was like for her and Susan and Ernie to rush at Justin once Harry had defeated Voldemort. It was different, of course, the moment infinitely more intense plus the time since they had seen their beloved Justin so much longer; at the core of it, though, was the same. The utter joy of a victory. That almost religious sense of relief at seeing your people after an unwanted but necessary time apart. There was that absolute need to gather each other together, all of their limbs tangled and tight, as if the sheer act of holding each other could communicate necessity and love and longing and gratitude. 

“That went so much better than I thought,” Neville admitted, his words thick, arms still around Ginny, chin nearly resting on the top of her head. “Or--wait, I’m not dreaming, right?”

“That went epically,” Harry declared as he let go of Hermione, looking a little shocked himself as he glanced back down at the hearing area. “That was like a bloody courtroom movie! Very ‘you can’t handle the truth!’ and all!”

“We didn’t even need any of my research!” Hermione exclaimed, tugging Neville to get to hug him next, long and fervent.

“Hermione wants a do-over so she can overwhelm them with reams of precedent,” Ginny laughed as Harry seized her for a similar long hug, kissing her gently before she nestled in against him, finding the underside of his chin with her lips. 

“No, but given Harry’s experience, I was prepared for more of a fight. But--oh, Nev, you are your own best evidence,” she said happily, hugging him harder.

“Your gran’s looking over here,” Harry said, gesturing over with his chin. 

Neville startled, turning to look at her. “Yeah…I’m…I need to talk to her. Now.” 

“Let’s go together, she’s less likely to sic her hat on you if she’s got a crowd,” Ginny grinned, and Neville let out a nervous laugh at that, though his voice still sounded strange, oddly hazy, not entirely sober. He took in a breath, eyes fixed on Augusta as if the world were just her, as the others nodded to each other, forming a net around Neville as they started towards his gran, Hermione’s arm looped protectively through his as they shuffled through the narrow row, Hermione starting a steady stream of advice, Harry and Ginny looped together and trading quick kisses and whispers, so close the lines between them were basically blurred.

Hannah had hesitantly started to stand before sitting back down, watching them, then reaching into her shoulder bag to fish out…well, nothing, she just wanted to look like she had something that she was doing; all curled down and forgettable the way she had learned to do when attention got to be too much. The Gryffindors balled together and left her behind. 

///

“I thought, maybe…Neville--Neville liked me.”

The fireplace in the Finch-Fletchley’s ornate living room cast sunset colors across her and Justin and Susan’s faces, as well as the walls of the room and its dark, deep-of-night shadows. As they always did, they had put camp beds on the ground, with cushioning charms to make them feel like the most glorious mattresses, piling each with an almost obscene amount of feather-stuffed duvets and blankets. 

A ridiculously large pitcher of eggnog--actually, their second, spiked just as the magistrate had suggested with firewhiskey but likely far more than even he would have urged--sat on a tray that they had set on the apron of the fireplace, now nearly empty. Two pizza boxes were stacked beside it, though the slices had long gone cold and needed heating charms--though Hannah truly didn’t care, pizza was pizza. Susan stretched an arm to grab a cookie from the plate beside it, dunking the shortbread into her almost-finished glass of eggnog. She leaned back against Justin, in the valley between his pajama pant-clad legs; she had on a Cambridge sweatshirt of his while he wore a Hufflepuff t-shirt he had gotten on Diagon Alley a few months before.

(Of course, each time he wore it at uni, his dorm-mates thought it referred to some odd French club he was in during his time at that unknown but clearly elite academy in the Loire Valley; yes, it was so much easier to let them think he had been schooled the whole time in France, a deception that tickled Hannah greatly. 

Le Hufflepuff! )

In the background, one of the satellite TV’s stations played Christmas songs on an endless loop: I just want you for my own/More than you could ever know…

Hannah barely noticed it or them or anything, though; her friends had let her descend into silence a while ago, as she opened her mother’s well-worn copy of Emma , less reading than hunting down the lines that made her heart beat a bit harder (“If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more”; “Without music, life would be a blank to me”). She was unaware of how many times the other two glanced at each other, at the times they communicated the way Harry and Ginny had, wordlessly but significantly, or in whispered conversations while “making more eggnog” or “meeting the pizza guy” down at the door. Convenient pretenses. 

After a--fuck, a lot of cups of eggnog, Hannah’s attention shifted from her book to the fire; Susan and Justin’s conversation began to slow as they watched her, waited. Hannah pulled herself into a sit, setting the novel aside and finally, quietly, said what her best friends--for them, these two, not a tier, but a title, precious and earned--had been waiting for since the bloody damn fall:

“I thought, maybe…Neville--Neville liked me.” Hannah watched the fire eat through one of the logs; it was going to break into multiple pieces here soon, she figured. She was already bracing herself for the collapse, for its fall. “I started to--to feel it, before realizing it, earlier in the fall…then Anthony, being so bloody jealous, I started wondering…and with Neville coming ‘round so much for dinner…I started to think…or maybe hope…” She shook her head slowly. “But--it’s not--it’s not what I thought.

“I’m in the tier.” She frowned, finally shifting to face them. “No. There’s a tier that’s them . The six of them: Golden and Silver Trios both. Bonded beyond best friends though there’s not a word for it yet, so that’s what you gotta use. Then there’s this other tier of best friends--me, Dean, Seamus probably. Parvati. And--before--Colin and Lav, too. Maybe. I think--Nev’s heart is big enough for a whole ocean of best friends.”

“Like you.”

“No. It’s just you three who wanted to be in the tier. Which I get! Come on! I’m--too much , too sensitive. Too demanding. Too fragile and too--” The tears started to torrent out: “Now I get it, I’m wrong for him, I was so stupid to think that somebody like him could think I was worth it--but now get it. You know?”

“Hannah--”

“No, it’s okay, I get it. I get it. Really. It's okay,” she rushed, her teeth starting to chatter. Justin’s eyes darted to Susan’s in concern, and Susan shifted forward, trying to grab one of Hannah’s frantically gesturing hands. “He needs to find somebody who's right for him--and--and it's not me. And that’s fine! It’s okay! He’s so special, he needs somebody--he said, he needs somebody strong, and I’m--so pathetic and fragile,” Hannah sobbed, covering her eyes with her hand, as Susan had finally seized the other, gripping it tight and murmuring Hannah’s name in the hopes it would break through. “The girl he described, she’s not me. I think--I mean, it’ll be Luna, probably, eventually, she’s already part of their circle, their tier, she’s so strong and nothing really gets to her, she knows how to shake it off, that’s who he needs. Wants. It’s enough, to be someone he cares about--I just--I just--thought maybe, he--” she said, hiccuping in a breath. 

Her entire body felt like it was buckling: “Anthony never loved me, just the idea of me, I know that. I thought Neville might--have seen me, and wanted me--I feel so stupid--I’m so stupid--”

“Hannie,” Susan said, sniffling hard as she pulled Hannah in for a hard, long hug. Justin enfolded both of them in his arms, his fingers locking behind Hannah’s spine. “Oh, honey. You’re not stupid. I thought he lo--I thought he liked you, too.”

Susan looked at Justin. “I’m gonna kill him. That boy’s gonna wish Voldemort did get him.”

“Well…I wouldn’t go that far, but--a right prat, assuredly.”

Hannah wiped at her eyes. “Aunt Louise, and Aunt Rebecca--they said…they said if I wanted to stay past the holiday…Louise has the first draft of her latest novel in, and Bec said she needs to recharge and find new inspiration after her gallery showing, so--we could travel. Go to New York and Broadway …Bec’s best friend from Ilvermorny does divination in Rio de Janeiro, and I guess Gisele is always begging her to come visit, so we could go there, too? And, you know, the Leaky is a traditional British pub, of course, so Louise thought maybe we could look up in travel books what have been ranked as the best British-style pubs in the whole world and go to some, so I can see…you know, not what the competition is, exactly--”

“But you should, it’s important to know who you’re competing against so you can get better in all the ways you can control,” Susan broke in, nodding solemnly, and Hannah let out a teary laugh.

“We call it The Hermione Principle,” Justin said, cackling as Susan thumped a light punch against his chest. 

Hannah huffed out a giggle before continuing, “Well, I’d say--see what can inspire the Leaky. Because--with Tom’s gone, then the Leaky is mine…what inspires me? What do I want to create? What can I make the Leaky be, to make all of the Selwyns before me and all of the Abbotts who doubted Tom, my dad and my mom who didn’t ever want the Leaky for themselves or for me --how do I make everybody proud--”

She stopped short, looked at Justin and Susan with a slightly stunned look, the way she did after the Battle of Hogwarts, finding herself still alive. That of all of the people in the fight, Hannah Leigh “O.W.L. Idiot” Abbott had emerged as a soldier who had thrown herself again and again into the line of fire and emerged relatively whole. Even using some wicked, N.E.W.T.-level transfiguration hexes and casts that she had practiced with the D.A. that year in the Room of Requirement, fuck you very much, you bloody-ass flamingoes. 

Hannah stared at them. “--how do I make me proud?” 

Before Hannah could even finish her breath, she began to sob again, bones turning to rubber and ash. “It’s been a really hard few years,” she cried, crawling back into Susan’s open arms. “I think I just need to go away. It hurts too much here.”

“We know,” Justin murmured.

And Susan whispered in her ear, “Go.”

Chapter Text

Neville came out of the loo that was closest to the Wizengamot looking less green, though he gave what he must have assumed was a surreptitious swipe of his mouth then across the last of the cold sweat of his brow that had surfaced while he had been crouched in a stall..

Ginny put her hand on his back as Harry asked, “You okay?”

Despite the pallor, Neville looked far more alert, though his tone was still a little breathy: “I have never in my life stood up to her like I just did. I told her what I wanted even though she didn’t like it, right to her face!”

“Well. You also kinda did, extensively, in the courtroom, mate…”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t inches in front of her. Surrounded by all of her friends who were liable to beat me with their purses in her defense. And you weren’t in there to hex her if she--Granned. I--” His eyes widened. “I barely remember what I said in the hearing. I mean. I can barely feel my feet right now, but.” He blinked a few times, looking at the courtroom door in a battle between apprehension and awed pride. “I think I did good…I think…Gran and I might be good…”

He blinked again, his hands flexing. “Where’s Hannah? Wait, I mentioned Tom, did I upset her? Was it too soon? Is she okay?”

Harry looked confused, staring at Ginny and Hermione. “I don’t--remember seeing her. After the decision. Or--I didn’t look for her, I guess…”

“She…” Hermione gasped, a hand covering her mouth. “I forgot she was there. I was--I was just ecstatic about how it went, and I haven’t seen you in nearly two months,” Hermione said to Harry, her eyes tearing. “Oh, no.”

“Where’s Hannah,” Neville repeated, louder. Then his face went pale. “I…don’t really remember…anything from when I really started talking in the courtroom until--until using the loo. It’s all blurry, I…did I not see her? Did none of you see her? Did we just--walk away from her?”

Ginny was shaking her head slightly, in a horrible disbelief. “I totally forgot she was there, too.”

Neville stared at the three of them with the closest he had come in months to anger, before taking his wand hand and sweeping it in a slash, sending a nearby rubbish bin racing into the air and hitting a nearby wall with a horrible, startling crash that made the other three jump. He put the heels of his hands against his eyes and then crouched down, so low to the floor his knees nearly touched its marble. “I was gonna tell her. I was--starting to, in there--how could I not see her--”

“I can’t believe we did that.” Ginny was covering her own eyes with her laced-together hands. 

“Let’s go find her. She probably’s run to Ernie or Susan, right? The Leaky, maybe. Three of us, let’s split up,” Harry declared. “Nev, you go up to the lobby to intercept her if she’s heading home now.”

“The hearing ended ten minutes ago, she’s not strolling out now. Besides, there’s no way she went to Ernie, whose desk is near yours.” Ginny shook her head, her hands scooted slightly up to rest on her brow bone. “And she wouldn’t go to the Leaky, she and Suz are like you and Ron and Hermione, all joined at the hip, you know they totally made an agreement to meet up. And assuming that’s true, not only is the MLE locked down so you can’t just waltz into the justices’ private offices, there is zero universe Susan doesn’t immediately take her to Justin so she can have a cry in private--and I have no clue where he lives in London, except that only rich people live there, which narrows it down to what, half the boroughs? But wait, maybe he’s still up at Cambridge, wherever he lives up there.” Ginny shook her head. “We walked away from her, and now she’s gone to Justin’s where he and Susan are currently stitching voodoo dolls of the four of us, and you know what? I’ll hand them the bloody pins. Fair play.”

Neville stared up at them, shaking his head. “I was gonna tell her. Tonight, after dinner. Fuck.” Just the sound of that hard of a swear from Neville, the sheer fact of it, and the misery of it made Harry’s eyes widen, and he covered his face, too. 

Hermione was turning in a slow circle, trying to find her center. “It’s okay. We’ll figure this out. We can fix this. We’ll figure it out.” Harry peeked at her, gave her a sharp look--almost a warning, before she made a promise she couldn’t keep. She gave Harry a suddenly firm look, drying her eyes. “We’ll fix this. We will. It’s gonna be okay in the end.”

As again, so softly, with Neville’s face directed to the floor, where the old stone sucked up the volume of his words: “I was gonna tell her.”

///

Justin and Susan were playing one of their favorite games when there was a group sleepover: How Quiet Can You Be? It was such a favorite in part because it didn’t matter who technically won, victory was always shared in the end. He was grinning as his eyes fluttered closed, one hand tucked behind his head, the other stretched long under the covers to reach her head and caressing his fingers through her hair, when a tapping at the window distracted him.

“Oh, dear…” He lifted the blanket. “Susie. You better stop, Ron Weasley’s little owl is at the window.”

She scrambled back up and then reached for her glasses to see the owl better. Setting her jaw in a hard line, she marched over to meet it, ignoring the sleeping and snoring Hannah sprawled in the camp bed closest to the fireplace. She opened the window to take the owl’s scroll from its leg. “Thank you, Pig. Wait here, we’ll have a reply in a moment.”

The two of them crept to the hallway, then to the kitchen where Susan unrolled the note. She rolled her eyes. “It’s from Ginny, actually: ‘Justin and Susan: Well, fuck. We royally stepped in it. Can we talk? Ernie’s coming over once his shift ends. I hope this is enough, but we are prepared to grovel. xx Ginny’.”

She practically threw the scroll down on the counter. “Bloody Gryffindors. Rushing further into a mess as usual…I mean, enlisting Ernie? Patience of a bludger, that lot. When you have a group of them all together with no balance from the other houses, it creates a stupidity loop. We should write back and tell them exactly where to stuff it!”

“Uh huh.”

“What.” 

“I mean--yes. Yes. No doubt. They all need to learn to count to three before doing. On the other hand: Does she like him any less? Do we like him any less?”

“I know. I know, I do. I just need to release a bit,” she sighed, putting her fist against his chest and then stretching it open, stroking over the thickening patch of hair there. “Of course, we do…we need to be fair.” She paused. “Wankers.”

“Besides, do you really want to let Ernie do this alone? We work best in balance.”

“Very true…” Susan sighed. “We can leave a note for Hannie in case she wakes up, tell her that…Ern got blasted after work with Seamus at the Hog’s Head, Aberforth told us to come retrieve him, et cetera, et cetera. I want her thinking only about her trip and how much fun she’s going to have, get her away. Get her swimming in maple syrup, go have a top adventure and get a break, the way that Luna has. I do hope they go to Brazil, Hannah deserves a good romp with a cute surfer.”

“A Muggle. Who doesn’t speak English.”

“I always think it’s better when boys speak less.” Susan waggled her head at him, laughing as he tickled her side before he found a pen and flipped over the parchment to write a reply.

Ginny (and everyone else reading over your shoulder):

Writing back and forth like this is utterly stupid, and I hope the Muggle-fluent among you can yet again stress how the telephone is a remarkable thing we all must find a way to embrace. Or if I may put it bluntly: Harry, for the love of queen and country, get a bloody line installed already. Just confound the worker after they do their job. It’s nearly a new century, can we start to act like it, please? 

That said: the two of us are willing to come over, please give us fifteen minutes to freshen up. Hannah is asleep, and we are loathe to wake her, so if there was a hope that she’d join, reset expectations. However, Susan and I look forward to arriving shortly to open a diplomatic channel between us.

Groveling is appreciated, if not encouraged.

J & S

///

One one side of the kitchen table at Grimmauld Place, Ginny, Harry, Hermione, and Ron sat in a row. Her face was intense; his was chagrined; hers was a merry-go-round of morose and determined and guilty and focused; his was utterly and wholly bemused. On the opposite bench, Susan, Justin, and Ernie stared back: Justin neutral to balance out Ernie’s skeptical expression and the cold and formidable face of Susan Amelia Bones, such a mirror of her late aunt’s expression that Harry swallowed hard. 

The room was silent, save the soft dull sound of bone against wood from Neville, seated at the head, banging his forehead on the table in an irregular punishing thump. 

“Remind me where Luna is?” Justin asked.

“On a beach in the Azores, drinking mai tais and talking to parrots that may or may not have the ability to talk back. We’re not entirely sure. But I want to live in a world where it’s true,” Ron said.

“I wanna live in a world where I’m a beach getting right pissed to the point of hallucination, period, personally,” an Irish-accented voice announced from the other side of the room. 

There was a pop, a fizz, and the sound of a bottle cap hitting the stone floor; the groups on the benches turned to the doorway where Seamus and Dean were sitting down on the steps to the kitchen, drinks in hand.

“I don’t know what is going on here, but watching this is gonna be far more fun than hitting up Tiger Tiger,” Dean said, gesturing at them and clinking his bottle of Stella against Seamus’s can of Guinness. 

Neville kept thumping his head, an erratic metronome under their conversation.

“Actually, just to set the scene, what is going on, exactly?” Seamus asked. “I mean, we can put it together from context clues eventually, I’m sure, but I did tie one on at the Leaky before getting here, so I’m not above being a bit lazy with a catch-up, yeah?”

“Well, that’s a good transition, isn’t it?” Susan said, narrowing her eyes at the four opposite the table, though she started by shooting Neville (or more precisely, the top of his head) a withering look. “The Leaky and all. Since Neville absolutely cocked it up with Hannah, courtesy of these geniuses.”

“Hey, whoa,” Ron said, holding up his hands. “Leave me out of it, I was busy interviewing a particularly dodgy Bulgarian.”

“Wait, I heard you were epic at the hearing, big speech, had everybody in tears, incredibly moving, won the day and all that. Hell, it’s already such legend that Kingsley was saying we should get you out doing more public speaking around the Ministry reforms,” Dean added to Neville’s head before sipping his beer. 

Neville finally raised his head, looking at Dean in horror. “This day just keeps getting worse and worse,” he whispered before burying his face back in his arms.

“Funny you say that, Dean,” Susan said, turning so that she was seated sideways, her back towards Justin and Neville, “because Ern and I were saying something similar--it was all around the MLE offices in minutes, ‘Did you hear about the Longbottom hearing in Goatleaf’s court,’ everyone was saying, ‘Oh, Neville was an utter legend, stood up to that bossy Augusta, then delivered a brilliant reminder about love and the purpose of everything’--oops, what’s this, here comes Hannah to my desk in tears because she thought that, in that speech, Neville was saying that she was special to him…”

“Yet he and those three walked away without even a glance in her direction, leaving her all alone in the chamber,” Ernie finished. “So, you know, she got her hopes up just to be hexed in the chest squarely into the friend zone.”

“Oof,” Seamus and Dean hissed, both recoiling and exchanging looks before they took long drinks from their beers.

“It was on accident,” Harry and Ginny and Hermione said, their voices overlapping. 

Neville thumped his head on the table again, letting out a creaky moan of misery.

“We don’t blame you, Nev--”

“I blame myself,” he said miserably. 

“--he had just gotten hit with the bludger that is the Wizengamot,” Justin added.

“We absolutely blame them,” Susan added, glaring at the four across the table.

“Except me! I was not there,” Ron said loudly.

“Cheers, Ron, we’ll put it on a plaque.” 

“It’s my fault,” Hermione burst out. When Susan eyed her, Hermione looked back miserably. “Nev was just spinning--I think he’d have walked into traffic at that moment were there doors to the street, he was so utterly spent from the hearing, and he still had to walk right over and talk to his grandmother. And Harry and Ginny hadn’t been together proper in person in months--you know what that’s like, to finally get to be with your one again,” she said to Susan and Justin in a bit of a challenge, and they glanced at each other before he nodded, him resting his elbows on the table, chin falling on the heels of his hands as he listened to Hermione. “The tunnel vision of it. It’s wonderful, but it’s--quite limiting. And I felt it, too, all I cared about was being prepared for the hearing and--and seeing Ron.”

He wrapped an arm protectively around her as Hermione’s face darkened miserably. “And at the start of the hearing, I didn’t even notice Hannah at first. So. I had already, reflexively erased her. This is all because of me.”

“Nice try, Granger, but you can’t hog all the credit,” Ginny said. “All of us lost the house points on this one.”

Parvati appeared behind Seamus and Dean. “Are we lurking?” she asked them before plopping down between them, calling out a summoning spell for her own bottle of beer. 

“Wait--are you living here, too?” Ernie asked.

“Oh, absolutely not. It’d be like living in some American frat house. The boy funk here alone…no .”

“She’s pulled Lee,” Ron said with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Excuse me, Lee pulled me. Who’s the catch?” Parvati scoffed, holding up her fist and Dean bumped it, nodding solemnly, before pointing at her with both hands.

Ginny gave Harry an excited look. “You didn’t tell me!”

“I only found out last week--I was gonna tell you in person, this was too fun to put in an owl post.”

“Wait, is Lee coming down?” Neville said, looking panicked, jerking his head up towards the ceiling.

“Oh. No. He needs…recharge time,” Parvati said with a too-innocent, too-pleased smile, this time bumping fists with Seamus. “So what’s going on? Are we still talking about the hearing?” Her eyes went wide as she took in the Hufflepuffs. “Ooooh, no no no, I know what you’re talking about!” She waggled a finger at Neville. “It’s the part about Hannah!”

Neville’s eyes bugged out. “The--part--”

“Oh, yeah. Michael totally told Lisa, and Padma and Lisa and Morag had dinner, and so when I saw Padma before coming over here, she told me.” She took a quick sip of her beer. “For the record, Lisa broke things off ten percent ‘cause you always smelled like dirt which is not sexy and with which I totally agree and personally, for me, that was the number one reason why I didn’t want to ever really date you…so anyway, that was ten percent. Then sixty percent was the whole ‘I’d rather not fear death when meeting a boyfriend for a pint’-thing, and then…thirty percent was seeing how you stared at Hannah at Terry’s party. Which is also why, of course, Ant’s got your face on a dartboard, mate,” Parvati said cheerfully.

“Has this just been, like, your best day ever, with all of the gossip crashing down?” Ginny asked Parvati.

“Oh, no doubt. Red-letter day. Even better than the first time they let us trainee Unspeakables manipulate the human heart in the Love Laboratory. I cannot wait to get an update on Ant’s take on today. The Ravenclaws are getting together for a private holiday piss-up at Terry's place in Brighton tomorrow night, I am half-thinking I bribe Padma and go pretending to be her, this is going to be too good to miss!”

“For the record,” Ernie piped up, holding up a finger. “We really don’t care about Nev bothering Anthony.”

“We actually see it as a point in your favor,” Susan said, getting up to survey the row of liquor bottles on the nearby counter. 

Hermione frowned. “I thought you and Anthony were mates,” she said to Justin. She gestured at Neville. “We figured all along, you were all pleased at them being together.”

“Yeah, so the fact you three were so down on it at Terry’s party was kinda a shock to me,” Dean finished. 

Justin grit his teeth, muscling himself to keep his temper flat; Ernie watched him in trepidation--in a move that made the Gryffindors raise their eyebrows, Susan ran her hand over his back, reaching for his hand. The anger flashing in his eyes faded somewhat, though when he spoke, there was an edge to it. “I feel like I have to say this every bloody time: Listen, Ant’s my friend, legitimately my good friend, but I never wanted him dating Hannah. Never! And if I had been around last year, I woudda stopped it. Here’s my problem with Anthony, right? He’s just like her mum, always found ways to make her feel small and stupid since they’re just so smart and cool and know everything. And then he--” Justin stopped, his face contorting. 

“Oh, no, come out with it, didn’t Nev teach us today that friends talk about difficult things with each other?” Ginny made a beckoning motion with her hand, fixing him with a hard look. “What.”

Justin glanced at Susan, her face furious. He gritted his teeth and exhaled before saying, “Hannah loses all that weight after her mum’s death, so she’s ‘proper fit now,’ right?” he said bitterly, making air quotes. “Yeah. So. How do you think Ant would treat his girlfriend if that weight ever came back, even just a bit of it?”

Seamus winced, and Ron’s face wrinkled in distaste. “Dick.”

“‘Han, do you really need that big a piece of cake.’” Harry blinked, his cheeks going a little red. “I heard him say that at Terry’s party, I…I dunno what I thought, or maybe I didn’t--didn’t want to…but I heard him say that.”

Susan closed her eyes. “Just like the thing when we had him over for my pasta bake and she went for more--she was so stressed last year, he got used to her not eating, now he gets--”

Neville’s head was still bowed. He had lifted himself up from the table a bit ago; he was staring at his left hand, running his thumb over the soft well of his palm, his touch growing even more gentle as he brushed over his love line, the spot where, years before, a wrapper had been stuck… When he spoke, his volume was snow-soft yet voice pure ice: “You better…make sure I don’t see him for a while. I’m--not kidding. Please. Just. Keep him away from me. I don’t--think…I’ll not be able to do something that’ll get me fired.”

“Yeah, we know what you’re capable of, killer,” Dean said, giving him a crooked smile. He elbowed Seamus. “D’ja hear that part? Neville went on the record about Greyback.”

“Mate,” Seamus whistled, looking impressed.

“Good for you, Nev,” Parvati said, her voice hard.

“That’s what I think, too,” Ginny added, exchanging a heavy look with Ron. 

Ron fixed Neville with a level gaze. “You know what I think. You merely beat me to it,” he said simply, and the two of them held each other’s eyes for a moment before flickering small nods, Ron reaching for his pint of mead and downing half of it in a quick go before switching to fire whiskey. 

Ginny cleared her throat. “So. Ant’s a shit-heel boyfriend for Hannah, never again. Glad we can all get on the same page in cutting off any attempts at them doing Round Three.”

Neville groaned, rubbing at his face with a hard hand. Then he dropped it to the table, starting to shake his head. “No. No, wait. I--” Neville’s gaze was fixed on the nearest set of salt and pepper shakers, one of a six-piece set that Hermione had bought for Ron, each of them different chess pieces. The king and queen set were closest to him, and he reached out for the former, toying with it. “I--I think it’s--like, important for me to…”

He rotated the king salt grinder, staring at it, his face going soft. “Hannah’s always been so pretty. I mean--” He gestured at his head with a finger, a little smile on his face as he looked at the others, even Seamus and Dean at the end of the room. “Her plaits, they’ve so unusual, the way they are like ridges? There’s a word for it--”

“Dutch braids,” Ginny supplied, and Hermione and Parvati nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah. I thought that way back in our first year, how neat they were since I hadn’t ever really seen plaits like that, the other girls had the French braids that are flat against their head--I dunno, I just always noticed her. Her and those braids…

“And then, I started to notice that she has these two different blushes, the shapes and the shades of pink are different, and it’s so pretty . The one when she’s embarrassed or bad shy or--it’s the blush she gets when she’s not comfortable or emotional, it’s like this perfect circle that takes up the whole cheek, and it’s a really deep flush--it’s like ranunculus blossoms. But--her happy blush, her good shy blush, that’s up on her cheekbones more then spreads down, that is--like it’s eerie, how much it looks like a rose. That blush, it starts as a lighter pink, so if she’s blushing in both ways, you can tell. If you’re looking.”

“I started looking,” he added, his eyes meeting Ginny and Hermione’s eyes--then dared to look down the line of Hufflepuffs before fixing his gaze back at the shakers. His own face pinked. “With the ranunculus and rose blushes, and then her eyes are hydrangea blue--her whole face is a garden. I--I like that,” he trailed off, too bashful to be barely audible, his head ducking down as he played with the pepper shaker again.

Ginny stared at him, all of her muscles twitching like she was barely restraining herself from leaping up to hold him. Her head jerked towards the Hufflepuffs. “I swear, on my wand and the dragon who died for its core, we’re getting him and Hannah together. Damn it.”

“That was so sweet, Nev,” Hermione added in a tearful whisper, beaming at him, making the flush on his face spread down to his neck, though he smiled, still fussing with the shakers and looking down.

Susan’s lips kneaded as she thought for a moment. Then she sighed. “Nev? Han could spend all day discussing how brilliant she thinks you are. She’s practically got your name lit up in fireworks.”

“And she stares at you in a way she certainly doesn’t with us,” Justin pointed out, and Ernie nodded sagely. Neville looked hopeful as Justin added, “You don’t cry the way she did over you tonight if you’re not totally mad for the other.”

“Alright, so. Wha’do we do to fix up Nev and the blushy Hufflepuff of his dreams,” Ron declared, putting his free hand on the table. 

“Oh my god. It’s like The Parent Trap, but with Neville and Hannah,” Parvati squealed.

“My sisters have watched that so many damn times,” Dean sighed. He paused. “But that’s a good analogy.”

“I don’t know what that means, and it honestly sounds kinda dangerous, traps for parents,” Ron said uncertainly, “at the very least, we certainly don’t have them in the magical world. Let’s just focus on a plan, okay? Han gets back from Canada, when, after the new year?”

“Weeeelll…that’s the thing.” Justin and Susan exchanged a look and then she leaned into Ernie to whisper in his ear.

“March?” Ernie bellowed, rearing back. 

Neville looked horrified, sinking back in his chair. “Wait. Hannah’s going to be gone for over two months?”

“Actually, when we called them from my place about Hannah staying for longer, her aunts started trying to get her to stay to Easter--”

“Three months?!”

“--or even to the summer--Nev, breathe, Hannah immediately told them no on that one, said it wasn't fair to her managers. She’s not saying no to Easter, but she was only comfortable committing to March. As of last night.”

Neville’s face was nearly gray as he buried it in his hands. “I’ve driven her to leave the country.”

“Don’t pull a Hermione and take more credit than you should--this is…it’s Tom, it’s the Battle and everybody we lost, it’s her mum, it’s--that year. The Carrows and the prefect logs thing. It’s Anthony because she did love him. It’s--you know, whatever, it’s that…and now her heart is broken from you, so. Time to head off and hug a moose and play hockey, you know, Canadian things,” Susan said with a shrug. “And heal.”

“The thing with her mum--” Dean asked with a bit of a frown. “Did they ever identify, let alone arrest who did it?”

“Actually, I think it’s in my cold case stack,” Seamus said, squinting in thought. “The Bobbin Apothecary Attack, right? It’s been inactive since--oh boy, since Tonks went into hiding last year, all of her non-urgent investigations got pushed…and we’ve had so much active shite, I haven’t started on any of those yet.”

“Can I come by and look at that?” 

“You gonna solve the murder to win the girl, Nev?”

Neville shook his head. “It’s not to ‘win the girl,’ it’s because it’s been two and a half years, and she doesn’t know. If we can try to find out who killed her mum and a more concrete reason as to why…she deserves that. All of us would.”

Susan’s head had dipped. She sighed, her shoulders sagging. “When the Order of the Phoenix was able to tell us how Voldemort killed Auntie Amelia and what motivated it so we didn’t have to wonder anymore…it’s not easy, but it lifts something off of you, at least. To not torture yourself wondering. So. No matter why? If you--could get her any information…I think it would mean a lot.” 

She let out a sigh, glancing from Ernie to Justin. “Alright, fine, what’s our plan for getting Nev and Hannah together.”

Harry looked a bit bewildered. “Isn’t it…just you three telling her that Nev likes her, so once she gets back from Canada, they just…go for it?”

“No offense, mate, but it’s not our job to fix your mess,” Ernie said, crossing his arms. “We’re of the opinion that her getting away for a while means getting away, that she should go clear her head and her heart--”

“With whatever and whomever that form takes,” Susan interjected, raising an eyebrow at Neville. “I’m partial to some nice, little fling who calls her sweet words in whatever his native language is and then leaves with renewed strength, blah blah blah, like in How Stellaluna Got Her Charms Back.”

“I love that book,” Parvati sighed happily, nodding in agreement. 

Ernie glanced at the girls and then finished, “Plus it’s not that simple as Hannah has a bad habit of ignoring us when we try to tell her positive things about herself or what have you.”

“Further, she thinks she’s pathetic and too fragile and too, quote, 'much,' and you deserve a girl who's better and stronger than her,” Justin told Neville bluntly. “That was her takeaway from the hearing. So. This is a larger repair job that can't come from just us saying that you passed Ern a note in the morning Auror assembly.” Neville’s mouth opened, and his body sagged a bit, trying to absorb the impact of his heart breaking, and Justin gave him a sympathetic curl of a smile. “I know. I know. Welcome to life with Hannah Abbott. Half of it is spent trying to get her to stop her punching herself in her own bloody face.”

“I mean, that’s the heart of it,” Ron said, his eyes drifting to the side. Idly, he was playing with another one of the chess shaker sets, the bishop and the pawn. He slid the bishop forward. “That Nev has the romantic swagger and confidence of an uncooked prawn and we need him to get up to--” He looked at his sister and then Dean. “Well...”

“We’re charisma factories, we can’t help it,” Ginny said casually.

“You could, a little,” Harry suggested.

“Nah,” Dean said, shaking his head.

“Nice,” Parvati told him with a smirk. “Wait! Why wasn’t I on there!”

“Or, y’know…” Seamus pointed at himself.

“Or?” Harry tapped his own chest.

“I’m sorry, did that really come from the dude whose big pick up line last year was ‘oi, fancy a smash?’” Ginny said to Seamus, raising her eyebrow. 

“And Harry, I’m sorry, after Cho…no. Put your hand down. You got lucky with Gin,” Hermione winced.

“Deeply.”

“Thanks, Dean, appreciate the commentary,” Harry said with a sarcastic thumbs up.

“What we want,” Ron said loudly, “is just for Nev to--like, okay, for example, Neville, mate, between Han and Ant calling it off last month and now, how many times did you think about just going in and kissing her?”

Neville squirmed for a moment before grimacing. His eyes virtually closed in a wince, he admitted in a small voice, “Just…every time I had dinner over there and we were saying goodnight.”

Justin slapped his forehead with his palm; the rest of the room rippled with groans.

“Neville. That’s--” Seamus’s eyes moved rapidly. “What, thirty times?”

“I mean--at least. Sometimes I went for lunches...” Neville ducked his head, bashful. “When I knew Hannah was working. So…then, too.”

I should give him the book, Ron mouthed to Harry.

He is not ready for the book, Harry replied, sharply shaking his head. 

“Okay, can makeovers be a part of this, too?” Parvati said, raising her hand. “Like. Hannah dresses like she’s a servant at some 1970s hippie commune in California or whatever, with those blouses and the over-commitment to baggy linen pants…and I’ve wanted to burn your sweater vests going on five years now, Nev,” she added, eyeing his top. Neville clutched at it, looking between her and it in confusion. “I’ll throw in Susan and Hermione just for fun.”

“Wait, what’s wrong with me!” Susan asked, though Hermione’s head tilted just a fraction in interest. 

“You have a remarkable commitment to the obedient schoolgirl look, with this constant plaid skirt-tights thing, but maybe you should consider seeing other people, if by people you mean clothes,” Parvati said with a curl of her lip.

“The tights are hot, ignore her,” Justin told Susan under his breath.

Ron squinted at Parvati. “We’ll put that in the ‘soon’ pile. We need to focus on what the immediate moves are to get us--well, I mean, think about this in terms of what our end goal is,” he said. “Our end goal is getting Nev and Hannah together--wait, actually, our end goal is Han and Nev so blissfully in love that she never has us pay for drinks at the Leaky ever again.”

“I support your love so deeply,” Harry said solemnly to Neville, placing a hand on his heart, earning a room of laughter in return. 

“To your love! And free firewhiskeys for life!” Seamus cheered, and Dean and Ginny raised their drinks, laughing, too. 

“Okay, that’s the goal, but we have to consider the greatest obstacle to it, too, as we make a plan. To me the issue is--well, Nev, your confidence as a romantic lead is not helping matters, but I worry about Hannah. Her self-esteem. Because most--not all, but most--people would have just gotten up and followed us, not felt like they were doing something wrong or butting in. So that begs the question for me--Nev. You used to…run yourself down something awful. It was--hard to hear at times.” Hermione glanced at Hannah’s best friends. “I’m sure…that’s how it is with Han. Justin just said--about the punching--”

“She hates herself,” Ernie said simply. “To love Hannah is to--not just love her, but battle to get her to hear it over whatever is in her head.”

“Her mother’s voice,” Justin murmured to Susan, barely audible, but Neville’s eyes snapped up, watching them close.

“Well. Over the past two years…Nev’s grown through that rock-bottom self-worth, at least, though it's not great by any means. You do not see yourself the way the rest of us do--” Almost in unison, each of the Gryffindors started shaking their heads.

“Even we are more comfortable with how we’re considered heroes, and we’re barely comfortable with that at all,” Ron interjected, gesturing between himself and Harry.

“What are you talking about, you do just fine embracing the spotlight, Ronniekins.”

“Gin, I want you to remember this moment ‘cause when I hex your hair off sometime in the near future, this is the reason.”

“Ha! You’re cute, when you think you can out-duel me. It’s like watching a garden gnome face off against Crookshanks.”

“See, this is why you should only have one kid,” Harry said to Hermione who bobbed her head thoughtfully before waving her hand. 

Loudly, Hermione said, “Anyway . I think…first and foremost? For Operation Love here? We need to help--not get her there, that's an internal task she has to drive, but help--Hannah get…to be easier on herself. Otherwise, I think she’ll find ways to blow things up since she doesn’t think she ‘deserves’ Nev.”

“But--I’m the one who doesn’t deserve--”

“Deserve Hannah, yeah, yeah, god, you two are like some really twisted Gift of the Magi,” Dean marveled, cracking open another beer.

“It’s like they are in a war of Who Can Care About Themself Less,” Parvati said, shaking her head. “Everybody wins, but--do they, really?” Parvati leaned in, her finger rigid as she pointed at Neville. “And this, this, is why we were only friends with benefits last year. Lav framed it best for me--on one hand, you’d have lavished me with flowers and attention and likely gifts, and that’s grand and deserved, but I’d have absolutely brained you within seventy-two hours with this whole…low-rent Hugh Grant-stammering, ‘oh I wear glasses so I’m not hot’ buggery. I don’t have the patience to find that charming more than once. Hannah? She’ll find that to be the most scorching of foreplay your whole lives, I’m quite certain.”

She clapped her hands. “Can we get back to when the makeovers start. Speaking of…” She peered at Harry. “Have you considered new glasses…”

“Okay, I think we’re good,” Harry said loudly. “We need to brainstorm on how to help Hannah punch outward, not inward, and Nev to be prepared to seize a damn moment and make a play for the girl and not blow off thirty-plus opportunities, say. And figure out how we lay the groundwork while Han’s with her family to go full-speed with the plan on her return.”

“It’s like we’re planning a heist or something,” Seamus grinned.

“A heist of the heart, awww,” Parvati cooed, and Ginny laughed. 

“Anyway. We’ll circle back after the new year, have another scheme meeting and really start to lay out a plan, great, fine, Gin? Let’s go. Before Parvati threatens to burn my stuff,” Harry added, touching his glasses defensively. 

“I mean, a nice tortoiseshell wouldn’t be terrible… ” Ginny said, barely able to contain her grin. She held up her hands. “Wait, wait--there’s--one thing before we call it a night.” Ginny looked around the room and then at Neville. “This might not be…simple. Or quick. It might be! Maybe Hannah spins out of the portkey in March and runs right to you and snogs your face off, Nev. But it--”

“It could be next year until the mistletoe,” Justin finished. “Are you okay with--waiting that long, if that’s what it takes to get you both good to go? That’s a long time to wait for someone. I mean, we think she’s worth it…”

“You got single girls all over magical Britain hoping to shoot their shot with you, Nev,” Dean pointed out, leaning back against the steps, watching him. “I kinda feel like--if you say yes to Operation-slash-Heist Parent Trap of Love--we should really workshop this title--”

“Muggles just set those for their folks? Why?” Ron whispered to Hermione, and she waved him off. 

“--you’re in for, like Justin said, like six months or a year, whatever, or else…I dunno. But. Otherwise it feels kinda icky to Hannah,” Dean finished.

“And we’ll get it, if you meet somebody else--well, I will and likely Justin--Susan won’t--”

“Absolutely not, and you should avoid the Leaky but also the Wizengamot for a long time if you drop out of this because you meet some chippie…”

“See, this is why Suz and Hermione are gonna be best work friends at the Ministry, the two of them have zero hesitation manipulating systems to do vengeance but everybody thinks they’re such rule-followers, it’s the perfect smokescreen. I gotta tell Bill at dinner tomorrow, that’s such a him move,” Ginny said admiringly to Harry.

“Do you know…” Neville smiled slightly down at his hands. He was touching his palm again before looking up with a strangely crooked, apologetic and wry smile. “Do you know I outscored everybody else on the Herbology O.W.L.s by like…ten points?”

Ernie looked stricken, meeting Hermione’s similarly stunned look. 

“Ten?” she choked out. “How did…” She looked at Harry, a bit dazed. “Harry outstripped us all in D.A.D.A. and was given the only O, how…”

Neville shrugged slowly. “Professor Sprout thought the idea of only allowing a single student to be in the O tier was unsporting and ‘vaguely capitalist,’ so years ago, when they were setting the exam curves, she made sure that at least five percent of us got top marks. The fact I blasted out the top shouldn’t mean that others weren’t also outstanding. It’s all a matter of degree. The point, though--” That odd smile on his face became more clear: it was so lopsided because the idea of talking highly about himself was so foreign to his face. “--is that the rest of you lot with Os, you all were missing kind of…the larger picture part in the final section of the theory exam--well, most of you, Hannah told me that she ran out of time on the written exam and lost points on the final question because of it, so…maybe it’s ironic that she and I got this part right…” 

His face was a deep rose shade as his eyes briefly scanned the room. “Herbology is about the process of growth as much as the end result of it--like, think of a mandrake, yeah? Ostensibly, the goal is to get them to maturation and use them in antidotes and restoration…but the value of the mandrake isn’t defined by just that destination, it’s in merely existing, watching it along the way. Even when you desperately need to make a potion to save people,” Neville said, looking at Justin and Hermione. “We graft on our need for utility and let that define the plant when…it gets to matter whether or not we get what we want out of it. You have to find the meaning--because it’s not waiting for the plant to get to the stage you want it to be in for whatever you are using it for or want to enjoy it the most in. It matters every step along the way.”

Neville got up from the table. “Whether it’s in two months or two years when I get to make my big move…it’s fine. I won’t be waiting for her. I’ll be lucky enough to be watching her grow.” He made an awkward dip of his head. “I hope she thinks the same.”

Susan sighed. “Damn it. He is really good at the speeches.”

Chapter Text

Friday, 18 December

Dear Nev,

I know I already sent you a Christmas card, but this second card was just to hide this longer letter :) 

I truly hope Ernie is able to get this to you before Christmas proper—I want to say straight away an apology for neither coming and telling you this in person (because my portkey to Toronto was scheduled wicked early the morning after your hearing; they are so much cheaper when you get them prior to 9AM) and not accompanying this with your Christmas gift! That, though it is because I know what I want to gift you, but it’ll be from my travels. In the Muggle world, they have this term: “spoilers,” for when you are talking about, say, a book or a program on the telly or a movie and you reveal the ending. I usually hate spoilers--Justin enjoys them, he’s so odd!--but I feel like I should let you know: spoiler! It’s because we’re going to South America for six weeks (!!!!!), and there are a few seedlings I already cannot wait to bring back for you. So: please know that you and I will have a happy belated Christmas in a few months, upon my return. 

Oh, and another apology: My mother always said that letters from me were unbearably rambly. I just have so many thoughts, and they all always seem to be connected. At least, in my head, they are connected. I used to think that everybody’s heads were like this, but Mum told me absolutely not, Hannah, and it’s me not being disciplined enough to stop thoughts from crashing together…though I haven’t really found a lasting solution to reign in how much I want to use dashes and parentheses and ellipses, let alone how long awfully long and twisty my sentences can be. so I know that can be really annoying and hard to follow. It’s why I actually don’t like to owl much since I know I’m a very, very difficult pen pal! :) However, I promise that I’ll take a million photos (Muggle and magical) and try to keep tons of notes in a journal so once I return, I can tell you all about it!!

You had to go and talk to your gran after the hearing, so I wasn’t able to tell you this really important thing (and I hope that went well--I’m sure it did, she seemed to be really touched by some of the things you said--like she was actually listening the way the magistrate said she needed to <3) (oh and you better not feel bad about not catching me after it was done, okay?? You looked like you had just been pounded with a bludger, Nev, I wish I could have taken a photo so you could see how weird and out of it you looked. So. Don’t even!!!! :D). Remember how I said you were our North Star? You always were so true and honest and reminded us about why . Watching you talk, just pulling words right out of the bottom of your heart, without any--any fear , it was stunning. Like literally, I felt like I couldn’t really move. Like spellbinding. I feel a lot of times that it’s a bad thing that I’m so emotional (how very Abbott of me ;D!), and I would wish to be better and smarter and stop being all crying and soft. But--you let your emotions lead, you do it all the time, and…it’s not just a good thing, it’s the best thing. Leading with your heart doesn’t mean it ever has to be hardened--keeping ourselves soft can give us our greatest strengths.

(I wrote that in my journal so I can think about it during our plane ride: Louise and Bec are kicking off our adventures with a three-week trip in Patagonia and seeing Incan ruins in Peru through a Muggle travel tour agency called “Gay and Away.” Louise thinks I’ll be the only straight person--fine, whatever--and the only person under 40 [AHHH! It’s going to be just like that dinner after the funeral with Louise and Bec and Hestia and Kingsley where they spent an hour talking about MORTGAGES and investing in gold or the goblin markets and I was so bored I fell asleep?? THREE WEEKS OF THIS WITH OLD PEOPLE!!! D:]. Anyway, we’ll be on a plane for like a full day so I’ll have lots of time to mull over it. That and re-read Pride and Prejudice! I love that book, though I always get so stressed out that it won’t end happy this time.)

Right now, we’re planning on going from there to visit Bec’s old friend in Brazil, then off to Cancun so Bec can work with a local artist on a mosaic for the new astronomy center there. After that--I AM SO EXCITED, we are going to New York City!!!! :) Louise found these magical bartending classes so we’re going to be there for a few weeks so I can learn to be really snazzy as a bartender, like in the movies! (I know you don’t know what that means…remind me, when I get back RIGHT AWAY we need to take you to the movies. It’s time, Nev. It’s time you learned. Anyway, after that, back to Canada--I think I’ll come home on Good Friday so I can see the Hogwarts people for the holiday weekend. Three months sounds like a long time, but we have so much planned…I feel like it’ll race by :D 

Anyway, back to what I was saying about the hearing? I just wanted you to know, too, that what you said about me, making things easier with your parents…well, you made it easier with Tom since I knew you knew what it’s like. Then again, you always make everything better :) You know, I figured that for the rest of my life, it would just be me and Susan and Justin and Ern, and I would have never ever guessed that a random chat with that nice Gryffindor from the D.A. who actually appreciated plants the way they should be would lead to me writing you a giant letter because you’re absolutely my best friend. I’m so so so so honored to be in your tier <3 

I still really wish you like -liked me, though Sorry, I sneezed!! D:

Every time I see the North Star this whole trip, I’ll think of you :)

Love, your best friend,

Hannah

///

22 December, 9PM

H—

Neville begged me to write you via e-mail to reply to your letter. I am not exaggerating. It was begging. Considering that you all said he didn’t beg Voldemort for his life, I hope you understand why I was moved enough to assist in him reaching you. Though as a rule, I’m not about to tell a war hero no; he might be useful if Voldemort’s secret cousin or child or evil pet suddenly appears, seeking vengeance. 

A few notes:

• Please don’t tell Susan I let him write you. She lectured everybody saying that you needed space to work out your grief around your mum and Tom and last year and general feelings about your future and all. Further, as you know, she is not very fond of Neville at the moment (unfairly! I know, but--always best to let Susan be in her feelings knowing that she only acts once they have passed, one of her most lovely qualities. That being said, she is very much in those feelings now). Thus, she will absolutely kill me if she finds out. She’s already so stressed that she has to fly on an airplane, aka “the metal death tube,” to Geneva for the F-F ski trip. On top of her dismay at how her and my careers likely require long-distance stints again, her stress with scaffolding Kingsley’s reforms in the wizarding judiciary, and also preparing to pretend to be a Muggle with my extended family...well. Let’s not add to it. Pinkie swear?

• Neville had never seen a computer before. Twice, he was so shocked by its noises and sounds, he literally jumped. Another two times, he full-body startled. Several more times, it was clear he wanted to. It was hilarious. Purebloods are hilarious. (When they aren’t being racist, xenophobic magic Nazis trying to kill me.)

• Apparently in your letter to him, you drew smiley faces and hearts throughout. He wanted to do the same. Therefore--and against my better judgment--I taught him about emoticons. I regret this, as that is why there are so many littering the bloody email, though I argued him out of 80% of the ones he wanted to use. Neville Longbottom is totally the kid who e-mails you with :) and ;) and :DDD after every single sentence. He nearly passed out in excitement at learning about <3. In other words, he’s you.

• I debated telling you this because I do think it’s quite right that you spend some time focused just on you, and nursing a crush on Neville let alone you two declaring your feeli feels utterly at cross-purposes to you centering yourself and finding a way towards being kinder to yourself in the process. (Further, I bit my tongue in the moment, but every time you talk about not deserving him, remember that one of you was a prefect, and a beloved one at that, and the other thought it was a capital idea to bring his bloody, unruly toad to class. He’s not covered in gold stars here, yes?) However, I urge you to just remember that it’s clear you two have a very special kinship, more than I even appreciated. Remember that Harry had to meet Sally several times! Life is long. And we have moments where everything changes--the moment where a dear friend puts her hand in yours and smiles up at you in just such an angle that you see her completely differently and by the end of the dance is the girl of your dreams. The question is: How do we meet those moments? I hope that’s the journey you take for yourself over your travels and family time, recognizing for yourself the strength that we all know and love in you.

• Nev said you don’t like writing letters because your mum said you ramble and are hard to read. I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but sometimes, I really don’t like your mum. 

A final reminder that we don’t have internet at the chalet, and you know how Mummy feels about owls…  Therefore, if you need us, call my mobile. Otherwise, as Susie said, “Go get your Eat Pray Love on." :) (Bugger, I just pulled a Neville.)

J xx

///

22 December

Dear Hannah,

Happy Christmas! :D I hope it’s been a wonderful trip so far: you deserve it more than anyone <3 Gran and my Uncle Algie and I are spending our holiday in the exotic Midlands, as my fourth cousin Gertie is getting married. Then Gran is making me come along to a four-day magical fibre arts expo in Cork. I see your three-week tour and raise you Gran making me accompany her to workshops on charmed crochet hooks. Please send help D;

Before anything else, Susan told everybody to let you be, but if I didn’t reply to your last, I was pretty sure I’d explode. Justin took pity on me and told me to come to his house, and he’s typing up my owl letter and sending it through this e-mail machine to your aunt's account (hello, Aunt Louise, I know you provided this for Justin and Susan to use alone, so I apologize). This is of course following him spending the past hour showing me his computer and the internet and the printer , and I’m kind of bowled over at it all and feel very eager to learn more but also kind of disoriented and intimidated, if I’m being honest. I think I have a better understanding of why a lot of people hate Muggles and Muggleborns; it’s because they are scared of the Muggle’s magic of science and progress and how powerful and awe-inspiring it is, just as much as a spell or a potion. It’s scary to have the world change and be required to change in ways that are uncomfortable. It’s no excuse, but it helps understand the shape of the fight. Anyway, please don’t be mad at Justin. Especially since I wrote a really long letter, and he’s being so kind to type it all with very little complaint. 

[[I am only complaining about the really ridiculous emoticons and am pruning--har har--their use. Shakespeare and Fielding and Tolkein did not require a smiley face to convey meaning! I’ll die on this hill, Hannah, as you know. --JFF]]

I couldn’t wait, however, until Easter to tell you how sorry I am about the hearing. I mean: First and foremost, thank you for coming to the hearing. I know I said it before it started, but I feel like I need to say it for the end of time. I could not have been able to say what I did without knowing you were right beside me (literally, I could see you out of the corner of my eye the whole time, just the bright yellow edge of your hair, but wow, was that enough <3). Though you being all the way on the end, where I could see you from down there, meant that I lost you when the others surrounded me with their own care, and I just was so preoccupied with how Gran looked like she was hearing me but she also looked so hurt. I sound like such a baby to say that I was really scared to go talk to her face-to-face, without the magistrate to referee. I wasn’t looking more than two inches in front of me, I guess. This is absolutely no excuse . You should not absolve me, Hannah. I appreciate it, but I am so ashamed and beg for your forgiveness and hope I can earn back what that moment erased. I’ll say that to the end of time, too. To briefly recap, though, Gran and I did talk briefly, it was both terrible and good at once. We agreed to speak on this after the holidays; it was Uncle Algie’s suggestion for us to not risk upending the hols, and while biting my tongue is going to be hard, I can’t lie and say I’m not grateful to postpone jumping into the rhetorical trenches with Gran, at least to wait until my head stops spinning. 

Your travel agenda sounds brilliant! :) And I was thinking about how badly I would want to see all of those plants in South America--I went and pulled out a book I got about the flora of the tropics and plan to read it over the next few days (and I’m going to Diagon Alley to get more! Oh, it’s going to be so odd to be right by the Leaky but have no reason to pop in…I’m going to have to cook for myself, won’t I?! D:). Then I realized that you’re bringing me back some seedlings and such? Oh, Hannah, this is easily the most brilliant (belated) Christmas I’ve ever had: I’ll get exotic new plants and my best friend back! And a Muggle cinema show to boot!

Also, I don’t know why your mum would say that about your writing. Reading your letters have always been wonderful; it sounds like you’re talking to me, right with me, just us (and the others at the bar) chatting over a meal. Please, please, don’t hold back in your journals: I want to read every word you want to write <3 I’ll even try to keep a diary myself, so that you know you’re not alone in recording your daily events. Of course, mine will be much more dull: Recounting just which of my roommates is skiving off on their assigned cleaning again ( we have a chart , yet I’m the only one who seems to respect it!!! The messages that George and Lee have put on it have been truly unnecessary). Discussing the hours worth of auror paperwork I get to fill out to memorialize arrests. The many many meals that will consist of mediocre bangers and mash from the Ministry cafeteria. Get excited, Hannah!! ;)

In closing: you mentioned being in my “best friend tier.” As you are, along the five you suspect. But best friend is also a title, you said that yourself. It’s both. And for me, that’s you . You alone. See, I got pulled into that group, and sometimes, I feel that way. Does that make sense? That I know they are my very best friends but also--they didn’t exactly pick me. The universe picked me, I suppose, put me in their orbit too many times for me to not get caught in their gravity like the way planets and moons bind together. Circumstance looks like choice. Ginny and me, we’re the closest of the bunch, and I think over the years it turned into something that stands alone from the others and all of it . But you and me, it was a choice from the start. You’re the first ever friend, let alone best friend, who chose me and me back. 

Before that lunch at the Leaky, I knew you and thought you were great, but I think the moment I knew I had to know you better--be real friends--was when you mentioned my parents. It hadn’t even hit me that of course Gran was telling her friends, if not anyone within the sound of her voice, about visiting my parents. They are heroes; it’s her family. Why wouldn’t she tell people. The fact you knew, it was disorienting, but you were so matter-of-fact about it. Most people give me this melted-wax expression, use drippy tones, and honestly, the worst is when they get all overly hushed or solemn and tell me how heroic they were. And it’s always in the past tense, because to everybody, Frank and Alice Longbottom are gone and now exist only as phantoms that haunt me, and Gran, alone. Like my whole life is a haunted house.

You threw the windows open, let this new light in. And I got to actually talk about them in a way I never had--not with any of the others. It’s exactly what I needed in a friend (and you should know, it helped me talk more honestly with Ginny about them, too). I’m not exactly sure how to finish this, except to say: thank you <3 Have the best, best time with your aunts, be (not-)Gay and Away and bartend the lights out. I hope this adventure is everything you need and deserve. And I’ll have a conversation with that star to see if it can’t give an extra sparkle now and then to let you know, I’m looking at it, too. 

Love,

Nev

Chapter Text

“The world is starting to spin,” Hannah slurred, lurching out from behind the bar, trying to push her hair from her face. 

“...starting to?”

“Han, are you okay?”

“She had an entire bottle of booze, solo, let me answer that for her--no .”

“I’m gonna--” She held her hand over her mouth, her feet criss-crossing and stumbling. An octopus of arms shot out to catch her, though everything was a swirl, Hannah moaned, closing her eyes, as she felt herself being raised up--was she flying?! Did drinking this much mean you could fly?!--head flopping against a hard surface, forehead lolling into something that seemed like a neck but did octopuses have necks--

“Octopuses? Octopii?” she garbled.

“Oh, fuck, she’s speaking in tongues.” 

“Shut up, Kevin, she’s just hammered.”

“Alright, everybody, show’s over at the Leaky, anybody who wants to keep the night going, Aberforth’s your man…” 

“Let’s keep her away from any dumpsters…here, I can take her--with your hand and all.”

“I got her. I think…we’ll go directly to the loo, I don’t think we should try to get all the way up to her flat, given her state--”

“Yeah, might want to hurry, looks like she’s got an urgent need to pray to the porcelain god--”

“Here, use the staff loo by the kitchen, it’s bigger so she can just…sprawl. There’s an enchanted code you can use, like the Hufflepuff entrance enchantment, right, you gotta tap on it--Jus, is it still ‘Tiny Dancer’?”

“Ern, it hasn’t been that since, like July, mate. It’s…ahhh, ‘Here Comes the Sun’--y’know The Beatles, right?”

“The…insects?”

“See, Dean, this is why Muggle Studies has gotta be mandatory all the way to O.W.L.s, good Christ…just follow me, I’ll do it. 

Hannah opened her eyes; the whole world was in slow motion, spinning. Something terrible was starting to happen in her belly, starting to punch its way up her esophagus. Her whole body felt like a foghorn, bellowing out about impending disaster. What day was it? What time was it? Where was it? 

How did I get here?

She lolled her head into the octopus neck again, its arms so strong and sure around her as they swam through the air. It smelled of earth and rosemary. She inhaled, and for a moment, the world wasn’t tipping upside down and turning inside out, the entire night breaking apart like dropped glass and almost impossible for her to reconstruct. She breathed in and thought of home.

///

Hannah landed with a hard thunk, her Coke can portkey falling onto the bricks of the international hub at the Ministry. She expected to see a clerk noting her arrival, but she was a bit taken aback at the sight of the Minister of Magic standing there with a warm smile on his face. And behind him, about a dozen faces of friends from her year and even a few from the years above who worked at the Ministry, too.

“Oh,” she gaped, putting her hands over her mouth. “This is really sweet!”

“Welcome home, Hannah,” Kingsley said, stepping forward to meet her with a hug. “You have been very missed.”

“Thank you.” She let out a heavy breath. “It’s nice to be back.”

“Was it healing?”

“Yes. Very.” 

“Good. I’ll go let Louise know that you got back safely.”

“That’s very kind of you.” 

“No, it’s actually quite self-serving. Ever since reconnecting at the funeral, Louise has been extremely generous in telling me embarrassing stories from Hestia’s Hogwarts days. I’ve been enjoying myself immensely.” He gave her a smile. “We’ll come by the pub on Sunday for the Easter buffet,” he said, giving her arm a squeeze as he smiled. “I might have heard a rumor that tonight, the Leaky is closed, hosting a private party to celebrate your return…” He added in a whisper, “Don’t forget to drink a glass of water for every firewhiskey, yeah? The phrase ‘party until dawn’ has been bandied about, and…even magical livers only work so fast.”

The moment he stepped aside and out of the room, Susan and Ernie swept in, hugging her in tandem. “You’re back, I’m so happy you’re back,” Susan said, rocking Hannah slightly. “I was really worried Louise would try to keep you there, and I’d have to march right on over to Canada and rescue you.”

“There was a profound absence in our lives and hearts without you, Hannie,” Ernie declared. 

“Also, Margot and Faunus are really stingy with their pours and never let us choose the music for the phonograph, going to the Leaky sucked without you,” Seamus piped up from behind them, earning a chorus of fervent nods of agreement. “We were forced to go to Hogsmeade to get our drink on, and you know what totally puts a damper on your night? Having McGonagall show up when you’re trying to get proper pissed.”

“Way to focus on the important things, Shay,” Alicia Spinnet snorted. Ernie drew back, but Susan did not, holding stubbornly to her best friend. “How was Brazil! Did you go to the beach every day?”

“What was New York like? Does everybody tawk like diss? Did you see tons of celebrities?” Parvati asked eagerly. “What about in Toronto? I heard they have a whole magical theatre in Toronto!”

“Did you see any of the actors from Degrassi?” All heads turned to look at Harry. He squirmed slightly and said in a small voice, “I loved that show. Dudley’s and my first baby-sitter would put it on all the time.”

Hannah giggled, reluctantly drawing back from Susan to step over and give Harry a hug hello, he gave her a brief kiss near her ear, awkward and sweet. “I didn’t, but I did go to Degrassi Street! Oh, I have so many photos of Toronto--but more than that, of our trips abroad, we went on a grand tour, it was brilliant, I’ll show you my albums at the party tonight.” Moving along the circle, exchanging more hugs, she continued, “Brazil was a dream--the beaches were glorious , though it took a few days to figure out just how strong of sun protection we needed, from spells and lotion. My burn was so terrible , I looked like a lobster! Parvati, oh god, they really do . And whaddya, cahwfee…and I saw some Muggle celebrities but no magical ones. Though I did see a poster for a Weird Sisters concert in Toronto! These brilliant folks at the club took a picture of me with it since I was so excited.”

“Everybody in Canada is really nice, aren’t they?” Michael asked, ruffling Hannah’s hair as if she were a kid sister. “Was it basically like what if Hufflepuff were a country?”

“Explain Zacharias then.”

“C’mon, Ron, everybody’s got a Quebec.”

Hannah’s eyes, her attention, drifted as she scanned over the group. Susan’s hand brushed hers. “Is there someone you’re looking for?”

///

“Dean! Dean! Guess what!: I’m not going to be Hannah ‘Don’t Look at Me’ Abbott tonight!” Hannah called to Dean after frantically waving him over to the bar. “Not that I’m gonna be all ‘oh pay attention to me’ and actually, people don’t have to look, that’s just fine , maybe even preferable, but--but-- yeah , it’s--it’s a party , and I want people to have fun, and I love to dance, I do, I’m not really good at it and usually I get so self, um, ahhh, conscious, you know? But I got to dance as much as I wanted in the Americas ‘cause nobody knew me but why shouldn’t my friends and my housemates still like me, even if I dance like a blast-ended skrewt, it doesn’t matter, if I make sure everybody has fun, we’re gonna have so much fun, Dean, I’m gonna make sure of it and--yeah!”

Dean bit at his lips, keeping his expression neutral yet clearly tickled. His eyes shot to the clock over the fireplace mantle; it was barely after eight, and basically no one was here except a few random Hufflepuffs and most of the members of Operation How Have We Still Not Come Up With a Solid Name After Three Bloody Months. 

“Cool, cool. That’s great, Han. We are absolutely going to dance tonight, you better not back out on me. Ah--just how many shots of firewhiskey did you have to help you, like, get to this place?”

“Butterscotch schnapps, actually, it’s so much yummier, so you can have like, an arseload more.” Her eyes drifted up to the ceiling. “Like…three. Or six? Parvati wanted to dress me and do my makeup, I needed--forti--fornication.”

“Fortification?” Dean corrected, desperately trying to make eye contact with Seamus, Harry, Susan, Ernie, someone hello!

“Oh my god, you’re so smart,” Hannah beamed. “You shoudda been a prefect.”

“And have to do rounds with Hermione? Absolutely not.” 

He did a double take as he moved his gaze from Hannah’s perfectly painted face--a smoky bronze around her eyes that made them bluer and bigger, just enough foundation to corral Hannah’s always-pink cheeks from dominating her face like they usually did, and the kind of dramatic, dewy, red apple-peel lips that Lavender had always put on the younger Gryffindors who had the courage to approach her and Parvati for a first try at big-girl “going out” makeup. And--

“I’m sorry, Parvati put you in a hoodie? Is--she okay?” he asked, glancing around for her in concern. “I mean--”

“Oh. No. That was me. She got mad, but come on! It’s still a little chilly in here! I mean, I’m wearing the top I got in Brazil, but there, it was warm enough to be mostly naked all the time.” 

Dean stared at her, head ticking slightly to the side, blinking rapidly. “Very fair, Han. Hold on for a sec, okay?” He spun around and sped towards Seamus, the Weasleys, and Hermione. “Yeah, so Nev better get here now. He’s really gonna enjoy the costumes at tonight’s presentation of The Hannah Gets Hammered Show…”

///

“Ravenclaws at ten o’clock.”

“It’s only quarter to nine, Harry.”

“No. Luna. Ten o’clock directionally. Behind you.” Harry leaned into Ron, muttering, “See, this is why we can’t loop Luna into Operation Nev’s Eleven.”

“I still do not get that reference, mate. We need to keep workshopping the right name for our covert ops here.”

Hermione spun around. “Is he--?”

Harry craned his neck. “Yuuup.” 

Ginny jumped up from the couch, wiggling her eyebrows at Hermione, a sly and delighted expression dawning over her face. She gave Harry a knowing bob of her head as she headed towards the bar, then a brief, perfectly surreptitious wink to Hermione who began following Ginny, affecting an air of artificial aloofness. “On it.” 

A few moments--and spells--later, Ginny was bringing an ornate tray with a sentinel of vividly hued shots towards the Ravenclaw D.A. members, save the previously arrived Luna and Padma, as well as a web of their own friends and housemates. Hermione trailed behind her with a giant, brown-shaded handle of rum, looking to all the world like an attentive helper, her wand barely noticed in hand. Ginny was loud, Ginny was churning out products at her charisma factory, making the group laugh, tease each other, lift their glasses up for a long and laugh-filled toast. No one noticed Hermione aiming her wand, casting a spell that hit Anthony as the group tossed back their drinks, how the eyes that had previously been focused on the blonde Hufflepuff dancing behind the bar went dazed, slack, pliant. And immediately looked anywhere in the room but Hannah Abbott.

“Ah, a variation on the McLaggen Maneuver,” Ron said sagely, nodding.

“An oldie but a goodie,” Harry nodded, too, raising his pint glass and clicking it against Ron’s.

Terry came up, exchanging the half handshake-half hug that boys so often did amongst friends, in contrast to the full-body hugs Ginny was giving to Morag and Su. 

Susan sidled up to Hermione, easing her away from Anthony’s friend. “Did it work?”

Hannah jumped a few times behind the bar, then cupped her hands around her mouth, yelling out, “You guys wanna see what I learned at my bartending classes in New York City?”

“More than life itself, Abbott!” Seamus yelled back.

She beamed and pointed at him. “You’re so much fun, Shay! You can have one of my auntie’s pot brownies! Suz says we can only have little bites, though, she’s like the fun auror,” she said, sticking out her tongue at Susan.

She then visibly worked to focus herself, drawing on whatever part of her was sober still, as she pushed up the sleeves on her sweatshirt as high as she could on her upper arms. Hannah set out all of the shot and cocktail glasses, shakers, liquor and mixer bottles that she’d need, nodding a bit as she double and triple-checked, tamping down the voice in her that hissed that the bartenders in the magical bars in Manhattan and Brooklyn who led the courses never made this look as effortful and clunky as she did. That familiar snarl, hiss in the back of her head: They made it look easy and perfect, while you--

Screwing her eyes closed for a moment, she let the excitement of the waiting group at the bar be louder.

Eyes rolling to the ceiling, she mentally worked out the exact actions she wanted and the orchestration of movements before she tapped each item in front of her with her wand as she murmured an incantation (somehow cast correctly; she celebrated by pouring herself another shot of schnapps). She began by grabbing a bottle of vodka, flipping it in the air, spinning it in her palm twice before expertly pouring a line of shots, then sending it in a cartwheel to pour several jiggers of itself into a Boston shaker. She then tossed the shaker behind her back, making it summersalt into her other hand, flipping it again and then holstering it in the bar before picking up a bottle of rum, spinning it in a similar way in her hands and then the air--then the two bottles of mixers, added to the shaker which performed a final round of acrobatics while she spun and served another bottle of shots, setting them on fire in a dramatic rush of flame that roared down the line.

Anthony, though, didn’t notice a bit of it. And certainly not her.

As the crowd cheered, making Hannah giggle wildly, her face burning such a furious red that it was clearly visible under the makeup Parvati had used in an attempt to tame it. She punched the air with her arms, letting out a delighted cheer as the alcohol fire burned on for another few seconds, smiling so bright, it could give off more warmth than those little flames ever could. She took in a happy breath, surveying the shakers pouring out the cocktails, the excited expressions and questions from Seamus and Padma and Su and Megan, and to everyone beyond.

Her eyes finally finding the one person she was looking for. The boy who hadn’t yet seemed to notice her. Which is fine, I’m over you, it’s over, this is fine fine fine--remember New York, remember Rio, remember Toronto and that one endless night, remember--okay, actually, don’t remember Cancun, Marco ended up being a dud--

Until he did, pulling off his cloak as he turned towards the bar, a bruise surrounding his right eye, a splint around his ring and pinky fingers on that same side, a sign of impatience, not wanting to stay in St. Mungo’s for a full set of bone repairs--because he wanted to go now, please. Places to go. People to see.

He ignored Harry and the other aurors coming up to meet him. Not yet--his eyes were searching the crowd. People to see, people to see--

A person to see. Hannah beamed at him and raised her hand in a silent greeting, waving furiously, and Neville began to smile back at her before he stopped short, trying to absorb the scene in front of him, the spin of bottles in mid air and all of the light, framing her in a kind of celebration. Neville seemed to melt in the reflected heat of Hannah, the fire. That smile.

“Nevnevnevnevvie,” Hannah bumbled, rushing to him, though she stopped short before touching him, gasping at the sight of his face, his bandaged hand. Touch lighter than a breath, she fluttered her fingers just under his eye. “Did you break your ockipital--occ-” She closed her eyes and let out a frustrated breath. “Occipital bone?”

He grinned. “No, though--it’s got a bit of a bruise that’ll take a couple days to heal. I gotta tell George, though, the Weasley Wheezes bruise cream is aces, my eye’s already leaps and bounds better, and I bet by the end of the hour, you couldn’t even tell.”

“Your hand…”

“It’s okay. Really. I’ll go back tomorrow to St. Mungo’s to get the rest of the healing spells.”

“No--look see, that’s the Ophelia Shaw,” Hannah said reverently, pointing at a ginger with a volcano of curly hair at the bar who was adjusting her dress which skimmed unapologetically over the uneven, soft and inviting lumps of her body’s curves. “She was Head Girl our third year, remember, she’s--everything . And she’s a mediwitch . She showed up for the whole Battle, she’s--yes, okay, no, you need Ophelia, she’ll fix you--Filly!-- ”

“No, no, wait--” Neville held up his hands to Ophelia, then reducing them to just two upright index fingers. “Just wait--”

“He has a broken hand!”

“He--wants just a couple minutes to say hi to his best friend after three months apart,” he blurted out, pointing at Hannah, and the older witch gave them a grin and a thumbs up, though her eyes were already fixed on Neville’s splinted hand, as if trying to triage his injury from a distance. 

“You promise. You promise you’ll let me take care of you and let Filly take care of you,” Hannah slurred, smiling up at him before her head flopped against his chest. 

“I do, I promise. I--lo-love that you want to take care of me. I’d just--like to say an actual hello to you before they crunch my bones back into place.”

“You’re so amazing,” she gushed, rubbing his back in slow, lazy circles. “Also, you smell good.”

“Ah--thank you? You must really be drunk to think that?” he laughed, though it came out askance as she pressed closer against him. His cheek settled on the top of her head. “I missed your hugs.”

“I missed all of you. I didn’t like missing you that much. You and Suz and Jus and Ern. Let’s not be apart that long, okay?”

“Oh, deal. No take backsies.” 

Hannah felt herself lulled to--not sleep, but something just as seductive--a sense of utter peace that made her lean further into him, rocking slightly against him. “No take backsies.” The phonograph was playing something slow and soft, its opening measures sounding like a heartbeat. “Who hurt you?”

“Talk about complicated questions…”

She giggled, brushing his back with a swat. Her eyes didn’t open. “Way to be eckelstential.”

“Han, I usually have trouble figuring out your smart Muggle book words when you pronounce them correctly, let alone when you--do what you are doing now.” He sighed. “Ohhhh, it’s--as Michael calls them, my Neo-Fascist Werewolf Fan Club. They’ve really done a good job of making sure I’m subscribed to their newsletter with very aggressive, regular reminders.”

She let her head sag to the side, roll and loll fully backwards as she gazed at him. “From the hearing.”

“I think--that just confirmed their guesses. They had a one in two chance of being right. Honestly, I’m glad it’s in the open, it absolves Ron. The Weasleys do not deserve him to be…” Neville cleared his throat, then his head dipped, cheeks reddened. He smiled bashfully down towards his feet, though they weren’t visible since he and Hannah were so closely entwined. 

Love, love is a verb, the lyrics began. Love is a doing word…

“Dance with me!” she slurred.

“Oh.” He looked a little confused, then pleased. “Actually, I do know how to waltz--this song is relatively slow, so--” He moved his arms into place, right hand up to take her hand, left hand down to settle on her hip, and giggling madly, Hannah stepped into place, the two of them starting to move around the box steps. “So anyway, speaking of work--I’ve been waiting a long time to tell you--” He smiled bashfully down towards his feet, though they weren’t visible since he and Hannah were so closely entwined. 

“You know how Harry is restructuring all of the field aurors?” 

Hannah stared at him blankly. Did she? 

Did I? Wait. I know this. Do I know this? Goddamn it, Hannah, don’t be stupid, think, damn it! And slowly, pieces shifted back into place in the puzzle of her memory. Things she had known for months but had been sent adrift in the ocean of liquor (and that blasted pot brownie) she had downed. There was enough she could remember that led her to dumbly nod back.

“Han, do you have--” Ron winced, looking between her and Neville. “Sorry I’m interrupting.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m telling her--about what happened in January.”

“Oh, yeah, the big news! Hannah, this is so amazing,” Ron said happily, giving Neville a little chuff on the arm. Her eyes widened in anticipation. 

“Well--Harry needs leaders for the different teams, right, so right now, he is breaking it into three groups, since he wants Ron to float, help with overal strategy and tactics since he’s so bloody brilliant at it. And, so, um--so, he’s still trying to decide on the third group, since he was gonna appoint Seraphina, but she is gonna be going on maternity leave soon and she, well, she had a lot of really fair reasons why she didn’t think it was right just when she gets back, and likely, Harry’ll move up to supervising the three groups versus leading one himself so then she’ll be tapped, right, but she also said--” He blushed a deeper red. “That she and me make a good team, and so he made her my deputy group leader. Because, I’m, you know. Robards, he signed off on it back in January, for me to do it. The second group. I’m gonna lead it.”

Hannah blinked a few times, trying to keep up with what he was trying to say under all of those distracting other words. “Wait. Waaaaait. They’ve promoted you!”

“Yeah.”

Hannah closed the small gap between them, letting out a little squeal as she hugged him; his face had ignited with color and heat, and it felt like it was burning through her own skin. She rocked him back and forth. “Congratulations. I’m elo-e-lay-ted . This is, oh, Nev!”

“Han…do you think you’re gonna remember me telling you this tomorrow, or do you think I’ll need to assume that just everything I say tonight, you’re gonna need it repeated?”

“I think that’s a very safe bet,” Ron said in return, bursting into a laugh as Hannah wheeled around to give him a hug, squealing at how soft his flannel shirt was. “Very safe. And just as a note? When you do take two on telling her your big news? Maybe you can try to be a little less undermining how this is a wildly big thing, a huge honor, yeah?” He dropped his voice, adding, “She’s not the only one whose self-confidence we’re all hoping to see lift up.”

Hannah pulled back, her head flopping backwards to stare up at Ron. “Who needs confidence?”

“Ernie. We’re really concerned he doesn’t have a good self-image.” As Neville erupted in a laugh, Ron grinned. “Thanks, I’m real proud of that one.”

“We’ll put it on the plaque, right under ‘I wasn’t even there.’”

As the boys dissolved into--more giggles than laughs, honestly, Hannah gave them both blurry beams, taking a step back and nearly losing her balance. Ron caught her before she began careening to the floor, and she grabbed at his arms. 

“You’re very tall.”

“Cheers.”

“I need to go now, Angelina said she wants to help me find somebody to snog,” she slurred cheerfully, and Ron did a double take, releasing Hannah, allowing her to bumble back to where a large group was dancing closer to the bar. 

Ron glanced at Neville, clapping a sympathetic hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You sure you’re good with being patient?”

He sighed. “I’m gonna go get my bones set. Which I wasn’t really looking forward to, to be honest, since it’s not very pleasant but--well, sounds a lot more preferable now.” 

///

Hannah climbed up onto the Leaky bar, her bare feet sticking on the layer of spilled liquor and beer that had accumulated over the past two hours. The clocks on the fireplace mantle and above the bar began to ring out their brass bongs , one for each hour, until they reached ten, though the rings were completely swallowed up by the booming music, a mix of mostly hip-hop songs that she had put together at her aunts’ house on her penultimate night across the Atlantic, a complicated queue she had created using a series of enchantments and charms on the phonograph, albums, and individual tracks that her mother had simply called “the jukebox spell.” 

She flailed in a circle in time with the music, arms held above her head and swinging akimbo. “Let’s daaaance!” she screamed again. 

She froze and then started wrestling with her Ilvermorny hoodie, getting lost for a moment as it was over her head. Finally, she figured out the exit from its confines by unzipping it, flinging it away to reveal a red handkerchief top that started just over her breasts and ended in a triangle just over her hip bones, held in place by two thin strings knotted across her back in a scarlet color that matched the shade of lipstick Parvati had painted on her lips. She yanked at the elastics at the end of each of her braids, shaking them out so that her hair fell unruly and kinky and wild down to her waist, newly lengthened by a growth potion she had split with her Aunt Rebecca in a grotty magical salon in Rio so they could go headbang with crazy-long hair at a club in Copacabana. Bec had cut her hair the next morning; Hannah, obviously, had not.

Ron elbowed Neville. “Your mouth’s hanging open.”

“Uh huh.”

“Yeah--mate, you should close it.”

Hannah was leading a steadily jumping lump around the bar, arms up, all bellowing, “Downtown the young ones are going/We’re the kids in America, whoa-oh! ” She started snaking her body in a circle with the beat, running her hands through her hair, making it spin like a scythe: “Everybody live for the music-go-round!”

“Uh huh.” Neville then managed to shake himself out of his stupor. He put down his pint glass. “I’m gonna…splash some water on my face. Or bang my head against a brick wall. Whichever.”

Hannah beamed out at the crowd, pointing at Dean. “C’mooooon, daaaance!”

Dean caught Neville’s eye and winked before getting up on the bar with Hannah as the record switched tracks to a song that he recognized, breaking into a laugh, throwing his arms out in front of him, bouncing them in time, knees loose and low. “Know what I mean, the streets are getting a little craaazy,” he sang

“We went to this Muggle bar? In New York? All the bartenders were super hot girls, and they danced on the bar and did naughty-arsed things,” Hannah yelled, shifting her weight from foot to foot with the beat, putting her hands against her forehead, arms spread open, bobbing back and forth, back and forth. She started giggling wildly. “And pulled girl customers up on the bar to be dirty with them!”

Dean gave her a wicked grin, his eyes then flicking out to find Neville. “Please tell me your aunts got pictures from when you were up there.”

“With both cameras.” She gave a spin, her hair flailing in a golden sheet, giggling madly as it whipped around too much and smacked her in the face.

“Han? I have a suspicion this is one dance move forward, two back when you sober up tomorrow? But for now? I’m real glad that ‘Don’t Look at Me’ Hannah’s left the building for the night.” 

“Let me clear my throat, ah-ha, ah-ha ,” Hannah sang with the song, putting a fist over her breast, pumping it twice with the lyrics, Dean spinning around, the two of them starting to slide in a slinky walk down the bar before he hit the end and turned around as the beat resumed; Hannah saw him mumble something--wait, what, no, it couldn’t be, it couldn’t be , “Sorry, Nev”--as his hands found her hips, Hannah letting out a thrilled giggle, turning and backing into him, their hips meeting and locking, his hands finding the ledge of her hip bones, the two swaying in unison as they sank down, down--down--her eyes closed, arms stretching up as if to reach the stars--no, just one star--

“Game on, Abbott!” Oliver Wood said, lighting up as he ran his eyes over her. 

“Uhhhh, when did Hannah get hot?” Hassan Shafiq gaped, earning a hard smack from Susan.

Ginny turned to Neville who had frozen the moment Hannah had climbed up on the bar, breath stopping, bones sagging when Dean pressed against her. Her hand was gentle on his back. “Nevvie? You still breathing?”

“I don’t think so,” Neville managed with a wistful smile. Ginny rubbed at his back a bit more as he squeezed his eyes shut, as if trying to shake off an Imperious curse. Then Neville gestured to Justin, drawing him, and Susan in his wake, over to ask, “Hey, mate--is she okay? Like--should we try to get her to slow down? It doesn’t seem like she’s sharing that bottle, and it’s…really empty.”

“That’s what I was just saying,” Susan sighed.

“Well…we’ve only seen her this drunk once before.” Justin said slowly, glancing at Susan before studying Hannah. “That was after we got the O.W.L. results, when she had moved into the ‘denial’ phase of grief and was like sod it all, let’s get shattered. It was one of the most fun nights of my life…aaaand then Hannah was vomiting in an alley and tried to climb into a dumpster, moaning that she just needed a nap and it was her new home.” He shrugged, as she undulated with the music alone, twirling down the length of the bar while yell-singing along with the chorus. “I feel like we’re doing well so far.”

“I’m hooooome!” she suddenly screeched, throwing her arms up in the air, beaming as the crowd cheered back at her. Then she started snapping her fingers along with the song playing on the mix before throwing her arms up in the air, one of them throttling the neck of her schnapps bottle, and adding, “Let’s do shooooots! On the house!”

“Oh yeah, we’re doing great; bang-up job,” Susan muttered, her cheeks puffing with a hard exhale as the pub erupted with cheers.

The Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain from Hannah’s fifth year, a broad-shouldered boy named Blake, sidled up to them, saying to Justin, “Oi. You’re tight with her, right? Do you know if she’s still single? Or at least up for it?”

“Nope,” Neville said automatically. “Sorry. She’s got a guy, it’s a whole thing.”

“He’s real big,” Susan added. She blinked, giving him an innocent smile. “You know. Tall.”

“Very brave. Fought a lot of Death Eaters. In Brazil,” Ernie added hastily as Susan and Justin shot him identical mate, what?? looks. 

“I heard he killed a snake,” Seamus added as he joined them. 

Blake stared at them in confusion and then walked off. Neville looked at Ernie and Seamus in exasperation. “How are you worse at this than me? Honestly. Step it up.”

Susan stared at the two of them in disgust. “You just got lectured on playing it cool by Neville Longbottom. That’s a new level of shame, boys.”

Hannah kept twirling in a far-too sloppy circle on the bar, around and around, her hair spinning like a halo, arms up like wings. 

“Can I come up on the bar?” Parvati asked excitedly.

Hannah stared at her, her eyes so wide that they almost ached. “Parv, I want nothing more.”

“Oh my god, me, too?” Katie Bell asked eagerly, Angelina Johnson thrusting her arm in the air as if screaming pick me, pick me, pick me. Hannah swung around in a circle, but once she rotated back to face them, she beckoned them up, too. 

“Oh, yeeees,” Ginny hooted to Hermione, downing her drink, her eyes lighting up. 

“No.”

“Your loss,” she shrugged before giving Harry a sloppy kiss followed by a bright cackle of delight and clambering up behind Parvati and Katie, the group of girls singing along in a loose-limbed delight, spinning in circles, just teenagers together as if this was all life was, as if this was all it should be when you were young.

///

“Alright.” Michael came up to the Operation This is Getting Utterly Dumb, What Do We Call This?! (Trademark: Ginny Weasley) group, save Seamus and Parvati who were busy dancing on the bartop. He cracked his knuckles, giving them all his effortlessly captivating smile, the one that hovered somewhere between I truly see you and I got your number as he cracked at his knuckles. “This is where you tell me what you did to Ant.”

“What we did to who?” Harry said as Ron and Dean made an exaggerated shrug motion.

“Cute, cute.” He finished drinking his cocktail. “Thankfully, I’m not an idiot, so-- nice try, but no. Tell me exactly how you hexed my friend to be…whatever he is at the moment so I can evaluate where I should land on the pissed to ‘good game’ scale.” 

“Okay, just-- hypothetically, mind, but--let’s play along,” Susan said, leaning back against the sofa. “What are you suspecting and why, exactly?”

“Hmm, excellent question, Susie,” Michael said thoughtfully, ignoring the way she glared at the nickname. “Could it be the way he hasn’t seemed to notice at all that: One. His ex is scantily clad, and two, shaking it for all to enjoy, and has for the past really pathetic stretch of time…well, I’m loathe to call what her and Oliver are doing ‘snogging,’ since I’m kinda convinced he’s confused her with a bowl of ramen he needs to slurp.”

“I had no clue Wood was this bad at it,” Ginny said, looking a little disgusted. “I expected more from him.”

“I didn’t. We heard how Katie complained about their two weeks of dating,” Harry said, gesturing between himself and Ron. “And thus why it lasted two weeks.”

“Oh, and one other thing,” Michael said. “It’s funny to me how…Ant also doesn’t seem to even know who Hannah Abbott even is . Like, when the prefect log thing came up, he mentioned how he went through it with Ern and Padma, yet no mention of the other D.A. prefect, you know, the one he had been dating for months .”

“What thing with the prefect logs?” Harry asked, and Dean, Hermione, and Ron exchanged a confused shrug, looking at Michael expectantly.

Michael waved them off. “Whatever, later. Let’s get back toooo…whadja do to my mate? Memory modifying, confounding, maybe a dash of Imperio, is it an invisibility ward on Han--or maybe it’s both, a spell on him and an enchantment on her…and which one of you did it?” he added, peering at them.

“Probably Hermione,” Luna said in her dreamy way, floating into the group. “Hello.” 

“You wanna sit?” Ron asked, patting the sofa beside him.

“No, thank you. I am just pausing to get a new drink. I’ve been standing on all of the tables around the Leaky and appreciating how much more different it makes the pub look. I love a new perspective, in all the ways it can present. It’s been lovely. Also there is clear evidence of a spotted targarian infestation in the beams that I’m finding quite fascinating. They do thrive on loud noise and hormones, you know. I also find that the brownie that Susan gave me is spectacular for enhancing my contemplations.” She sucked butterbeer out of a straw and looked at Michael. “Hermione has an known aptitude for spells that impact recognition and cognition. Like with her parents and also with Cormac. But Susan is exceedingly talented at concealment work, as we know from last year.”

“Thank you, Luna,” Susan smiled as Luna beamed back at her and wandered away again. She looked at Michael. “We’ll take it off before he goes.”

Michael snorted. “Hey, no rush. On our way over, I was telling Cho that I was kinda dreading tonight since Ant was making a lot of noise about ‘reconnecting,’ and I’m like--what are you doing, you two are terrible together, like, I dig Hannah, who doesn’t, but she’s a giant no! Stay broken up. Jesus H on a motorbike, Ant, do you have so little game you can’t get another girl into bed?”

“Elegantly said as always, Mike,” Ginny said, lifting her glass towards him in a toast, and he winked back. 

“I actually want to set him up with Melinda, but. She didn’t come home for the holiday, so that’ll hold until she finishes her N.E.W.T.s.” Michael put his arms on the back of the couch, right behind Justin’s head, and leaned forward. “Right now, I’d like to know exactly what is going on.” He swirled his finger around. “Hermione and Susan working together? Suz doesn’t need Hermione’s help, not with spells, it’s Susan. Besides, you already have Justin as a ready accomplice, so there must be a reason to bring in Hermione. And you had to be a part of it, a scheme like this has Ginny Weasley stamped all over it,” he added to her, an eyebrow quirking up. “Plus, no offense, Ern, but the lab aurors don’t exactly hang with the field folk, so it’s odd to see you being this chummy with Potter, Weasley, and Longbottom to the degree that you lot have been together all night. In other words, Hannah’s crew has been very tight with Harry’s--” Then his eyes narrowed a bit, and he drummed his fingers over his lips, skimming over the group with his eyes.

He straightened up and then dramatically came around the couch, crossing his arms and smirking, then summoning himself a firewhiskey. He gave Neville his smirk of a wide smile. “QED: You really do have a thing for Hannah, and this is a D.A. mission to get you two together, because unlike Ant, you do not have the game to get her into bed.”

“Oh my god,” Neville mumbled, his head sagging as he covering his face with his hands.

“Wow, that was well reasoned,” Hermione blinked.

“I’m a fucking Ravenclaw, Hermione, I rolled out of bed with this kind of skill.” 

“I told you, this is why Michael has to be a team leader,” Ron told Harry with a sigh. “He can be a huge pain in the arse, but--he’s got it.”

“Exactly. I’m undeniable.” He sipped at his drink. “So. Deal me in. Who do I get to hex.”

“Wait, you want in.” Harry squinted at him. “What’s the catch.”

“I’m sorry, Harry, did your resurrection affect your comprehension? I just said, I want to cut off Ant and Hannah, Round Three, et cetera. And I set up Nev with Lisa, I’ve clearly established my credibility on supporting him finally punching his v-card. Besides, if I’m gonna be a team leader, we’re gonna get real close, you and Ron and Nev and me, why wouldn’t I want to do a solid for my mate?” He broke into a dazzling smile, Neville peeking between his fingers at Michael. “Hey, pumpkin. I can give you some lessons on how to talk to girls. Dean and me, we’ll do a joint seminar. We’ll call ourselves the Wea--”

“You will absolutely not finish that,” Ginny warned him, reaching for her wand, though she was stuttering out a chuckle despite herself; Dean laughed wildly, giving his eyebrows a single shrug at Michael. 

“Further…I really do love Hannah. She didn’t have to keep going on with the logs after what the Carrows did to me and most everybody stopped--”

“Can you now tell us about this log thing? Even--what is a prefect log in the first place?” Harry said, shaking his head. 

“It’s the book in the prefect’s salon where we have to record any infractions noted during our rounds,” Hermione supplied. “The Heads of the House for the logged students would then decide what the appropriate response was: taking points, assigning detentions or other consequences, what have you.”

“But you could also log commendable acts that you saw during your rounds,” Ernie added. “Acts of kindness and care, scholastic achievements that were shared, and the like. For the giving of house points by House Heads, as well as letting those four know of positive moments from their students.”

“You will not be shocked to hear, the Hufflepuff prefects were usually the only ones who were willing to double their work that way,” Ron snickered. He got an affectionate look on his face. “During fifth year and that one month in sixth, Han would mark her commendations with little hearts and smiley faces.”

“Of course she did,” Justin said with a heavy sigh, though he shot Neville a knowing grin; Neville eased back on the sofa, hands dropping back to his lap, though his face was still bright red. 

“The issue was…it didn’t work like normal years--after Christmas, the logs went straight to the Carrows. They decided the punishments,” Neville said grimly. “That’s when things started to get really scary. And on top of that--we didn’t have a lot of fair prefects out there. They didn’t replace the missing ones--so Ron, ‘Mione, there were no seventh year Gryffs--”

“And both the prefects in my year were Muggleborns. So we only had Cricket Creek and David Zhao in the fifth year, and then the Death Eaters took Davy like they did Luna at Christmas to force his mum to change her remarks at this conference in Hong Kong so she wouldn’t rally any support from former British colonies to condemn the Ministry and provide support to the Order,” Ginny said. “Hufflepuffs only had Ern in the seventh year, Hannah was technically sixth year--but regardless, she was alone, since they didn’t replace her even after she left the previous year, plus both of the Hufflepuffs from that year proper--"

“Ananda Vishraparti and Colin Baird, and one of the fifth years, Ginger McReedy, all Muggleborns. But thankfully safe,” Susan cut in, gazing at Justin with a look so loving that he stretched his arm around her shoulders, rubbing her upper arm with his thumb before they exchanged a brief, feather-light kiss.

Hermione gasped slightly. “Oh! You never do that!”

“Does the Queen have to be notified that you just quivered your stiff upper lip in such an emotional way?”

“That’s funny, everybody,” Justin drawled. He raised an eyebrow at the two Gryffindor couples. “As the Americans say, not everybody has to put it on front street.”

Neville and Ron exchanged confused looks. 

“Is that in New York?” Neville asked.

“Anyway. Ravenclaw had all our prefects, but only Ant and Padma were in the D.A., though Melinda and Paddy Shanahan were absolute legends in joining in to help since their partners were totally mini-Carrows.” Michael sighed. “The kicker was that to ‘fill’ all of the missing prefects…they used the Goon Squad of Slytherin volunteers.”

“It was really bad,” Neville said simply.

Ernie was studying his hands. “We started a two-fold campaign: we were much more sparing in logging infractions--and some did not log any at all , which…well, anyway, and then the D.A. worked out how to put a quite clever series of spells on the logs so that, at random, it would erase some of the I.S. infractions or change the severity to spare students physical beatings. We got away with it all the way through near the middle of March.”

“Then Snape figured out the log was enchanted, the four D.A. members took responsibility, and the Carrows had them--”

“Please. Can we stop?” Ernie asked softly. “You can tell them later. When I’m not here.” A single tear rolled out of his eye. “Please.”

Neville nodded, his own eyes going bright and wet. “A’course.” 

“You were a bloody hero that day, getting through it, Ern,” Ginny said fiercely.

“I merely survived. We all did.” He flashed the few who hadn’t been there, who didn’t know, a chagrined smile. “Sorry to be a spoilsport, lads.”

“No. It’s okay,” Harry said, holding Ernie’s eyes. “There’s a--lot that I wouldn’t want to have to relive when I’m not ready. Especially--well, yeah. Don’t apologize, at all, I’m just sorry….” He took in a deep breath. “But that was March, and Michael, you got--well, bludgeoned by the Carrows after Easter, in April. What did Hannah do?”

“Well, we decided that, no matter how awful--that was, we’d do it again, we wouldn’t log any infractions. Or at least nothing that could register of any note, chewing gum put under a table versus vanished, what have you. Hannah stopped logging any, she only put in the commendations which drove the Carrows mad. We all got punished weekly--at least Hannah never got Cruicioed for it.”

Susan’s mouth twitched as Neville shifted, arms crossing tight over his chest, those still-bright eyes circling up to fixate on the ceiling. She sighed. “Snape announced over breakfast that the four prefects were being defiant again and would be appropriately reprimanded by the Carrows, and we all knew what that meant…but then he added in that hideous Snape way--” Harry flinched. “--to remember how weak and simple Miss Abbott’s mind was as they formulated their consequences. You know. Just letting the entire school know she was stupid and pathetic. And he made a little crack about the flamingos, which the Slytherins found hilarious.”

Harry took in a breath. “You know…I’m not defending him, okay, but Snape respected Hannah’s mum, he might have been try--”

“Harry? Stop,” Neville said, glaring at him. “This is not the time for one of your ‘well, actually’-ing on him.” Harry pressed his lips together, shooting Hermione and Ron a quick glance before exhaling and focusing on Susan again. 

“Instead, they had Hannah sleep every night chained up in the dungeon, in the dark. Which is why she’s now scared of it. And even though, after Michael, Nev told us all to back off on overt acts to spare us the escalation, and the Ravenclaw prefects voted and decided to stop the log boycott since it was the smart thing to do--which I get, their mate had nearly been beaten to death--and they then got Ernie and Cricket on board--but Hannah started crying, said it was wrong--”

“It was wrong.” Ten heads swiveled to the fireplace where Hannah stood, looking a little unsteady, the fire-engine red lipstick completely worn from her lips, though instead, there were dark red marks starting to bloom on her neck, matching the deep flush of her cheeks. And suddenly, her ears were echoing with a conversation from a year ago--now she remembered what she and Anthony had been fighting about: 

“You’re making me sound like a baby. You know, there’s room to care about--I’m trying to protect the younger years. I’m trying--”

“Stop trying. Just stop. Just follow my lead and stop. We don’t have the room to let people lead with their ‘hearts’ anymore, Han. So get behind the people who are using their brains first, okay?”

Come on, Hannah. Come on.

“Maybe it was dumb, but I’d do it again a million times. Besides. Professor Sprout would be at the dungeon door every morning, every single one, with a cup of tea and a really pretty flower, and walk me to the prefect’s bathroom so I could take a nice soak, and she’d change the bubble bath scents every day, too, so I could have all of my favorite ones. It was so special of her and--yeah. Though chocolate chip cookie bubble bath is weird.”

“Hey, it’s my favorite hero,” Michael grinned, opening his arms to beckon her to come sit by him. With a giggle, she stumbled over, plopping down beside him and stretching her legs into Ernie’s lap. He started drumming on her legs in time with the Cream song playing on the phonograph. “So? How was Wood? Solid?”

Justin groaned. “Mate.”

“Shut up, that was awesome.” 

“Good! He kinda has a weird licking thing--” Ginny blinked a few times, and Ron seemed to choke slightly on a shocked laugh. “--and and andandan’ he said he’d owl me tomorrow!” Hannah said excitedly, and then she pulled out her wand to summon a few bottles. “Let’s do shots to celebrate!”

Neville looked a bit ill and unsettled. “Yeah, I think I’m ready. I’ll do a round. Or two.”

“You know,” Michael said, “This hits me every goddamn time we talk about what we’ve all been through. How come we haven’t gotten any big awards for what happened in the Battle? Let alone the year in the torture chamber they passed off as Hogwarts? No seriously.” He leaned forward. “It’s absolutely mental that it’s been this long and nothing.”

“It’s not like we ever got rewarded for what we did at the Ministry that night, either,” Ron added sourly, rolling his eyes. “Or the night at the Astronomy Tower. I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

Dean sighed. “That’s not true, c’mon, we’re working on it. There’s a big whole thing about it. The committee in charge brought a plan to Kingsley, and he brought it to Harry, who brought it to Neville--”

“Who joined with Harry to say nice try, either we all get the same award for what we did there or you can sod right off. We’re not gonna play a game where you tell me that, like, your actions are ‘Second Class’ status and mine and Nev’s more special? No way,” Harry said, shaking his head. 

Neville gestured at Ron and Hermione. “The first rec was that these two wouldn’t be First Class since first off, they were only looking at what happened at the Battle, and second, their actions in combat didn’t rise up to appropriate levels of exceptional heroics, which is the standard. It’s insanity.”

“I know. I know. It’s why Kingsley scrapping it, and we’re gonna start over and figure this out. And--I think I’ll probably be asked to be on it. Maybe…well. Anyway.” Dean rubbed his hand over his hair. “I promise: we’re all going to get the rewards we deserve. I promise, they are gonna see us.”

///

Hannah was sprawled on the floor of the Leaky’s staff loo, slumping off of the toilet, her head landing softly on the tile thanks to two very quickly cast charms (one to slow her tumble, then a cushioning charm that made the floor feel like her bed). In the distance, she could hear the chiming of the old Selwyn grandfather clock in the office she shared with the managerial staff, playing the first sixteen measures of “I Vow to Thee, My Country” before letting out two loud, long, solemn chimes to mark the hour. 

Hannah’s eyes rolled back to try to get the face that was swimming above her into focus. “I think I need to boot again.”

“Yeah…” They had such gentle hands as they wiped her face with a square of toilet paper. “I think…we’ll be in here for a while, Hannie. Once you think you’re done, we’ll get you tucked into bed, promise. A good sleep after a great night, yeah?”

She closed her eyes, willed the room to stop spinning or her stomach to stop churning or at least something anything stop . She heaved out a few breaths. Hannie. Her friends called her that, thinking that was the most affectionate nickname for her, not knowing that she actually felt that way about her full name--as if she’d ever correct them. 

But she was so utterly and totally drunk, she could stop herself from saying, “Hannah Leigh.” Tom called her Hannah Leigh, and she loved it best. Because of why: Your father called you that. He wanted it to be your full name, like how your mother was Annemarie, you’d be Hannalee, like the song he wrote, but she didn’t like it, thought it was clunky, and they fought. Oh no, honey, it wasn’t your fault: they could fight over what shade of blue the sky was. Still, your father, when he had his visitations with you, that’s what he’d call you. He’d turn on a record and dance you around the whole pub floor, spinning you in circles. You were his favorite dance partner, your daddy and his Hannah Leigh. 

Everyone said her dad could be arrogant, self-righteous, combative, the most annoying flavors of Gryffindor. But he had loved her. 

She’d never be called it again. No one would think to. No one would guess. Tom was two wonderful things: her papa and her last tie to a man she had never known. Now both gone.

“Hannah Leigh,” she slurred again. “My dad, he called me Hannah Leigh. But he died and everybody forgot and I didn’t know but I like it. I love it. I jus’…how do you reinvent yourself when you dinnit even know you could?” 

Then she jerked upright. “I have to throw up,” she blurted, lurching towards the toilet bowl again.

“It’s okay. I’m right here.” One hand of those long, sure fingers roped in her hair, holding it back, the other cradling her so she could best aim as she continued to heave out the liter or so of liquor from her guts. 

She let out a single sob, though her eyes were dry; it was just a miserable reflex from throwing up so hard, as she put her head on the toilet seat. The face in front of her swam in a disorienting, unintelligible swirl as her head flopped around. “I’m sorry, I’m so gross.”

“You’re beautiful--whoa, whoa, whoa, here, lay down, okay? I got you. I got you.” Neville finally came into focus as he caught her slumping to the floor, not with his wand but with his hands. Those hands, those perfect hands. She felt perfect in those hands.

“You got me.”

“I got you.” He wiped her lips and her chin clean again. “Hannah Leigh.”

///

“I hate throwing up,” Hannah mumbled, laying flat on her back on the floor, hands covering her eyes. She kept turning her head so that one cheek was pressed against the stone, then the other. She claimed it felt nice, cold and clammy against her booze-flushed cheeks.

“I know, Han,” Neville said patiently. Again. She had said it about forty times. 

“We need to do Christmas.”

“We do! I have your present all waiting--spoiler alert, it’s a new gardenia, one that Pomona says has been charmed to grow outdoors here in London--I know how much you love them, so I asked if she could figure out how to trick them into thinking we’re in Zone 8 climes. And she did! And she even used the method that I thought would work!” he said eagerly. 

“Mmmm…I love gardenias. I love all flowers.” Her eyes fluttered. “I gotta take you to the movies.” Her speech was so thick and garbled, it was almost hard to discern.

“Well…maybe we could do Christmas, go to the movies…” He hesitated. “And then--maybe--you’d want to come with me to see my parents. I try to go every week, even if just to leave new flowers.”

Hannah’s eyes opened. With great effort, she rolled onto her side; her body was floppy and sprawled inelegantly. “You wanna have me go?”

“Only if you want to. I--”

For a moment, she looked sharp and sober. “Yes. When do you wanna go?”

He ducked his head, grinning down at his lap. Then he looked back up, screwing his face in thought. “Well…things are gonna be pretty busy at work this week, so maybe next weekend? Weekend after, potentially, it just depends on if we have to work extra shifts--those bloody Bulgarians and all.” 

“Then we should do Christmas earlier, so you can start taking care of your brand new plant friends.” Hannah rolled onto her back again, closing her eyes. 

“Considering I’ll be back here for dinner in, what, fourteen hours? We can do it then.”

“Yaaaay…” Her whole body began to relax further against the stone, and minutes later, Hannah had started to snore.

Justin knocked on the door shortly after, snickering slightly the image of Hannah, under a blanket that Neville had conjured for her, spread-eagle and snoring loudly.

“She must be really drunk to sound like this,” Neville said, wincing a bit.

“Actually, mate? This is normal. We’ve gotten really good with silencing spells.” He thumbed behind him. “Place is all clean, everybody’s gone--Ern, Suz, and me are staying over, so you can head on home. I’ll take her upstairs.” Then he hesitated. “Or you absolutely want the excuse to carry her.”

“You made that sound really pathetic.” Neville flinched. “Which it is.” As he got up, he sighed to himself, “Oliver Wood…”

“...has a weird licking thing.” Justin shuddered as Neville bent down to lift Hannah into the cradle of his arms. “The fact she’s gonna want to explain that in further detail with Suz and me is gonna be so gross…”

“See I’m going to choose to pretend it never happened. It’s the same approach I take with, like, my O.W.L. results. Total ignorance.”

“They were that bad?”

“Oh. So bad that when Robards was reviewing my file, he laughed. And then let me know if I wasn’t being brought in under the special D.A. pipeline, there would be no way.” He glanced down at Hannah as they made their way up the stairs. “Her marks were leaps and bounds better than mine. Just--my patheticness was kept out of view. Everybody knew it was there, assuredly, but--out of view in the moment.”

Justin was quiet as they ascended; Hannah’s snores filled the space. As they reached the fifth and final set of stairs, he glanced back at Neville. “I’m glad you told Harry to knock it off with the Snape shite. I get where he’s coming from, but--”

“Mate…no offense, but I am too tired and just this side of not sober enough to want to think about Severus Sodding Snape. Or Harry’s utterly--” Neville made himself exhale slowly. “I don’t have the energy to not lose my temper. Can we--maybe talk about this another time?”

“Sure, of course. I’m sorry, Neville.”

“It’s fine. Really. No need.” As they reached the door to the fifth floor, where Hannah’s flat as well as the two flats for Faunas and Margot, the main managers. “Justin? Are you really sure--I mean. Oliver Wood tonight. Anthony was a reserve for the Ravenclaw team for three years. You lot were not as subtle as you thought in discussing--her travel activities. I overheard--surfer, ‘super-cut Muggle actor-slash-bartender-slash Bar Mitzvah hype-man’--which, I don’t know exactly what that means, but it sounds like a hot guy. Plus, I’ve gathered that the guys from when she was here during sixth year were…what I mean is, it seems like maybe Hannah has a type. And I…”

He looked down, past her, at himself, his large button-up jumper and shapeless jeans. “Last year, Wayne Hopkins asked me if, when my grandpa died, he willed me his clothes or if I just raided his closet.” Justin was able to swallow down most of his laugh--but not entirely. “It’s alright. It was a pretty good burn.”

“Well. I guess--” He unlocked the door to the hallway. “First off, I hate to say it, but if want to feel more--current, comfortable in how you dress, then it’s Parvati Time. She wasn’t wrong on Harry’s glasses. But…” Justin gave him a squeeze on the shoulder. “I know for a fact, she prefers guys who are you.” He hesitated. “That didn’t help at all, did it.”

“No. But appreciated.”

Susan and Ernie were in the process of setting up three camp beds in front of the fireplace in Hannah’s flat, glancing up at the sound of the others’ arrival. “Is Hannah’s bed ready?”

“Not yet, just put her on the sofa for now,” Ernie said, gesturing over with his chin. “You know, had we been smart, we’d have set this up before the party.”

“That’s what you get when your N.E.W.T.s are canceled, Ern, none of us learned the practical lessons,” Susan grinned. 

Ernie met Neville to help Hannah to the couch, where she promptly slumped to splay across the cushions, still snoring. “You staying?” Ernie asked. 

“What? Oh. No. I--you lot should get to spend time together, when she wakes up. Besides, I didn’t set up to have my watering system for for the morning, so…” He began to back out of the room before pausing, suddenly seeing and staring at the photos that Hannah had hung on the hallway between the living room and the front door. There were so many, filling the whole space from floor to ceiling, some moving and magical--others still but just as vibrant. So many of Ernie, Susan, and Justin, alone or in all of the various combinations of their quartet, from their first year to one taken back in December, not too long before Hannah left. Other Hufflepuffs, her mother, her aunts. Tom, the Leaky. Hogwarts, the greenhouses. And her friends, their friends. Neville touched a photo of Dumbledore’s Army from March of the past year, the last one of the full group before Ginny had to flee, fingers skimming over Stephen and Lavender’s exhausted but somehow, somehow, cheerful faces. His gaze jerked away, as if the sight was too much to hold, painful the way staring at the sun is for more than a few seconds. 

His eyes reeled, skipping over and away--to a photo just to the side of the hook that Hannah kept her smock apron on. One she must see almost every day. He moved towards it slowly. It was magical, taken by Susan, capturing a moment where he was having dinner at the bar, Hannah on the other side, laughing over something that the other had said, before looking over at the photographer and smiling in unison with him, Hannah reaching over to squeeze his wrist as she did; the loop of the photograph reset just as she was drawing back, her fingers stretching over his skin and skimming over his arm--and he beamed at her as she did. Which exact day in November this was from, he wasn’t sure. Not long after she and Anthony broke up, but long enough that she had started to stare at him for longer, touch him more openly as she moved by, and he--and he looked at her all the time, unafraid that someone would see and get hurt, just like he was in this photo. Gazing at that gorgeous garden of a girl.

And tucked in the bottom right corner of the frame, yellowing just slightly at its edges from a year and a half of age, a Droobles gum wrapper.

Chapter Text

The crowd in Harry’s parlor had taken on a hushed tone as Anthony took the compact disc (CD, the Muggle-raised in the room reminded, just call it a CD) from Hannah. He approached the stereo he had set up on the marble top of the sideboard, placing the disc on the turntable and closed the lid. Terry was on his left, Michael to his right; Anthony held tightly to his wand while Justin was poised behind him as back-up.

“Wait--put a shield charm on the wall,” Susan called out. “If it explodes, that’s the wall we share with the Minister’s parlor, and that fireplace, that’s the weakness, it’s not very thick; moreover, I really don’t need a case clogging the docket alleging that the D.A. tried to murder the Minister.”

“Wouldn’t it be more like manslaughter? Like, we didn’t have the plan to kill but we did anyway?” Su asked, squinting at the wall.

“That’s an excellent point--I’d submit charges for both for judicial evaluation, since we might not have a malicious mens rea, we certainly are now aware of the risk and if choose with proceeding without precautions, that’s reckless… arguably malicious, given how vulnerable the country is right now, how significant Kingsley therefore is, et cetera…still, you’re absolutely right, the prima facia case lends itself much more efficiently towards manslaughter, so amended,” Susan nodded, holding her beer bottle by the neck between two fingers, swinging it idly. “Regardless: let’s not.”

“Alright, alright, fair play. Jus, can you handle that?”

“Wait, wait--Justin, should you do the floor and ceiling, too?” Padma asked.

From a spot on the other side of the room, where he and a good number of D.A. members with wary expressions had congregated, Neville said, “No, the Leaky has one of the best structural protective wards outside of Hogwarts. All of the things they did during the Blitz to make sure it could best withstand even being directly bombed by the Germans. And that--fun fact!--is another reason why the Leaky hosts the Minister’s social events versus any of the other places on Diagon, since it has the wards and multiple secret exits because--uhhh, something with house elves…”

 “Because they have different height needs than humans, and it’s not fair for someone like Bickle to have to use an entrance designed for someone like me,” Hannah supplied. “But! Those have come in handy because people can suss out where the human-sized ones are from staff use, but since the Leaky hasn’t had elves save Bickle, since 1800, the locations of the elf-entrances have been a closely guarded secret by the Selwyns and the Ministers.”

“I know where they are--but sorry, mates, can’t tell you,” Dean said with a nonchalant sigh, bumping his arm against Seamus as he popped his collar. “It’s a burden, being in the know.” 

“Oh, is it now,” Parvati said, giving him a shove. 

“And so now, as an extra security measure, those former elf entrances are widened to allow just enough room for a minister to scoot through.” As a couple dozen blank faces turned to stare at him, Neville stared back in confusion. “What? Haven’t you had Hannah give you a tour of the Leaky yet?”

“I have, and it was absolutely thrilling! The moments of history that have happened here, the hidden passages and--oh, the magical dumbwaiter system, just real innovation. The Leaky truly is the heart of Wizarding London, if not all of England. The British Isles, even!” Ernie gave Hannah a firewhiskey-brightened kiss on the cheek, slinging his arm around her shoulders. “It should be a mandatory excursion for all of us who call this our local!”

“That’s great, but can we get back to what matters?” Anthony said, waving his hair above his head. He glanced at Hannah. “Ready?”

“You’re insured,” Justin told her in encouragement.

“Right.” She took in a deep breath and met Anthony’s eyes. “I believe in you.”

“Damn right you do.” He pointed at Michael and Terry. “Go!” The two of them shot out shield charms with perfect auror precision. He then hit play on the stereo and jumped back as Justin threw up a shield charm to form a perfect square, encasing the electronic device in their magical protection.

“And go,” Anthony said, starting the timer on his watch to start a countdown--as he told Hannah, he hadn’t had a single stereo explode if it made it past the “red-zone” thirty second mark…

There was a mere blink of silence, then: A pulsing beat on a rhythm guitar, over and over, before an electric guitar started an insistent three note riff, a single note on the first beat, then a triplet that arced over the third and fourth, then just the triplets over the next two measures, before holding that final note for an entire measure: dun, dun-dun-dun. Dun-dun-dun. Dun-dun-duuuuuun. 

Anthony held up his hands, and the whole room stared at the stereo, half of them cringing in anticipation. “Fifteen more seconds…”

Which Hannah knew was the magic time, so just before then, the song’s riff grew more complicated, complex, and Michael started laughing in recognition. “Oh my god, it’s ‘Eye of the Tiger,’ classic, Abbott, well done.”

“Shh!” Anthony hissed, eyes reeling between his watch and the stereo. 

At exactly thirty seconds, Anthony thrust his arms into the air, like a referee signaling a field goal in an American football game. Michael nearly tackled him, grabbing him by the waist and hauling him upwards; Terry joined in so the two could jump in excitement, thrusting Anthony even higher into the air.

“History made at the Leaky again!” Ernie cheered, picking up Hannah and swinging her around in a circle. 

As Michael and Terry released him, letting Anthony climb onto the “ ‘I gave them hope, and so turned away their eyes from death!’ ” Anthony roared. “I am your Prometheus!”

“Wow. That’s quite the literary deep cut,” Justin remarked softly to the other three as Ernie set Hannah back down.

“I’m sure he’s been workshopping it in the mirror since he got his Cambridge letter,” Susan said dryly. 

Terry kept thrusting his fist in the air. “I thought nothing would top your heroics of the prefect logs punishment, but you know what, this does!” 

Anthony and Justin grappled into a fierce hug, slapping each other on the back repeatedly. “I am the motherfucking Oppenheimer of magic!”

Susan cocked her head to the side. “Didn’t his invention kill--”

“Oh, dry up, Bones,” Anthony snapped, his eyes landing on Hannah and lighting up in the pleased way one does at the sight of a very delicious cake. 

Hannah held her breath, a bit uncertain, a lot frozen in the light of Anthony’s attention. She and Oliver had been--well, as per Angelina’s recent gassing up--the “stupid, but stupid fun, shag” that every red-blooded girl deserved. She could almost get over how terrible the kissing was since she had discovered that his overly aggressive tongue was excessive in her mouth, but in other places… At any rate, she was having what was enough fun to not cut it off, but she was absolutely still single, and everybody seemed to know exactly what was going on, so… She felt like he was practically swiping tastes of her as his gaze swept her body, barely grazing her face.

Her eyes drooped down, and she started to shove her cuticles back off her fingernails. Maybe this was just normal, to be this way with boys, to boys. Her mother had warned her that she was warping her mind with all of the dumb romantic movies she watched, books she devoured. Unrealistic expectations. Unlikely outcomes.

“Life isn’t a love story, Hanners,” she would scold, grabbing the copy of Annie on My Mind out of Hannah’s hands, lightly bonking her on the head. “It’s an on-and-off with an idiot who then knocks you up, and you find that dating with a kid attracts even larger idiots.” She leaned over to look at Hannah upside down. “Do the birth control charm, and reset your expectation before you get your heart broken and torture me for the next two decades over your own idiots.” 

Hannah hesitated in the present as the next part of the memory forced its way through: Her mother hadn’t stopped there. She had said…what was it: Your own idiots--don’t give me that look… What was the look…

It was a look of utter disbelief. Not that Hannah would make dumb choices--that was a given, she was her--but that there would be multiple boys. There hadn’t even been one, save that momentary peck with Ernie when they were still practically children. Boys didn’t want a girl like her. How she acted. And especially how she looked.

As if her mother had heard that last bit in her brain, Annemarie touched Hannah’s nose. “You have such a pretty face, okay? I wouldn’t say if if you didn’t. That’s why it’s so important you get serious about getting--this under control,” she said, reaching down to gently grip the bulge of Hannah’s left love handle. “You can do it, you just need to be disciplined. And then the boys will be lined up the bloody door. Really.” 

Oliver. Anthony. The guys back in the Americas. If all they wanted was her in their bed, or at their side, or as their celebration, exactly who were they lining up for? It didn’t seem that who she was much mattered. Maybe I don’t…

Michael knocked into Anthony. “Oh, sorry, mate! Lost my footing” In the next moment, Ron was slinging an arm around Anthony’s shoulders, Justin flanking the other side, turning Anthony a few steps away from Hannah, as Ron chattered on about electricity. Suddenly, Hannah felt a strange sensation, like an egg had been cracked over her head, then every bit of her going cold down to the soles of her feet. 

Harry sidled up to Hannah, his eyes on Ron and Justin and Anthony before moving to her. “Hey, do you have a sec?”

“For you? Always.”

Harry led her to a quieter spot towards the side of the room, pulling her closer as he started shoveling words at her, seizing her entire attention: “I meant to tell you right after your welcome-home party, I meant to talk to all four of you, but it’s been a really tense few weeks of work, all this overtime--I bet Nev’s kept you up to date, yeah--and it slipped my mind, but Ant saying that thing just now reminded me…anyway. I just--wanted…see, I didn’t know about the prefect logs thing. At all. The part with the four of you and then you. I’m real sorry.”

“Oh, Harry, why , though? What have you got to be sorry for?” She gave him a hug, smiling a bit as he patted at her back. “That was us against the Carrows and--well, Snape, too, but mostly the Carrows.”

“But I didn’t know--”

“Yeah, but--honestly? There’s so much that happened to every single one of us that’s like-- unreal. I don’t know how you could have gotten filled in about everything, unless you were completely fixated on hunting it all down, and you have been a little bloody busy. Do you know how much better I sleep at night knowing that the aurors--who are basically just you all now--will keep us safe, they aren’t just Death Eaters or their apologists in Ministry robes anymore? You don’t have the time to get it all, you shouldn’t. There’s too much.”

She began to fidget, digging the tip of an index finger pushing against the cuticle of her thumb, poking at it like a pick-axe. “Everyone in the D.A. was tortured, everyone went through at least one truly shattering thing on top of the baseline awful, at least…plus what we were seeing, the things we couldn’t stop or change? It was bad in the fall, but in January, things…” She swallowed, narrowing her eyes a bit. “The day in the Great Hall, in March? When the four of us got our punishment for what we did? That was not fun, but for me and Ant, we got through it alright--Ern, though, that was the shattering one for him--and for Padma, god, the wounds were awful, but it was also the guilt that she couldn’t hang in there longer that ate her up even worse…the point is, there’s just too much. You can’t know it all.”

Harry exhaled, a slow release. “I think…I know about everything the Gryffindors got, and a lot of the Ravenclaws--mostly ‘cause they can’t keep their mouths shut in general, but…” He squinted a bit. “Sometimes--you all make it hard. You seem like you’re doing okay, and then boom, Shay’s laughing about how if he went to bed with all his molars intact, it didn’t count. And I’m like, what--”

“Oh yeah.” Hannah grinned a bit. “The Hundred Days of Dean campaign. Shay didn’t consider the day’s ‘reminder’ that Dean mattered successful unless he got it so bad that he lost a tooth.  He only got it three times, though.”

“Hannah? You just said ‘only.’ That he was only beaten--”

“Actually, no, he was crucio’ ed for that. Almost all of the time after Christmas hols, that's what they did for punishments. Though only short bursts, minute or less was the rule, and in the really scary ones, they still went never more than five. Though they did like blasting us into a wall, like a beating but less effort. The actual beatings--of Michael, Shay, and the times on Nev--came towards the end, after whatever you did at Malfoy Manor. Michael was the one they made us watch, which is--anyway. They were scared, and as Michael kept saying: Anger leads to fear, and fear leads to suffering.”

“Wait. That’s not Michael, Michael is quoting Yoda. From Star Wars. And inaccurately, I’ll add. How do you not know this, Miss Muggle-raised!”

Hannah shrugged. “Star Wars is boring.”

“Hey, whoa, hold up, boring? Are you--” Then Harry did a double take. “This is so not the point. The point is, I keep thinking I understand everything that happened, then one of these stories just bubbles up, and you lot…and times, plural, for Neville, what-- ”

“He was the absolute master at provoking the Carrows to draw their attention away from hurting younger years. He’d piss them off so much, they’d wail on him proper hard and lose their interest in giving a mere lash to their original target. We had to stop counting in the betting pool as to who got the most punishments, since Nev had more than the rest of us combined, with his strategy.” 

Hannah then frowned. “Things keep bubbling up because we’ve done a good job of trying to make what was a nightmare--normal. So we could go on.” She looked around. “These are the only other people that, if I can talk about it, it’s with them, and however it comes out, it’s okay. For a lot of us, it’s gallows humor because we're too fundamentally Gryffindor at our core as a group, versus if we were founded by a core of Hufflepuffs, we’d likely have more appreciation cups and sing-a-longs to stay bonded.”

Harry’s eyebrow shot up. Hannah gave him a cross look. “Shut up, they were wonderful. Cedric had the most lovely tenor, almost as nice as Ernie’s voice--they would duet!”

“Oh, well, if Cedric did it,” Harry said in a mocking tone of reverence, and Hannah gave him a light shove; she didn’t miss how his eyes flickered to the photograph of Cedric prominently hung on the wall. She still wasn’t sure where Harry had obtained it.

He pursed his lips. “I heard that Nev got it on the chin the most, but not from him. From Ginny and Seamus. Hannah… Has Neville told me everything? About that year?”

Hannah’s eyes fluttered in surprise. “Oh! I…well, to be fair, I don’t know what he has told you.”

“Right…” He hesitated. “I guess what I’m trying to ask is, he’s so matter-of-fact about it all, it’s kinda eerie. Like--good ol’ Nev, pleasantly talking about how he’s decided to start putting bananas in his oatmeal, and it adds a really nice flavor to it, and in the exact same tone tell me that why yes, he was beaten like Michael but he’s sturdier and also the Carrows were angrier with Mike that time and lost the plot, so shrug .” Harry thrust his hand into his hair. “And I realized that I did know that Ernie and Padma got absolutely destroyed in the spring, but it didn’t stick since it was in a torrent of other stories Ginny and Nev were telling me. And the way…it’s just that--Ginny’s a little bit easier to read, because the jokes and things increase when she’s deflecting. Nev…it’s all one level, until he gets angry. When he’s angry, it’s like, oh thank god, now I can tell something big’s going on. On the other hand, oh bollocks, now Neville’s angry, and he Hulks out.” He tugged at his hair. “Am I making any sense?”

She studied him, how he looked so helpless.  She was still getting used to his new glasses--still that classic circle shape that she always associated with him, but rimmed in a very thin black-and-caramel frame that made his emerald eyes look lit from some internal flame, the way she remembered the stones on the Sword of Gryffindor seemed to be so brilliant, too. Quite appropriate for Harry, she figured. He looked older now, like he had taken a giant step over into looking fully grown, a man instead of a boy. She suddenly had an urge to look at all of the others here, take in who else had started that slide into seeming adult in the length of time that they had survived.

“Are you asking…” Hannah paused, trying to sort through that comment about Ginny, Neville’s anger. She thought of him as so preternaturally gentle, she forgot that: yes. He could certainly explode, too. “Ginny and Nev, they…I guess I think of it as…I know I’m being dumb to--”

“Han.”

“--sorry,” she blushed, head buckling and eyes suddenly locked onto her toes. “Um.” Hannah tucked at her hair, trying to refocus. “Anyway, um. I think--Ginny saw us as, like, a captain does with her team. She was the one who suggested the prefects think about enchanting the log book, right? And led the strategy. Nev looked at us like we were his--plants in a greenhouse. It was up to him to care for us, cultivate us, be there through every bit of growth. Then again, he had another garden, which was--you. Your cause, our fight. He had to tend to both. So as Ginny worked out the how, he kept us totally in the why of it all. He’d keep popping off at Snape and the Carrows to keep us feeling like-- yeah. Nev was our constant gardener. It’s why he’s so good at talking to us, gassing up the D.A. and pulling aside our allies to pat their backs and whatnot; everybody, even Michael, needed those, a lot. Especially after Ginny was gone.” 

Startling, she babbled frantically, “Not that Ginny wasn’t doing the same, that’s not--she was a captain, y’know, she just--it’s just that, I was like, always, blimey, her brain is so brilliant, she always was so fast with the perfect joke or thought, and she’s so brave, she’s--she’s--like, thank god Quidditch was canceled, she’d have absolutely shredded every other team ‘cause she’s that good at playing and coaching and--”

Harry grabbed her by her upper arms. “Hannah. D’ya wanna take a deep breath and maybe find the ability to speak in full sentences, knowing I did not assume that you were telling me that Ginny wasn’t as important to the D.A. as Neville?” He squinted at her. “You’re kinda driving me crazy, with how you make a point and then immediately refuse to make it at the same time, in case it didn’t land perfectly.”

“Sorry.” Squeezing up her eyes, she said, “Dean said…something about how I should learn to not apologize for existing.”

“Yeah, I’d move that higher on your to-do list…you were saying--Ginny was the captain? So Nev…?”

She gave Harry a half-smile. “When she left, we lost our brain. We needed our heart to work overtime.”

Hannah twisted the end of a braid around her fingers, twirling it like a ring. “You have a really unshakeable sense of right and wrong, Harry. Nev is the exact same while--being in touch with his feelings more since his closest friends were all girls, I’m sorry, but it’s true, and it’s to his benefit and you should take notes, and also, he thought our house sing-alongs were great,” she blurted, narrowing her eyes at Harry slightly. 

“Hey, the next time you start brainwashing him into thinking he should have been in Hufflepuff? Just remember, no sword. Neville Longbottom doesn’t save the day wielding the yellow-painted sharing stick.”

“You know what, sassypants, we don’t have a sharing stick, we know how to have conversations where everyone contributes respectfully, and Ophelia and Cedric and all the house-head prefects would always gently call out those who talked over others, so there.”

“Well, I’ve sure learned my lesson. It’s like I just got swatted by a really annoyed kitten.”

“Oh, you’re just so funny,” Hannah said, rolling her eyes and glaring at him. “Anyway--” She took in a breath, pushing her hands into the pockets of her smock. “When you have so many people you’re tending to, caring for, and you know that whatever you’re doing and whatever you’re getting as a consequence is just what it means to do the right thing?” She shrugged. “Of course Nev isn’t bothered. Or that he instead only wants to talk about the rest of us, and you. He doesn’t think he much matters. We’re what matters to him. This is just--the same as fearlessly diving right into getting the Snargaluff pod out, no matter how bad the licking is. It just needs to be done.”

She gazed at Neville, talking with Su, wide-eyed and riveted as she was explaining something to him, her fingers moving in the air to provide an illustration. “Ever notice his smiles? When you say something nice to him, about him? He always dips his head, and he blushes. Like the weight of something nice is too heavy, so he always bends a bit. Like tree limbs do when there’s too much snow. So. Yeah. He’s not telling you everything, but he’s telling you everything he knows. Just…go cross-check with Ginny, yeah? Or about stuff in that last month, Susan: she’s a Bones, she’s constitutionally required to be objective.”

Harry had turned from Neville to stare at her. “You really know him.”

“He’s my best friend.”

“Do you like him?”

She startled. “Uh--” She dug her nails into the soft flesh of the palms of her hands. “I mean. He’s my best friend, Harry. Duh,” she added, trying to sound cool, flippant, the way Ginny did effortlessly, as her voice came out pinched and face erupted in a lava of blush, brow to chin. Deflect deflect deflect!

“Do you like him.”

Hannah’s eyes wheeled around in a panic, in the hopes she would lock in with Susan or Justin or Ernie who would save her! Damn it, why did she so easily find Neville instead. 

She had to swallow hard against the bulb of tears blossoming in her throat. “It was always so easy to follow you, Harry, because of who you are, how much you took on when we were still little . It was all thrust on you, and you didn’t have to step up, but you did, over and over. You were told you were a hero, and you wore it so lightly, exactly how we needed you to. We deserved a hero like you.” 

Hannah brushed at her teary eyes. “Nev was told his whole life he wasn’t a hero, he wasn’t what was needed, he wasn’t enough and couldn’t get it done even if the moment needed him. And yet--he acted just like you every time a hero was needed, too. Without hesitation. First into the breach. Harry…I don’t know if we deserve him. I know I certainly don’t.”

She started to step away, saying, “I gotta go, I’m so late, Oliver wanted me to meet him at Hombre, and I’ve got to get changed--”

“Sure, Han…” 

Harry had a peculiar look on his face, like he had remembered the punchline to a good joke but not all of the set up. Then his eyebrows flickered, and he pointed at her. “By the way, I heard what you lot are up to tomorrow night. Nev’s finally starting to edge away from being a total geek, and this could really set him back in that journey. Could you, maybe, make sure Justin doesn’t completely cock it up?”

///

“Alright. Are you ready.”

Neville took in a deep, fortifying breath. “I think so. Yes.”

“I don’t think he is,” Susan said, shaking her head. “You and Justin are flying too close to the sun here.”

“Aw, have some faith in the man, Imzadi.” Justin put his hand on Neville’s shoulder. “Just walk us through it, one more time.”

Neville exhaled through puckered lips, then nodded. “So. Jean-Luc Picard is the captain of the Starship Enterprise three hundred years in the future. He’s French, but he’s played by a British actor, and we’re not supposed to think about that too much, I guess. He’s like the Harry. He says ‘make it so’ and ‘engage’ a lot, and people will likely cheer every time he does, and Han said that people aren’t usually going to be this rowdy during Muggle movies, but--anyway. Okay. So.” Neville started counting on his fingers. “Picard’s Ron is Riker, who is also called ‘Number One.’ His Hermione is a robot named Data who desperately wants to be human but can’t for…reasons. But he has some human emotions. And he has an evil twin robot, but he probably won’t be in the movie. Then there’s a guy in charge of security named Wolf--”

“Worf.”

“Worf. Whoooo…went onto another ship--”

“Deep Space Nine’s a station, actually.”

“Don’t complicate it, Jussie. You’re doing great, Nev.

Neville gave Susan a brief smile before his eyes rolled up as he kept reciting: “But Worf’ll be in the movie somehow. And he’s an alien called a--something. Crayon.”

“Klingon.”

“Right. Worf, Klingon, weird ridges. Oh, then there’s Geordi who’s like Anthony, he’s all about science, and he’s in charge of the engine and making the Enterprise run. He’s blind and so his eyes look weird because they--did something to make him see. The healer is Beverly Crusher, and she’s got a son who probably won’t be in the movie because he’s now in some intergalactic group of Lunas or whatever, and him not being in the movie is good.”

“Because Wesley is dumb, correct.”

“He’s not dumb, Justin.”

“Oh! And there’s a mind-healer named Deanna--that’s the one Hannah’s aunt is in love with and thinks is tremendously fit--and she’s also an alien but looks human and can read minds. Kind of. And oh, okay, and Picard was once kidnapped by the evil robot Borg whose spaceship is a box, and they made him a human-robot, and he did bad things, but then the Enterprise saved him, but the whole movie is how…the Board--”

“Borg, you had it right the first time.”

“Bugger, okay, the Borg are back and they are trying to make everyone into evil human-robots with them.” He clapped his hands together. “I’m so ready!” He took his ticket from Susan, beaming at her and Ernie. “This is so brilliant . Were you this excited the first time you went to see a Muggle movie?”

“Oh, incredibly. We were so amazed, we begged Justin and Hannah to take us to see another one immediately. I think we went to three movies that day, right?” Susan said as they entered the theatre. 

“Jurassic Park, Robin Hood: Men in Tights, and The Fugitive,” Hannah nodded. 

“The first one was about dinosaurs , it was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,” Ernie said, his voice hushed in awe. 

Neville’s jaw dropped, and Justin nodded. “I own it on DVD. My parents are heading to Lake Como with friends soon, perhaps we could take advantage of the empty house and do a full-on movie marathon, kick off with that?” 

“Yes,” Neville and Ernie said in unison.

“I’m absolutely in as long as I am allowed to not watch during the parts I never watch.” Susan pulled a face at Neville. “I don’t like when people get eaten,” she explained, and Neville’s eyes widened so much, Hannah was worried he’d give himself a headache.

“I am so excited,” he whispered, more to himself.

Hannah giggled, looping her arm in with his to lead him to the concessions stand, getting in line behind the other three. “What Ernie failed to tell you is that the first time a dinosaur appeared on the screen, he was so startled, he pulled out his wand. Jus and I barely were able to stop him before he shot off a protective charm.”

Neville let out a delighted gasp. “Can you even imagine trying to explain that to the Wizengamot? ‘Why did you violate the underage wizard ban and perform spells in front of Muggles?’ ‘Well, there was this dinosaur…’” 

Hannah burst into laughter, nearly losing her footing from it, and he started to laugh, too, putting his hand on top of hers and squeezing. 

He sighed out a little huff of contentment and looked at her. “You seem lighter since coming back.” He hesitated, running the edge of his lower teeth against his upper lip. “Is…that because of, ah, Oliver?”

She blinked. “Wood ? What? No! Oh god, no. I don’t mind when he pops round or asks me by, but…I kinda forget about him when he’s not in front of me. I know that’s pretty terrible,” she admitted, wincing hard.

“You forget about him? Oliver’s like--a Quidditch god, though! He’s in the papers!”

Hannah shrugged up her shoulders slowly. “Quidditch is kinda boring when Hufflepuff’s not playing. Or another friend, like Harry or Ginny or something.” She suddenly burst out laughing. “Nev, your face! You look like--I just handed you a box of new succulents!”

“Nobody ever admits to finding it boring, ‘cause I do, too, unless, yeah, it’s watching our friends or for the Cup,” Neville admitted, his smile heavy with relief. “Do you know, every single bloody night for the past month, when I come into the kitchen, they are talking Quidditch? How Gryffindor should handle Ravenclaw to win the Cup with the biggest margin in a decade or something, Harry’s got Ginny’s letters where she debates strategy out, and him and Ron and Dean and Seamus and George and Lee sit around and act like they’re her bloody batmen! And once? In early May? McGonagall let Ginny talk to them via Floo--there was some barely plausible excuse for it, it was basically just to talk Quidditch, and you could hear McGonagall in the background piping in, all sodding eight of them just Quidditch Quidditch Quidditch, hoop quaffle, whatever, kick--”

“Kick?”

“Whatever,” he said dismissively. “And all I wanted to do was quick say hi to my best mate and tell her that I am about to plant the feather-plume jasmine bulbs that you got me, but Harry practically bodied me and tossed me out of the room, said there was no time for anything but Quidditch.” He looked thunderstruck. “I might have the only plume jasmine in the United Kingdom!”

“Which is so exciting.”

“I know!” He rolled his eyes as they shuffled forward in line. “But no: Quidditch Quidditch Quidditch Quidditch.”

“Kick.” They dissolved into giggles, bumping against each other. He squeezed her hand again; his fingers slid slightly, so they didn’t rest directly on top of hers anymore but instead settled in the valley between her own, and she became far too preoccupied with how, if she opened her fingers just a bit more, they’d practically be holding hands. 

His face was rosy. “At any rate…Oliver…not so much.”

“No. Not so much.” She shook her head, feeling her cheeks burn. “This is--this feels weird to talk to you about, I don’t know why.” 

Which was a lie: she knew. Because I wish it were you.

No. No. I’m over you. I’m past this. You need someone special and strong. That’s not me. I’m okay with this. I have…Oliver, I guess, to pass the time. I have Pride and Prejudice, and Mr. Darcy is eternal. And I have…to stop talking to myself.

“Maybe because it’s got some echoes to Parv, if Parv were instead some super cool Quidditch player.”

“Versus just a regular-cool divination queen.”  

“Exactly.” He paused. “I’m not--the echoes, they’re fine, just so you know. I think there’s…some story that maybe I was bummed out that she never wanted--I mean, I did try to put together, like--well, as much as you can, a date after our first--well, you know, after the first--thing, before she told me no, but--I mean…” Neville did the same slow shrug Hannah did, holding his shoulders up by his ears before dropping them down. “She finds gardening boring, Han, and you know what? When I found that out, I didn’t want to date her. Who wants to be with a person who doesn’t find any value in the things you love?” 

“But she was fine enough for hooking up.”

“Well, I’m not a monk.” As Hannah giggled, he blushed and said, "I'd keep coming back up to the dorm and finding Shay and Lav all cuddled up in his bed, gossiping and whatnot, and then I'd pull open my bed curtains, and lookit who's stretched out like Crookshanks acting like the damn thing is hers."

Hannah giggled again. Their fingers squeezed in together again. “I’m just surprised that you still even wanted to kiss her after finding that out.”

“Yeah, but most of our friends don’t appreciate mere gardening, let alone herbology. I mean, okay. I was telling everybody about my Christmas presents, and especially the jasmine over lunch at the Ministry cafeteria, and I could count on one hand how many people got excited!”

“How many?”

“None. But Susan and Ernie were interested, so I’m counting them.”

“What about Susan and Ernie?” Ernie asked, turning around. 

“That you were--holy shite, it’s a--” Neville yelped, arm suddenly thrust out as he pointed at a group of nearby people. The others whirled around. Neville spluttered for a moment, and his right hand moved into the hidden pocket in his trousers where he stowed his wand. 

Justin grabbed his wrist and pulled it back. “Whoa, hold up, mate--cheers,” Justin told the others with a casual flash of a Vulcan salute, and Neville’s eyes bugged. “His first time at a Trek event. He’s more of a Flash Gordon kind of guy.”

“What are they,” Neville hissed.

“They’re playing dress up, Nev, those are types of aliens from the show--you know how Muggles celebrate Halloween with costumes? It’s like that,” Susan said as she gazed at the group, three of them in costumes and full prosthetics as Vulcans and the other two as Klingons, shooting withering glances at Justin and Hannah. “You make sure he knows who Wesley Crusher is, but you don’t explain cosplay. Really.” 

Hannah was about to speak, but she did a double take at Ernie who was staring at the other people with his mouth agape. She put a hand on his back. “Ern…”

He leaned into her. “Did…is that…did they use Polyjuice…?”

Susan smacked his arm. “Ernest Arthur Macmillian, Vulcans and Klingons are not real. How would Polyjuice work when you can’t get a hair from a fake species.”

“Right, right…” He was still staring openly. “A disguise charm, then?”

“Those are Muggles, mate, get it together. Those are costumes. And special makeup for their faces. Just like on the TV show! And the other movies!”

“But…that’s for TV and stuff, Muggles can just do that in real life?” 

“Well, not usually, not to this extent, but this is a special occasion. It’s a Star Trek marathon in a real theatre, this requires a sense of occasion.” Justin touched his ears. “Vulcan ears meet the moment.”

“Then how come you’re not doing that?” Neville asked him, still staring, though Hannah was tugging him forward in line. 

“Well, actually…” Justin started unzipping his windbreaker. “I wanted to explain the uniform colors to you first, but--” With a flourish, he stripped off the jacket to reveal that his black trousers were in fact part of his Jean-Luc Picard costume; he tugged the top half down and beamed at the other four.

“I got it with some of my birthday pocket money,” he said. “I really wanted an ambassador uniform, but the message boards on use.net aren’t really helping me figure out if there is a standard uniform? Or if Spock’s is traditional or just unique to Vulcans--so this will do for the time being.”

“Where’s your costume?” Neville asked Hannah excitedly. 

“Hannie’s dressed as ‘loyal friend,’” Justin grinned. 

“I like Star Trek, I do! Mostly because it’s Justin’s thing, admittedly, but when we spent the summer watching the show, I liked it a lot more than Mum said I would. I like that it’s so hopeful. A future where people care and work together and bridge differences. And work hard and work together to solve problems, and they are friends and respect each other and are so loyal. And they put on theatricals and concerts and things to bond.”

Neville tilted his head. “So…the Enterprise is kind of…Hufflepuff in space.” His eyebrows popped up. “Justin, that makes you Professor Sprout, right? Since Jean-Luc’s the Harry but he’s also the head of house in a way, right?”

Justin stared at Neville, his face washing over in utter gratitude. “That is the nicest thing you have ever said, Nev.” As they finally reached the counter, Justin held up a hand and gave it a casual wave. “I got this. So! Sweet and salty mix popcorn for all, obviously; Cokes for us, Diet for Han--Neville, what do you want to drink?” Neville stared up at the list of sodas and drinks in confusion, frozen. “Ahhh, I’ll get you the same as us, it’s like the cola they sell at Honeyduke’s…do you want any candy?”

Neville blinked. “Do…they have, like, chocolate frogs, something like that?”

The cashier gave him a suspicious look, and Justin pulled out his wallet. “He’s not from around here,” he told the girl smoothly, “he means M’n’Ms.”

“I do?” Neville whispered to Hannah.

“Yes.”

“I do,” Neville said loudly, nodding at the cashier. The girl peered at him, even more wary, as she slowly turned to fill their bags of popcorn. He glanced at Hannah with an uncertain smile, and when she nodded encouragingly, he squeezed her fingers between his, before starting to pepper Justin questions about his costume. 

Susan turned, whispering into Hannah’s other ear. “Just think about how many other Muggle things you can introduce Neville to over the next few weeks…just picture taking him on a roller coaster.” 

“A waterslide,” Hannah giggled.

“Conveyor-belt sushi, that blew my mind.”

“A foam party at that one club in Picadilly Circus where you think you picked up that infection.”

“I did. It was so gross. I’m so excited to take Ginny and Luna. Also,” Susan said, her voice even softer, her lips practically against Hannah’s ear, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you two were on a date.”

“A date doesn’t involve talking about you shagging another guy,” Hannah whispered, but her face instantly flushed.

“You what?” Susan squeezed her eyes shut and then murmured, more to herself, “You are making this so much harder than it needs to be.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nevermind. Another time.”

///

As they reached a first red light on their walk to find a private enough alley for each to Disapparate home, they paused at the corner. Hannah glanced back at Neville. He had been walking beside Justin, talking animatedly about the film, but the conversation had gone abruptly quiet. He was staring up at the sky. 

“Nev?” Hannah pulled her arm from Ernie’s waist, and his arm dropping from her shoulders as she headed over to Neville, glancing at Justin who then looked up, too, looking a bit confused.

“What are you looking at?” Susan asked, peering up as well. 

As Hannah put her hand on his shoulder, he looked at the four of them in a daze. “I hadn’t ever thought about--other planets, other than how they’re useful and used for magic. And now…and then traveling to the moon, and Justin said the Americans are planning on Mars, I…I’ve never thought of it that way, that out there could be something. Some one. That we’re not alone.” He grinned a bit, looking back up at the stars. “It’s…” 

As he trailed off, Hannah slid an arm around his waist--just like Ernie, she told herself, just like with Ernie, and as Justin proudly said, “And with that, a new Trekkie is born. See, Ernie, this is the sense of wonder! You need to let go of caring about the mechanics of the movie and the practicalities of the science and lose yourself in the wonder of it all--that’s the true Data experience, chaps, isn’t it…”

But she was smiling at Neville at the same time, saying, “I love how you see the world. Or. Worlds,” she added with a murmur of a giggle, looking up, too. As he put an arm around her shoulders, he hugged her a little, so her head tucked against his collarbone and forehead found the root of his neck. She heard him exhale, content and slow, as the flat of his chin found the top of her head. 

“It’s just…it’s awe-inspiring.”

She moved her head so that she could glance at him, then pointed upwards. “North Star, right?” Hannah smiled. “I dunno, Nev, I think the stars have always been inspirational.”

His eyes seemed to focus for the first time, his head more on earth than in the sky. They were such a sweet, pale shade. Clear, no flecks, bright in the light of the streetlamps. In a slow motion, he lifted his hand up and tucked back a piece of hair that had escaped one of her Dutch braids, the tips of his fingers petal-light as they skimmed over the curve of her ear, under the lobe.

Everything inside of her body froze--braking so fast, it created a cold anticipation, and suddenly, she was standing on a waterfall cliff in Brazil, staring down at the glossy green water below, feeling this exact thing, that mix of terror and yet still want. Then the terrible tipping sensation as everything that had stopped went back into motion, into free-fall, creating a heat in her nerves that was almost too much to take. If he hadn’t been holding her, she might have tripped down to the ground. 

But he was, and those perfect fingers were trailing down her neck. Her body was practically shouting at her, that swooping feeling inside refusing to stop, but her brain was oddly quiet. For the first time, she took a good long look at his lips.

“Neville, c'mon, adm-” Susan, calling out loudly, then stopping abruptly. Then from Justin, spitting out a shit-- By the end of the word, Neville’s hand and arms had vanished from Hannah, and he seemed to evaporate in an instant to stand a full foot away from her. She stood for a moment in that spot before all she could feel was the crush of hitting a surface that didn’t give way--that the fear she had on the cliff in Brazil that the water wouldn’t yield and welcome her but instead reveal itself to be as hard as brick, it came true. 

She gave him a slant of a smile and then turned to hurry across the street to catch the others, running just as the light changed back to red.

Chapter Text

“Sorry, the line for the Disapparation point was a total faff,” Justin said as he, Susan, Ernie, and Neville entered the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. 

“Any progress?” Seamus asked, and his face shifted from a grin to a grimace as Neville slumped down to the table and put his head immediately on its surface.

”She is really committed to the bit,” Ernie said grimly. 

“What’s the bit?” Dean asked, then frowned at the skillet where Harry was preparing dinner, Seamus leaning against the counter on Harry’s other side. “Mate, that’s not cooked.” The three of them cocked their heads to the side and shot identical suspicious looks at the orzo. 

“Not giving an opportunity for Neville to touch her. She is staying completely behind the bar the whole time—and she wouldn’t even come around to hug us hello or goodbye tonight since it would have led to a hug for him,” Justin sighed. 

“Because, remember, she confused him with how cuddly she can get, she needs to back off for him,” Susan said, rolling her eyes.

“Y’know, you could take charge, Nev, just walk on up to her and get the affection ball rolling again? Or I dunno, just kiss her already?” Dean said.

”If she’s not comfortable, I really don’t want to force it,” Neville said, lifting his face just enough to be heard. “That feels wrong. And about ten million times more wrong to kiss her when it’s like this…” He hesitated. “Besides. I really want it to be…perfect. I just want it to be perfect. Just like in her books.”

”Oh. So. No pressure, on either of you. That’s a great idea,” Seamus said, flashing Neville a thumbs up before the other boy put his head down again.

Ron nodded slowly, giving his pint glass a swirl, and gestured with his chin to Susan. “Have you owled ‘Mione with this yet? And what Hannah said on Wednesday night? ‘Cause I can just take a letter along and give it to her tomorrow.”

Susan held up a scroll. “Just need to add in the part about what happened when we tried to get hugs goodbye. I literally walked around to the opening, and she just happened to need to start one of her spinny bottle trick things, so all she could do was smile.”

“I love those spinny tricks,” Seamus sighed happily as Harry let out a yelp, sending the other two springing to grab the bottle of white wine and chicken stock, frantically pouring both in while Harry stirred.

”Uh, Harry, this might be a lot more complicated of a recipe than we thought,” Dean said, battling to stay nonchalant. 

“I’m not entirely sure why I can’t just make Gin spaghetti? I’m good at spaghetti,” Harry grumbled.

Neville finally lifted his head, giving Harry a withering look of disbelief. “For a special welcome home dinner. Why not just make her a frozen meal you picked up at Iceland?”

”Well, look at who’s gotten quite comfortable with Muggle shops, eh?” Dean said, glancing over his shoulder at Justin. 

“This is the Leaky’s parmesan orzo? Yeah. Move it,” Neville sighed, standing up and waving the other two away. “I’ve had it maybe twenty times and two of those times, Hannah made it for me since I got off work so late that the kitchen was closed. Just watch close, Harry, and I'll walk you through how you need to kind of gut-feel the amount of liquid when it's time.” He vanished the mess of the current meal and reached for the butter. 

As he cut off a generous chunk and tossed it into the skillet, he said in a small voice, “I think I missed my chance.”

“You didn’t miss it. What happened to that famous Longbottom patience, eh?” Ernie asked.

“It’s stuck at a red light on Tottenham Court Road.”

“Just remember: Hannah’s a little bunny rabbit, she--” 

Seamus cut Dean off, grabbing his arm. “Dude. Rabbit? Rhymes with Abbott, do’nit? Bunny Abbott.”

Justin let out a laugh. “That’s amazing. And accurate. Also helpful! She’s gotten scared, insecure, she’s gone scurrying away to protect herself. Just be glad she didn’t run off to the Americas again,” he added, and Neville let out a mumbled grunt. “You gotta stay perfectly still, Nev, just stay patient, stay the course, and wait for her to come creeping back out of her warren--”

“Burrow, mate.”

“Burrows are individual dens, warrens are the larger maze. Did you read Watership Down?”

“Or pay attention in Magical Creatures,” Susan added.

“I was too busy not having one of Hagrid’s creatures kill or eat me or set me on fire, so it’s very likely I missed that,” Seamus shot back.

“Missed what?” Parvati asked as she entered the kitchen, and Ron immediately pointed at her. Parvati pointed at herself. “What?”

Ron snapped his fingers, pointing at Parvati again. “I think the play here isn’t just Nev waiting for Hannah to work back up to their little dating-without-dating deal.” Ron swung his pint glass at the Hufflepuffs. “How else do you get a bunny out of hiding?”

Ernie’s eyes bounced from Ron to Dean to Harry to Susan, perplexed. “I dunno…a carrot?”

”Exactly.” 

“Ohhhh…” Susan shifted straighter. “Yes.”

Harry squinted at Ron, who then pointed with his glass at Neville’s back, adding, “A very big carrot.” It took another second, but Harry’s eyes lit up. He glanced at Parvati, making her way across the room with a bottle of dragon-talon rum and two glasses, and started to cackle, his glasses slipping down his nose as he did.

Neville tossed a handful of sage into the skillet and then looked at him. “Wait. What? What carrot?”

Ron looked over at Parvati. “Parv—it’s time.”

Her entire face erupted in delight. “Really?”

”We need you on the pitch, go forth and beautify.”

”What carrot,” Neville repeated loudly.

With a grin, Susan said, “You.”

Parvati started hurrying out of the room, bellowing, “Lee! Babe! Meet me in Nev’s room. The purge is finally a go!”

“Don’t burn my romantic dinner,” Seamus nudged Neville, who looked completely lost and more fearful than he had at the Battle of Hogwarts. He almost mechanically turned back to the skillet. 

“What’s happening,” he murmured, eyes wide.

”If Hannah’s careful to avoid touching you since she’s scared she’s gonna get let down—again—then we gotta make it real damn hard for her to keep up this resistance. Hannah’s got a thing for pretty boys? Just wait until Nev’s been Parvati’ed," Ron grinned.

”I need this,” Neville sighed, reaching for a second box of orzo—and then a bottle. 

“Wait, I thought the recipe called for wine, not fire whiskey.”

“It does.” He belted back a shot directly from the bottle as in the distance, Lee called down, “He needs a haircut. And dealing with those eyebrows.” 

Neville sighed and kept drinking.

Chapter Text

“When can we head over?” Seamus asked, glancing at the clock in the Grimmauld Place kitchen again. 

“Not. Until. Half-past,” Hermione said again, an edge in her voice, as she settled back at the table. “Now. Who else wants some coffee?”

“You pre-game so practically,” Dean snorted, but he summoned himself a mug. “Tell me we’re putting Bailey’s in it.”

“Naturally.” Hermione beamed at Ron as he grabbed the liqueur and returned to her side, fingers stroking down a tendril that she had let fall out of her French twist as he settled on the bench beside her, as close as he could, both arms tying around her torso. “Besides, Gin and Parv aren’t even ready yet.”

“Oh, we’re ready,” Parvati said, stomping into the kitchen in a canary yellow minidress, the incredibly high chunky heels of her shoes clomping on the stone floor, Lee trailing behind her. “We’re just trying to cajole Neville out of his room since he’s being a right prat.”

“She put him in Outfit Number Eight, which, if I may say so myself--since I curated it myself--is straight fire. The lad just wants to look bad, I’m convinced of it,” Lee said, rolling his eyes. 

Hermione frowned up at the ceiling as Ron and the other two laughed. 

“George is still meeting us, right?” Ron asked, trying to sound light and failing slightly.

Lee gave him a squeeze on the shoulder. “Even if he tried to punk out, the girls said they’re gonna make him. Katie and Ang’ve prolly got him at wandpoint at theirs right now, making him shave to boot.”

Ginny entered the room in a lavender wrap dress she had borrowed from Hermione and transfigured to fit her shorter frame, its V-neck plunging even lower on her. “Oi, isn’t that ‘Mione’s? How come it looks so much--different on you,” Ron said, waving his hand at Ginny with suspicious eyes.

Ginny gave him a sly look. “Magic.” Her face clouded as she glanced at Parvati. “Really, is the haircut that bad?”

“No. He looks positively lethal. He’s a legitimate weapon, he’s so fit, he does not deserve me or my time with this attitude,” Parvati practically yelled towards the door as Lee rubbed at her shoulders. She got a bit teary. “And you know, Lav made herself known at the salon, she sent in a breeze to tell him how stunning he was now, and this is how you thank her for taking time out of her heavenly bliss with-- ” she shouted, cutting off and biting her lips.

“With…” Ron said, as Seamus and Dean leaned in.

Parvati accepted a tissue from Lee and dabbed carefully at her eyes. “An Unspeakable cannot reveal what is learned in the course of our work,” she sniffed, and Lee kissed the top of her head.

“How come your work sounds more and more like a cover to just have ghost gossip with Lav,” Seamus said skeptically, adding in an extra couple shots of Bailey’s to his mug.

With a withering look, Parvati said, “When I eventually unlock the secrets of love, Seamus Finnigan, I will not be sharing them with you. Not that you have the sophistication or depth to understand them in the first place.” In a miserably bad Irish accent, she said, “‘Oi, fancy a smash, ladies and-or lads? Doesn’t matter, I’ve got no skills for any takers!’” 

Seamus opened his mouth, eyes flashing furious, but Ginny thrust her wand into the air and a bang that sent a rush of air radiated through the room. “Hi. Can we have this fight later? I’d really like my good mate to come to our graduation party, if you please, so--can you stow it for when we get to the Leaky?”

“Doesn’t he want Hannah to see how good he looks?” Lee popped the top off of a bottle of ale. “I thought the whole point was Parv and me got him looking tops, Hannah gets appropriately horny in response, they get handsy again, the big move is made, and bob’s your uncle. The rest of us in the house welcome him into the shag club.”

“I really don’t want to be in a shag club with two of my brothers, thanks,” Ginny said, looking vaguely nauseated as Dean snickered. “Cheers. Anyway. No. That Prophet article about her being our good-time gal--kinda…threw a wrench into things, Susan said in her last owl. How do you not know that? You’re here. Hermione and I just got back yesterday .”

“I have an actual life that doesn’t revolve around matchmaking two massive dorks with plant fetishes.”

Ron laughed, cutting off as Hermione glared at him, trying to fix his face back into solemnity but failing. She rolled her eyes and then said, “Susan said they’re being--’handsy’ again, as you so artfully put it, Lee, but Nev said he doesn’t want to make a move until things blow over a bit--she doesn’t need yet another bloke coming onto her.” Hermione paused. “Actually, Susan kinda…danced around something that I need to talk to her about, Ginny and I had a guess from even reading the article, that Hannah was rattled about the pictures showing her, you know, now and then before--”

“The Prophet’s done a lot of shitty things to me, but at least they haven’t called me fat,” Ginny said, her face hardening.

“I was trying to avoid saying the word, Ginny, but--yeah.”

“That’s--that was just one little part, though,” Ron said uncertainly, Seamus and Dean and Lee exchanging similarly confused looks, “and it was about how she’s not anymore, how hot she is now an’ she’s leading Harry into a life of booze and table dancing like her rockstar father, or whatever, so--that’s--”

“Bad, yes,” Ginny said, looking at her brother in disbelief, as Hermione’s frown somehow deepened. “Are you boys really this slow? Her article--”

“Funny how we’ve all forgotten the article wasn’t actually about Hannah but instead me, ” Harry said shirtily as he entered the kitchen, a sour look on his face. In a pinched voice that resembled Rita Skeeter just enough, he snapped, “Harry Leaks Off! How the Chosen One Chooses to Blow Off Steam!” 

He roughly tossed his coin purse on the table and shook his head at Ginny. “He’s not coming out, he said, let’s just go.”

“You people are so bad at this,” Dean sighed, pulling his wand from his sport coat and pointing it at his throat, casting the amplification charm so that his voice boomed out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the second floor and Neville’s room: “We’re talking about Hannah and the article, Hermione and Gin need a better catch up than from in owls.” He then held a finger to his lips and mouthed, “Three…two…one…”

Echoing down to them, the sound of a door opening, then footsteps in the hallway. The others gave Dean an impressed look, and he bowed his head, raising his hands as if in humble acknowledgment.

“The man can’t keep himself away from a conversation on plants or Hannah. Or Star Trek, concerningly, he and Ernie can’t stop talking about it at lunch. I saw him yesterday in his room reading a Star Trek novel Justin gave him. The third that I’ve caught him with. Mates…”

“Those Hufflepuffs are really pulling Nev in a dorky direction. Moreso,” Harry added with a frown. 

“On the other hand, he’s talked more with them than I’ve seen him do in--the entire time I’ve known him, actually,” Seamus said. “From like…Christmas hols of fifth year onward, he either talked about plants, gave pep talks, or was silent.”

“I don’t think I put that together, actually. How--little Nev usually talks. And how much he does talk now, that he and Hannah got close,” Ron said slowly, glancing at Hermione, who nodded absently, though she was still staring at Harry, eyes narrowed.

“What about Hannah and her article,” Neville said, his voice reaching them first before he appeared in the doorway, wearing his work robes to cover his clothes and the cap that first year students wore to partially conceal his hair.

“My article,” Harry corrected, face storming. Hermione’s eyes darted to Ron, and she seemed displeased at what she found.

Ginny caught Hermione’s gaze, too, mouth tightening for a second, as she reached out to take Harry’s hand, trying to meet his own eyes, getting a slight glare in return. She arched an eyebrow and stared at him, eyes sweeping over his face as she sat on the bench before studying the solemn-faced Neville as well. 

“My article,” Harry repeated, louder. “It’s about how I’m basically some drunk, going into the parlor all the time and clearly whooping it up under Hannah’s ‘fast’ influence, when really--it’s the kinda lame truth that it feels safe, just like hanging out back in the Gryffindor Common Room again just--you know, with a waitress. Rita’s made it all so seedy. Hannah was just a smokescreen for Rita to come at me.” His hands balled into fists. “And Gin. That comment about me hanging out with her exes while she’s been at Hogwarts? Like Dean and Michael and I are--” He stalked over to the pile of newspapers and magazines that someone (whose chore chart assignment was clearly neglected) was supposed to take out to the bins, fishing that edition out from its place near the top, as Harry had been tossing it out and finding it again, stewing stewing stewing…

“Lookit, okay, I get it, she’s embarrassed that she’s dancing on the bartop and looks pretty wasted,” Harry said, pointing at the lead photo of Hannah’s drunken twirling before she stopped to scream out: I’m home! Let’s do shots! On the house!, with Harry clearly in the center of the photo’s foreground, cheering and then cracking up into laughter with Ron, both of them shaking their heads and clinking their pint glasses. 

Down at the bottom of the paper was a Muggle photo of Hannah’s father, in mid-strut across some music stage, shredding away at his guitar with a lit cigarette in the hand working the frets, but Harry ignored that one. Irrelevant. 

Instead, he pointed at another two photos in the middle of the page, one of Hannah from some point in the fifth year, smiling wide with a prominent double chin and robes that looked slightly tight on her body alongside another photo from the night of her welcome home party, hipbones visible--everything visible in that handkerchief top--as she knocked back a shot with Oliver and fell into him, laughing. “And that’s not very--you know, flattering, but it’s all about how she’s fit and fun, and while it’s not kind, Hannah got it a lot easier than Gin did in that little bullshit thing Rita did back last month about the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup, so. So. The point is that Rita’s too clever to come for me in the open right now but she’s coming for me and mine again, why do we keep forgetting that!” he snarled, tossing the paper back down, that photo of a heavier Hannah beside her older, thinner self still visible, the caption From fat and frump…to fit and fast! screaming at them in bold font.

Neville stood in the doorway, jaw locked in place, arms crossed tight over his chest. Quiet; his fists clenched harder.

“She’s never had this happen to her before, Harry,” Hermione said gently. “The first time you’re in the paper like this, from Rita no less…it doesn’t matter if it’s ‘positive’ or not. It’s a shock.”

“And doesn’t know who gave up the photos from the party,” Ginny added. “I know exactly which sore-loser sodding Ravenclaw spilled to Rita because it just screamed Georgia Knox, but Han can’t know if it was a friend or a guest…and, what, Nev thinks it was Zacharias who gave up the old pic, so--how many of us have had to realize that quote-unquote friends can turn on us at any minute? It’s hard to process, Harry.”

“Cool, great, so I’m just supposed to be used to all of the betrayal and the bullshit by now,” Harry said, face curdling. 

“No, but--” Seamus stopped and then took in a breath so deep, it came from somewhere south of his stomach. “Some of us have things we really, really don’t want splashed over the papers just because we’re lucky enough to call you a our good mate--but we’re ready for it. As best as we can be,” he added in a mumble, and Dean’s face fell in concern, putting a hand on Seamus’s back. “Han wasn’t ready.”

“I don’t think--she ever contemplated being special enough to…you, Harry, or at all , to even get an article like this,” Neville finally said, eyes fixed on that Prophet page, on the younger Hannah’s bright smile, blooming over and over again.

“I love that you know that you’re special enough to brace for it,” Ron said, working to catch Seamus’ eye to shoot him a grin.

Seamus bumped his shoulder against Dean but gave Ron a little grin. “Yeah, right?”

Harry threw up his hands, causing Ginny to stand. “Okay, so--I’m just a terrible, like, black hole, sucking my friends into the shit, so--”

“That’s not what we’re saying! I--” Ron held up his hands. “I’m sorry, I can’t have this discussion with Nev looking like a demented version of Frankie First-Year. What is with the hat?”

“He’s being a git,” Parvati shot out. 

Ginny let out a loud exhale and stood, walking  to Neville. “Nev. Mate. C’mon.” When he didn’t move, she pointed at Hermione. “I know you feel self-conscious, but this is our party, to celebrate surviving seven years of what they claim was ‘school.’ And is the party that all of you didn’t get to have last year. You all got your end of year awards via owl, like some afterthought! Your big Plant Merlin award, sent so pathetically. Everybody wants tonight. Please, Nev. Do it for us, if not for you.”

“Plus Hannah is working the parlor so she doesn’t have to be out in the open bar, around all of the creeps who want a shot at Miss Fit and Fast and So Clearly Loose, Too. Kingsley’s making up all kinds of nighttime meetings and work in his parlor to give her excuses to be safely out of sight. So. Don’t you want to at least support her by coming out tonight?” Dean added.

Parvati threw up her hands. “Don’t you just want to spend time near her, period ? You gag for it, just stop being so bizarre, c’mon.”

“Let’s get back to how we’re getting the party that we all deserved after last year but were in no place to have. We have lost time to make up for,” Ron chimed in, holding up a hand, earning a few grins. He hugged Hermione. “Plus, we’re going to have ‘Mione do a shot for every ‘best in class’ award she got, don’t you want to witness her shoot back twenty-million belts of firewhiskey?”

“Absolutely not,” Hermione said, trying to be stern but dissolving into a delighted giggle, hugging him back and kissing his cheek as he tugged her into his lap. “I’ll let last year’s winners drink double in thanks for me being out of the way then.” Her face softening further, she said, “Please, Nev. I’m sure you look wonderful.”

“That’s the thing,” he said quietly. “I--Parv…was aces, I…” 

Ginny let go of Harry’s hand and stepped up to him, holding out her hand for the hat, which he reluctantly pulled off and handed to her. Her jaw immediately dropped, and there were coughs of surprise from around the room, Seamus letting out a whistle. 

She smacked him with the hat. “Neville…Franklin, Francis, one of the two, Longbottom! How dare you make us think you looked bad! I was ready to hex Parv for it!”

“See, with a round face, the key is creating height,” Parvati beamed. “He had the absolute worst haircut before, that bowl cut? It was like putting a hat on a hat, you know? So--the shave on the sides, then lift up with the gel and the pomade. And voila, my friends, Pumpkin Face gets sculpted. Can’t help how round his cheeks are--not unless you grow the beard I told you to do, really define your jaw, give some balance--”

“No.”

“--but you’ll have a boyish face for ages, you’ll look younger than us when we’re all grizzled at fifty and ancient at sixty. Not me, though, I’m getting every cosmetic charm on the planet performed on me,” she said to Lee who nodded in return.

“You look so handsome,” Ginny told him, stepping in to kiss his cheek. “Not that you didn’t before, but this suits you. And I’m betting you dinner on Monday, right now, on Han saying literally the same thing.”

Neville’s expression softened a bit, and Hermione quickly added, “And what it also does, Nev, is--if you don’t like it, it just helps you see what you do like, since it changes your face so much.” 

“I do like it,” he admitted in the same small voice.

“You should, it’s like you’ve lost a whole stone’s worth of weight off your face,” Ron said with an awed grin, shaking his head, and Neville’s expression immediately darkened again.

“Take off the robes, Outfit Number Eight looks so fly with the haircut,” Lee said, and Parvati eagerly nodded. 

His eyes skimmed over Harry and Ron and Seamus and Dean before he pressed his lips together and pulled off the robes, revealing a long-sleeve linen button up in a soft beige that complimented the pink of his cheeks, a pair of cream trousers, and a trucker-style jacket in a buttery brown suede.

“Bloody hell. Neville,” Harry blinked, earning a heavy sigh in reply.

“Lethal, right?” Parvati said happily, and Ginny spun around, giving her a silent shout of an excited expression, Dean absently stretching out a fist for a bump while he gawped at Neville. “Lavender always said if she could only make him over, his aesthetic was very rugby chic, like--just got off the pitch, might have half my ear missing, broken nose, whatever--”

“Is rugby the dark arts?” Ron wondered. 

“Kind of,” Harry and Hermione said, Dean nodding.

“--casual, earthy but posh,” Parvati finished, ignoring them. 

“Did any of those words make sense to you,” Seamus said to Harry, who looked lost as he shook his head. 

“I know it’s warm for a jacket, but it’s important to wear it for the initial look--especially since you can always drape it over a girl’s shoulders if she gets chilly at night. Gotta think ahead,” Lee said, tapping his forehead. “Besides, I love a good suede moment. And since Nev’s less of a total flop with coordination nowadays, I figured it was a safe upgrade,” Lee added, and Parvati gave him an adoring look before they put their arms around each other. “Ron, I want to get you something similar, but in a green dragon’s leather, you can absolutely carry that off with your hair. That’ll need to be custom-made, though.”

“Do you two just sit around and talk fashion?” Seamus said, looking at them in confusion.

“Yes,” they answered in unison, as if Seamus were incredibly thick. Lee added, “I am the face of the Wizarding Wireless Network, mate,” causing Harry to blink in confusion a few times.

“You look--like, it’s hard to even recognize you, it’s such a polish,” Dean said, shaking his head. “It’s also like you just shed three bloody stones--”

“Four,” Ron said, Harry nodding firmly, as Hermione opened her mouth, as if trying to slip in a warning before--

“Shut up with the weight! Just shut the fuck up about it, Merlin’s goddamn beard and his bloody owl, I knew this is what everyone would fixate on, I knew it,” Neville shouted, throwing down his robes, “that I look good because I don’t look nearly as heavy, because that’s bad, it’s bad to be fat, so now I’m good. Now Hannah’s good--”

Ron’s face melted with realization, and he tightened his arms around Hermione’s waist. “Neville, that’s not--”

“Isn’t it ? For two weeks, all it’s been is ‘oi, Hannah’s so fit, oi, I didn’t realize just how much weight she lost, doesn’t she look great now.’ And now, I’ll look like I shed stones, so I’m gonna get the same--and the sad thing is, I felt like this, I’ve felt it when I’ve seen her with Oliver, I felt this when I had crushes before and--and they--” He thrust out a hand towards Parvati before letting it drop limply against himself. “I know. I know, Parv. It was that day I came out of the shower in October, I forgot my robe so I only had a towel to wrap around, I didn’t know Lavender was in our room--and she said, Merlin, you’re so less chunky than I thought you were.”

He flopped his hand her way again. “The very next day, you started flirting with me. Very next day. Only when you knew that I didn’t look as dumpy, as fat, as my clothes made me look.”

“Neville--” Parvati said softly, pulling slightly back from Lee. “I’m--”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t blame you, it’s just--how it is, right? It’s how it is. It’s Gin saying that at least the Prophet’s never called her fat. Because who wants that. It’s why Hannah’s mum would constantly beat on her to lose weight, like it was a character flaw that she was heavy. That’s--what it is, to most.”

Ginny's mouth opened. “How did you--”

“The Extendable Ears. I find them everywhere.” He shrugged. “You lot didn’t do a great job tidying up everything after the Order moved out.” He hesitated and looked at Parvati. “And I did appreciate Lav showing up. A whole lot. Just--it’s hard to know how to feel good about looking nice but how much of that is looking less heavy, and--it kinda gets messy with…”

Neville seemed to sag. “After the Battle of Hogwarts was won, I just--collapsed at a table, and suddenly, all of these people were around me, looking at me like I was--well-- you ,” he said, lifting his head a bit to see Harry. “And for a minute, it was nice--like, I was seen. But then it hit me that…they weren’t seeing me . Just what I did . I was still the--awkward fat plant dork, just with a shiny new toy. I’m such a flop, I can’t even make a move on Hannah without an entire army of my friends helping me. Wanna hang out with that guy?”

He stared at Harry. “Is this what it’s like, to be you? To not know--what people want you for? Or--to not matter as a person, you know?”

Harry’s hand found its way to Ginny’s. “Sometimes.”

“It kinda sucks.”

“Yeah. It does.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I know the article was about you, Harry. I’m sorry if I wasn’t--I wasn’t good about saying that, it was pretty crummy of me, it’s just that my best friend was your smokescreen this time, and how it felt for you to see Gin trashed, that’s how it’s been for me. And--you didn’t realize just how shitty it actually was, that ‘fat to fit,’ but now you do. All of you do. You’ve never had to think about it before since you lot look like you do--but--now you have. So…yeah.” He sighed, wincing. “I know I look better. I’m not a total idiot. I’m just…”

“Hannah’s not going to like you more because of this,” Hermione said quickly. 

“But I’m the carrot. Fit Nev, Big Carrot. Hannah Gets Horny.” He pointed at Lee. “Extendable Ear, remember? And that's what you all said when Ron hatched the plan.”

“That was to get her to cuddle up to you again, you nerd,” Seamus said, rolling his eyes. “Not find you hot. She already is hot for you. Her trio have said it over and over. And let me repeat: nobody stares at your lips when they aren’t begging for you to kiss ‘em.”

“We just needed to jumpstart her lust to get over her mean self-hating brain,” Dean said. “That’s all.”

Hermione eyed Ron. “This was your big idea.”

“Yeah!”

“Did you think through Neville’s own self-esteem issues before Operation Carrot was launched, mm?”

“Hey, I’m learning as we go here, the man has untold depths that we’re all discovering together.” He pointed at the chess-piece salt and pepper shakers. “Don’t forget, you might sacrifice a bishop or a knight along the way--” He grabbed the king. “--but only checkmate is what matters.”

Ginny rolled her eyes to Hermione. “We’re gone for a few months, and they nearly break Neville Longbottom. And he’s best mates with the Hufflepuffs! Han’s never even been here, not once!”

“Well, that’s because it smells weird here, like the house is a bloke who badly needs a bath, and the Leaky always smells like freshly baked bread,” Neville said, his face brightening. He hesitated and then added in an awed tone, “And Susan has a television in her flat, and we can watch Jurassic Park one and two and Apollo 13 and Contact and Disney movies and--” He narrowed his eyes at Harry and Dean, almost like a taunt. “And Star Trek. Four shows and nine movies of Star Trek.”

“And a library of novels, apparently,” Hermione said.

“Yes.”

“I’m really happy we’re in a better place and everything, but can we go to the party now?” Parvati said in a near-whine. “This group hug will be a whole lot better over that one pumpkin juice cocktail the Leaky has.”

“I’m--gonna go--clear my head. I’ll be along,” Neville said, gesturing towards the hallway.

“You want company?”

“It’s your party, Gin.”

“I was going to volunteer Harry. He’s a dropout, what does he want with a graduation party?”

“Nice,” Harry snorted, bumping against her, then pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Or want us to send Hannah along?” Ron offered. “Much better company than Harry.”

“I even heard she smells of bread, that’s way better than me.”

“But she has to work the party tonight.”

“We’re perfectly fine grabbing our own booze from the bar and over-pouring, thanks. Besides, there’s a house elf, right, we can just--”

“Seamus!”

“What, Hermione?”

She shook her head in mild disgust. “I can’t.” Looking at Neville, she added, “We’ll be fine for as long as you need. We’re adults, and some of us act like it.”

Ginny reached out with her free hand to touch his arm. “Where do you want us to tell her to meet you, mate?”

He looked about to protest again, but stopped, took in a breath, and then glanced between Ron and Hermione and Ginny in relief. “Yeah, okay. Tell her--she can find me with my twenty-two plants.”

Chapter Text

June (and April), 1999: You're the one that sees the way that I should go and who I am

Hannah knew where to go because she had been there before, back in April, a few weeks after her return to London.

She ducked into the reception area at St. Mungo’s soaked from walking in a driving rain. After she stripped off her rain slicker to leave in the coatroom by the Welcome Witch station and using several drying charms on herself, she scuffed through the lobby in her galoshes (she always loved the thumping sound they made), glancing around for Neville. His head was bent over a book; she could recognize the bowl shape of his hair, making his face look rounder and softer, a strange illusion of childishness on someone who seemed so old anymore. 

“Hey. What are you reading?”

He paused to dog-ear the corner then looked up, holding the book so she could see the cover. Pride and Prejudice. “I needed to learn more about Mr. Darcy’s whole deal, since you talk about him so often.”

Hannah’s eyes widened, reaching out for his hand as he stood and pulsing it in excitement. “What do you think!”

“Really liking it, Lizzie is incredible, and Mr. Darcy’s so complicated--” He frowned, waving the book slightly. “But this whole ‘series of misunderstandings’ thing is really getting old. He needs to just say he loves her, they need to kiss--”

“Kissing really isn’t something they do in novels in Austen’s era, though, so you have to read the implied kissing--”

“That’s ridiculous,” Neville said flatly. “They need to kiss. And Wickham is a red herring, and I’m quite over it.” He leaned in and whispered, “And I have a feeling that old lady that patrons the pastor is going to remind me of my gran.” 

Hannah covered her mouth as she giggled, because yup, and he let go of her hand to turn and pick up a pot with a variety of succulents arranged in a way that made it look like a giant flower as well as a paper-wrapped bouquet. “Could you carry the flowers?” 

“Of course. One for your mum, one for your dad?”

“No--the flowers are for the healer’s office. Yvonne, one of the healers for the ward, prefers them to plants since she likes the variety of different bouquets. Actually, I am not allowed to bring any more plants into the ward at all because there’s no room, but I found a loophole--I rotate them around--well, the plants, not the fruit trees as much--and then take one home every visit, bring in a new one. It’s how I manage it at the Ministry, too, though I’m hoping I can get the quota increased whenever Harry’s eventually promoted and has more say. Mary Beate is very anti-plants, and she’s a one-woman veto parade whenever I seem to have gotten everyone on board.”

“How many plants are in your quota?”

“At the Ministry? Four. Here? Twenty-twooo…” he sang out, grinning wide. 

As Hannah finished giggling, she bumped against him as they took the lift up to the ward. “For your information, the whole point is in the tension! Waiting to see the how of the story, that delicious wait and anticipation--and then the happy ending,” she said with a dreamy smile. “I get so anxious every time I read it because I get so lost in the story, it’s like reading it anew. That’s why Austen is a genius, she makes that wait, that journey, so engaging. It’s why they are the best love stories of all time.”

Neville bobbed his head slightly. “Okay… or , hear me out, they could knock it off and kiss, and then we get the rest of the story as the happy ending.” He slid his free hand in the air as if presenting a marquee. “Just--happy ending. I just want to know that everything is going to be okay.”

“But--you do. That’s what a love story is. Or at least--happy ending love stories.”

“And this story is a happy ending one?”

“I swear.”

“Does Mary get a happy ending? What about the other sisters?”

“Um…just focus on Elizabeth and Jane of the sisters. Don’t set your hopes too high.” He raised an eyebrow at her, and then they laughed, hands brushing together and then clasping like each were wearing mittens. 

As the doors came into view, Neville stopped and exhaled. “I’m really proud of myself that I haven’t asked you if you changed your mind.” She only squeezed his hand in reply. He took a hesitant step forward. “You remember everything I told you, right?”

“Yes.” She watched him. “But if you’d feel more comfortable saying some reminders, that’s totally okay.”

He nodded a few times. “Just--don’t stare too much in their eyes for the first few minutes, you never know what kind of day it is for if they are jumpy. And slow and steady with movements around my dad. And if Mum starts crying, that’s a sign she needs a calming draught, so don’t try to comfort her, just get the healers over.” He hesitated. “And if they scream, just get out of the way and know--it’s not you. In fact…everything, it’s not you. It’s never you,” Neville added as he looked ahead, squinting. 

“I’ll follow your lead. And if at any time, you need me to leave, just say so. I’ll wait for you right back here.”

“I won’t need you to leave.” He paused. “Unless Gran unexpectedly shows up, then you need to flee for your own safety. She’s…” He thought for a moment. “Formidable.”

With a deep breath, he cast the unlocking spell on the ward doors, the healer’s office directly in front, the name of the head healer on duty for the ward posted there. “Oh, good, Yvonne is on duty, she’s just lovely. She reminds me a lot of you, actually, she’s so warm and cares about every patient so much.” 

“Is Hestia working?” 

Neville took the bouquet from Hannah and laid it on the station. “She might be--she usually works a kind of later set of hours since the Minister is rarely done with work before 19:00…actually…looks like Professor Lockhart’s bed is empty, she might be doing some therapy with him. He had some bad setbacks lately, poor guy.”

A voice from inside the ward called out: “Neville, that you, dear?” 

“Hi, Yvonne.”

“I’m working with Watson.” 

“Okay--just a moment, I want to start switching out the plants…”

With Hannah’s help--and a newly filled watering can--they started their way around the ward, though they avoided the last two beds, ones cordoned off by flowery curtains. He didn’t do more than glance at it once; it was like he was determined to ignore them. As they moved around, Neville noted which plants needed to be where based on light from the windows (though Hannah thought he was being a bit conservative with the helix hydrangeas, but he did make a convincing case of not visiting enough to properly fertilize in compensation for that). 

He set aside the bleeding hearts to take home for a few weeks. 

“Oh, I love those,” Yvonne called out from where she was sitting beside a man who was constantly trembling, an earthquake under his skin. “Can’t you leave them?”

“I want to give them some additional care at home, I bet I can get these blossoms to double in size, and they can be charmed to sway once you hit a half-inch in diameter.” 

Yvonne beamed at him. Hannah didn’t know Ron and Ginny’s mother well at all, just from glimpses along the years and then at the Battle, but the healer had the same aura that Molly Weasley radiated: so maternal, warm and welcoming as a summer day. People for whom care and love flowed in their veins as much as their own blood; they’d cut themselves open for others, time and time again. Just being near them, you knew that you were seen. 

Hannah had to bite at her lips, to stop herself from bursting out: You. I want to be you. Exactly you.

She almost startled to realize that Yvonne was speaking to her, smiling at her, saying, “I love all of the plants, they give so much life to the space. It’s so cheerful for visitors, makes it so much more homey for us all. Hypatia thinks it might be a bit much, but I said, tough thestral teeth, Patty, I’m in charge of decor and our holiday events! This is clearly my call!” 

“Good, I agree with you,” Hannah said firmly.

“Thank you! You said she was smart…” Yvonne said in a sing-song. “You’re Hannah, yes? Must be. Neville and Hestia have told me so very much about you.”

Cheeks flushed, Hannah turned to Neville. “You said I was smart?”

“You are. And I told Yvonne that you’re interested in healing and that you’re quite good at potions. That’s Yvonne’s strength--making custom potions as treatments progress. Over there, that’s the ward’s own potions room, they make all of the potions for their patients, no purchasing pre-made, and they even try to do everything themselves versus even having the potions lab for the whole hospital brew things since the potions have to be made precisely for the individual. Like--we’ve had a few incidents where healer trainees will give my dad my mum’s potions or vice versa, and…” 

He grimaced. “It was…bad. Both how they reacted to the potions, and how Gran reacted, too.”

“Mrs. Longbottom is deeply passionate about Frank and Alice’s care,” Yvonne said with a diplomatic bob of her head.

A tiny bell rang, and she moved to give the trembling man another dose of a silver-looking draught; it was the fourth time it had rung, and the fourth time she had him to take a dose. After she got the potion in his mouth and cajoled a swallow, she aimed her wand over his abdomen and swirled. 

Without realizing it, Hannah had been moving her head along with Yvonne’s motions, mouth opening a bit as she tried to work out exactly what the healer was doing. Yvonne smiled at Hannah, explaining, “We’re trying to speed up the absorption process through charms. Low dose, immediate coating of the stomach lining. He’s shaking so hard, otherwise it would just slosh around in his belly and this has a real irritating effect if it is left to mix with the acid for too long, but we can’t use sublingual methods since he keeps biting his own tongue.”

Hannah’s eyes were dinner-plate wide, watching the swirl of the healer’s wand as the woman said, “Watson, dear thing, will have my attention for the next hour, but I’d be happy to show you around, show you more of our work another time? If you’d like?”

“Really?” She whipped around to look at Neville, opening her mouth in a silent squeal, then turned around, beaming as she said, “Yes, I’d love to, yes.” She smiled in a bit of a stupor for a moment more before watching the healer rotate to rubbing a cream on the shaking man’s arms. “How did you choose this for your specialty?” Hannah asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Oh, I love talking about my job! Especially with young people who are interested in this as a potential future--” Hannah opened her mouth to correct her, but simultaneously, Yvonne continued to speak, and Neville put his hand on her spine, running his thumb over the back of her heart in harmony with her pulse. “I wanted a potions-heavy field of practice but wanted to have real relationships with my patients, which narrowed areas down considerably. I also get a little nauseous thinking of magical creature injuries, so that was out,” she smiled. “When I did my rotation here, I immediately knew that this was the perfect fit. And it’s been twenty deeply rewarding years since.”

”Twenty…” She glanced over at those flowery curtains.

“I grew up as a healer along with Alice and Frank. Neville has been a part of my entire adult life, actually,” she said, giving him a fond smile. His smile back was so much smaller, sadder, as he leaned against the wall. Still not looking at the curtains.

“What was he like when he was little?” 

“Quiet. Very, very quiet. I think Mrs. Longbottom sucked up all of the oxygen in the room and then some. Blocked all of his sunlight, as it were. It’s been a real gift this past year, to get to know him--in a way for the first time.” His head ducked as he grinned down at his shoes, and Yvonne beamed at him again. Then she let out a little oh! “I remember your naughty little toad, though! You brought him over right before you left for Hogwarts the first time. What ever happened to him, dear?”

Hannah’s face fell, and her hands felt cold. Neville didn’t move for a moment, but then he flashed Yvonne that little shadow pretending to be a smile. As he pushed off the wall, he said, “He died during my seventh year. Han, you ready?”

“Yeah.” As he started towards the end of the ward, Hannah tucked back a mess of stray hairs behind her ears and gave Yvonne an apologetic smile as her stomach churned. Alecto Carrow had killed Trevor, a petty and awful revenge to get back at Neville for making a huge fuss over Luna and Davy, those friends who were taken, being held who-knows-where for You-Know-Who. Not that he had seemed to absorb it, just turning to Ginny at the Gryffindor Great Hall table and asking what she thought they should do next for their campaign.

Yvonne closed her eyes and winced in pain. “Not what he needed in a difficult year, I’m sure.” She reached for Hannah and gave her hand a squeeze. “I’m so glad he’s found such a lovely young woman. He deserves it.”

Hannah began to correct the healer, but the words wouldn’t come out. Or maybe she just didn’t want them to. Right now, in this moment, the idea of being his just--oh, the idea was like putting on a favorite sweater and feeling so perfectly warm and comfortable. She just squeezed the woman’s hand back and then went to follow him. Whatever she was, real or imagined, that was something she’d always do.

He was moving slowly, so she caught up quickly, catching him as he stood at the seams where the curtains met. She slipped her hand in with his, and he didn’t move. He glanced at her. “You ready?”

“Nev--are you okay?”

“No. But. That’s kinda the secret, innit? That if you’re never okay…you can always find a way to manage, no matter what. Can’t get broken if you don’t know better.” He hesitated and then shook his head. “That came out way too dark than I meant it to. It just makes me just love the things that are always okay and make everything make sense. Love them--appreciate them so much. There are some things that you have, as long as they are there, everything can be right. For me, it’s plants, the stars, the D.A. You.”

“I’m in the D.A.”

“Yeah. But you’re more.” He rubbed her thumb with his. “Best friend.”

She rested her head against his upper arm. “Best friend.” She exhaled and repeated his question back: “You ready?”

“Never.” 

But he let go of her to open the curtains, and two phantoms with dead eyes stared back. Hannah’s breath evaporated in her lungs, and her weight shifted to her heels, like she had been shoved, hard and mean as she registered them as people . The woman was chewing a wad of gum in a strangely mechanical way, rocking back and forth. The man was sitting up, corners of his mouth slick with drool, face screwed up in a scream that had no volume. 

Their faces were ruined from what they should have been, but it still was so clear--him and her together, they made a mirror that reflected their son. 

“Oh--Dad,” Neville exhaled, heading over to the man and trying to gently close Frank Longbottom’s mouth. “It’s okay.” He wasn’t able to coax his father’s mouth closed, though, and he swore softly before looking around on the dresser between the two beds, groupings of jars and bottles of their treatments clustered on both sides, discreet in the shadow of a large rectangular planting of five extraordinary pearlescent irises, crystalline and shimmering even in the ward’s harsh lighting.

“Hannah…” Neville seemed to hesitate before looking back at her, as if unsure he wanted to see her expression. 

She was wiping at her tears with the heels of her hands, but she straightened up, nodded. “What do you need.”

He exhaled, his shoulders relaxing. “Can you look over on that bedside table on the other side of his bed--the one behind Gran’s chair, yeah--for a little purple jar? It may say on it something about loosening muscles, I really can’t remember the name, it’s just ‘the purple jar’ to me.”

“I don’t see it. Should I go ask Yvonne about it?”

Neville chewed on the inside of his cheeks. “Well…I think I need to go ask Yvonne if--he’s been like this for a bit, too, but I don’t want to ask you to--”

“I can stay.” She gestured at the end of Alice’s bed. “Am I able to sit here? There’s only that chair otherwise.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course.” She sat down, giving her eyes a final wipe, as she fixed Alice with a smile, though she was careful not to look the woman too long in the eye, not that Alice was really looking back, her gaze more fixed on Neville with a mild curiosity in her eyes, the way Hannah watched patrons at her bar: strangers that had caught her interest. 

Neville touched his mother’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back, Mum,” he told her, giving Hannah a half-smile before walking out; Alice blinked rapidly, as if trying to process why the object of her small attention had disappeared. Her hand reached into her shock of white hair, grabbing a handful and starting to rip at it, like pulling out root vegetables from the earth.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s helpful,” Hannah said gently, reaching up to unwind Alice’s fingers. Her mind raced slightly: Was it the self-hurt that Alice wanted or the pulling motion? If it was the former…well, Hannah didn’t know what to do about that, but the latter? Her eyes searched the space, and she grimaced as she couldn’t find exactly what she wanted, but the handkerchief on the dresser would do. She grabbed that and a nearby water glass, feeling a bit like a Muggle magician as she cast three charms and then prodded Alice to take the glass with one hand and pull at the cloth with the other. Alice yanked, and another cloth sprouted up. Alice yanked again, then again. Again, again, again. Her face had settled back into its blank placidness, still chomping at her gum, her rocking slowing.

“What was she doing?” Hestia gave Hannah’s back a quick rub, adding, “Hello, love,” as she headed for Frank’s bed. 

“She started yanking at her hair. She let me pull her hands out, but I had a thought that--if she just wanted that repetitive pulling thing, I’d give her a box of tissues, like Muggle Kleenex, for blowing your nose? But of course there wouldn’t be in a magical hospital when we can just use a cleaning charm on a hankie, duh, so I kinda--thought about how Muggle magicians have those scarves that you can pull and pull and pull, and--this was my pretty poor copy of it.”

Hestia gave her a brilliant smile. “That was very creative. Reminds me of the violet vapors you’d give Tom to coax him to eat." 

Hannah glanced at Neville, hovering at the foot of his father’s bed. “I hope you don’t mind…” But her voice trailed off as she took in his expression. He looked dazed as he gazed at her, with a similar drunken look to the one he had following the Wizengamot hearing, a gauzy smile on his face. Just this time, it was trained directly on her. 

“You’re brilliant,” he said, his voice oddly strangled as he continued to stare at her. “You’re just-- brilliant, Hannah.”

She blushed, her head drooping as she tucked back her hair; she snuck a glance at Hestia, whose eyes darted from Neville to Hannah as a smile spread across her face, smug like she had a secret. “She very much is.” 

“Hestia--” Hannah turned her gaze back to Alice’s hair. “Is there a reason why Alice’s hair is so--damaged?”

“No…it’s just--not really a priority, I guess. Alice’s hair just--is what it is.”

“I wonder…” Hannah ducked her head with a little embarrassed laugh. “When I was a second year, Ophelia Shaw said that my hair was thin, and I was destroying it with the brush I was using, taught me how to protect my hair better with a boar-bristle brush and--things like that. I wonder--if we didn’t try a brush like mine, some hair oil, if that wouldn’t help?”

“Sure. You two do whatever you want--if it works, let me know.” 

Then Hestia grew serious with a sigh, focusing on Neville. “From good moment to less good moment: I think we need to consider regrowing the muscle.” Neville closed his eyes, wincing, and Hestia gave him a moment before saying, “The reactive treatment isn’t working anymore, really, I think this is our best path forward. We’ve done it before--”

“Yeah, and Gran wrote me during it saying it was awful for him.”

“I know. But you have to balance the pain of the treatment versus the pain of being stuck in this state, over and over, during the day. It’s happening so frequently, Neville…” Hestia began outlining the drawbacks and benefits, and Hannah felt herself hypnotized by it, the mechanics of choosing a course of treatment. 

But then she would catch a glimpse of Neville’s increasingly weary face and realized: This was fascinating for her, an almost academic exercise. But the decisions around care came with a cost since this involved people. People who were hollowed out but still here--still loved. She got up off the bed and reached for his hand, but he instead put his arm around her shoulders, taking in a mammoth breath and only releasing it as her arm settled around his waist.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Okay.” He ran his free hand through his hair, making it settle limply against his cheeks. “Do you--do you mind if I go take a walk for a bit? I don’t meant to be rude--I just need to think it over--”

“You should. Actually? How about you meet me for breakfast tomorrow. Seven-thirty? In Kingsley’s parlor? He has a wonderful valet who gets us anything we want, even off the menu,” Hestia said with a hint of a smile towards Hannah. “I’ll bring Frank’s file, and we can talk it through. And if you want to contact Augusta and get her thoughts, you have time. I’ll try to get Yvonne to come, but--if you’d like to meet with her, too, please do.” Neville nodded, letting out another breath, a bit of a shake on the end of it. “In the meantime, I’ll get Frank’s jaws to relax. And you two should leave via the south stairway--Gilderoy is quite spirited after our trip to the cafeteria since he recognized Padma Patil and Tracey Davis, though not why. I don’t think--you’re much in the mood for him right now.”

“No. Cheers, Hestia. Tell Yvonne goodbye for me--us--will you?” Neville said, and Hannah nodded fervently.

“I will. She’s quite excited for when Hannah returns for a tour. Anytime,” she added, looking at the young woman with a brief smile before shifting her attention back to Frank, frowning as she returned to work on his muscles.

During the walk down the stairs, arms still around each other, Hannah studied Neville’s face; his eyes were fixed somewhere so far from her, she wasn’t even sure he was actually within reach. She had such an urge to abuse her hands the way she did when worry surged over her, but she wouldn’t pull her arm away from him for all the galleons in Gringotts. Instead, she let her head turn over and over with what could help, what could help, what could help--

“Nev? Do you have anywhere to be for a while?”

He startled slightly as they reached the last landing, the last set of stairs to descend. “No…”

“Can I take you somewhere?”

He blinked until she came into focus. “Yeah. Sure. Where?”

She pushed through the door that exited them onto the street opposite the front entrance; there were just enough people around to make apparition unwise, so she peeled away from him to take his hand and pulled him along until she found a quiet alley two blocks up where they could Disapparate. 

“Close your eyes,” she said before doing the same--Destination! Determination! Deliberation!--and taking a firm step as the two of them turned and disappeared, arriving with a stumble in an alleyway that reeked of weed and cigarettes, the dull thumping of loud music leaked through a nearby rusted metal door.. 

Neville let go of her hand as he tried to get his footing. He then looked around, frowning slowly. “Um…” He sniffed and looked at her, confused. “What is that?”

“Marijuana. It’s--popular around here.” She pointed at the door. “That’s my favorite record shop…and those doors, over there? Those are the back exits to a club my cousin Pete bartends at. Or did, I’m not sure. I haven’t seen him since before that year.” She gave Neville an apologetic look. “I wanted to take you to another place, that you’ll just melt at, but I wasn’t sure what to do about the destination, since I don’t know a private place to arrive at--here, I know nobody’s in this alley until five.”

He fixed her with a baffled look. “Wha…” He took a few clumsy steps forward, still disoriented as he looked around the alleyway while Hannah guided him out and to the street, pausing for a moment before turning them to the left. 

“Just a minute, you’ll see…” It took more like two minutes for them to walk to the destination, the brick building slowly coming into view, Neville glancing between her and the street the whole way. 

But then he could see the name of the shop, and he stopped short on the sidewalk.

“Camden…Gardening Centre?” he read, sounding a bit breathless, a plastic banner hung over the entrance advertising a fertilizer exclaiming, Plants Need More Than Water! His eyes were so wide, he resembled Luna as he whirled around to look at her, face incandescent in delight. “Hannah.”

“I’m sorry that it’s not especially big or fancy--I wanted to take you to this one nursery that was Mum’s favorite, but like I said, I--” 

She broke off with a squeal as Neville swept her off the ground, hugging her so tight, it seemed to squeeze her heart and make it skip a few beats. She laughed, wrapping her arms around him and breathing in that perfect Neville perfume of soil and herbs and sweetness. 

“Thank you. This is--” He seemed to lose his ability to speak as he stared at the garden centre, beaming at it and then her.

“This is--a place that’s always okay, too.”

“Yeah.” His pink face paled. “I don’t have any Muggle money on me.”

“Don’t worry, I have my credit card, you can get me back.”

He hugged her again. “I hope you don’t have anywhere to be for the next hour. Or two.”

“Or five,” Hannah giggled, and he gave her a sheepish grin, almost bouncing a bit on his toes. “What are you waiting for, Nev? Are you Mr. Bingham, wibbling about Jane? Go!”

///

The second time, Hannah was arriving at St. Mungo’s just as the graduation party was starting to gain steam. She should be working—

She got on the elevator to head to the long-term spell damage ward. She was right where she needed to be. Wanted to be.

The ward itself was brightly lit, but back in the area of the floral curtains, it was almost dark. There was a dim light on, though, and the shadow of a standing person cast on the fabric, a ink blotch of a man whose arms were moving, fingers that looked impossibly long in the dark. And a strange bulbous shape to the head…

“Hey—to you and the twenty-two plants,” Hannah said in greeting as she pulled the curtains apart. Though she blinked at the bucket hat pulled down on his head, the kind the singers in the Muggle boy bands the young squibs who managed The Leaky during the weekends put on the stereo as they worked in the office, the kitchen, the everywhere. 

“Soon to be twenty-one, look at what someone did to my paperwhites!” he nearly wailed, shaking his head in disbelief. He gestured down at it. “They must have put in the wrong fertilizer since my last. Or like…” He rolled the soil between his fingers. “Accidentally poured some dish soap in, it feels—oddly slippery.” 

“Does it have a lemon-fresh scent?”

Neville sniffed at his fingers. “Maaaybe…” He stared down at the malingering plant in bafflement before turning his gaze to her. “I just—what?”

She giggled and glanced at his parents; both were asleep, Alice with a small bear tucked in with her, Frank a tattered silk blanket draped over his chest.

Hannah’s face slid in realization as she stared at both objects: baby objects. “Nev, are those…”

“Yeah. When—it started, they had just put me down to bed, so—Yvonne thinks that was the last happy, or at least normal thing in their head, giving me my bear and my blanket, so…” He smiled a little, first at his mother, then his father. “This is my favorite time of day to come. Gran gets so sore, she thinks I’m ashamed of seeing them awake and in their—usual state, but it’s not that. It’s--seeing them with these things that—say that somewhere in there, deep down, in whatever undamaged sliver that still remains, they remember me. Are connected to me.” 

Neville glanced back at her. “I needed that tonight. To remember—who I am. Who I want to be.” 

Hannah stepped up to him, pressing her front against his back and wrapping her arms around him in a backwards kind of hug. “Thank you for letting me be here.”

“Thank you for being the person who would be here.” He put his hands on top of hers, the soil of the plant smudging her ring finger as he slid his right hand over her left. 

Her cheek was resting against his back. “Is this a new shirt? It feels so soft…”

“New shirt, new pants, new jacket—but I left that out on the other side of the curtain, if I get a smidge of dirt on it, Parvati and Lee will have me cursed and put on a spike for everyone to come and throw hexes at me all day.” She could almost hear him blush. “They confiscated basically all of my clothes, and over the past few weeks, taking me out to replace everything.” He doodled on the back of her hand. “They even gave me a scary long parchment that lists out full outfits for specified occasions—this one fell under ‘important but not formal social occasion’—and then a full inventory of everything and what it works with and what things I have to avoid. And we have to have check ins on what I’m wearing, what I like, all of that. It’s like they are deploying me for Fashion War.”

Hannah leaned into him as she giggled hard. “Well, I’ll have to get a good look at your front, but—I like soft. And it’s a great color. Do you like it?”

“Yeah. I’ll like it more with jeans, I think, since I’m totally nervous about staining the pants. By the way, that is an acceptable combination. I checked.”

Giggling again, she held him for a moment before slowly opening her mouth to ask, “Um…Hermione said that you had a—kinda tense moment with Harry. Is that…why you’re wearing that hat?”

Neville let out a loud ha! of a laugh, turning around. “No.”

“I mean—I kinda wondered if he had hexed donkey ears on you or something…”

“No! Hannah!” he laughed, swatting at her. He paused. “Shoot, now I wish I had done that, it’d be a lot funnier.” 

She laughed, then took in how he looked: before, Neville’s body just begged her to hug it, the lumpy pile of his big jumpers and ill-hanging shirts and shapeless old-man-like trousers radiating softness and warm, and it was only when she hugged him that she realized beneath was a large and earth-solid steady mass of a boy—

No: man. These…these clothes stripped the surface away, didn’t they, showing the shape of that solidity, and—

Her face instantly ignited as she tucked back her hair, trying to not stammer mindlessly as she tried to get that thought out: bad, no, don’t picture him without these—okay, now stop picturing him—damn it damn it damn it--

Almost without her realizing, her right hand lifted, and her fingertips danced over his clavicle, a seemingly safe place for her to touch. Her face was so red, it was starting to hurt. “You look— really good.” She ducked in to hug him again. “Really— really good.” She looked up. “You’d even look good with the donkey ears.”

He laughed; his face was the shade of a whole bushel of red roses. “Thanks. Alright—this is the last piece of the Parvati-ing—big reveal, you ready?”

“Can one really be ready when Parv or Lav gives you a makeover? I wasn’t for mine, and the next thing I knew, I was kissing Anthony after a D.A. meeting while they danced in celebration at their clear magical powers.”

“Oh, that’s right , I forgot they got you…you and Cricket, right, didn’t they dress her up for our holiday thing?”

“They did, and you’re stalling.” Hannah reached up, pausing in case he wanted to shake her off, but he let her take off the hat. Her jaw dropped. “Your hair looks so blonde! Nev! I—I didn’t realize how much darker the longer parts were, wow!” She touched it. “It makes your eyes look even lighter, too. Wow! It looks so good, too—it really frames your face, so you can see it better—it makes your smile look bigger--” She tapped his sides with her hands. “Do you like it?”

He beamed at her, head ducking and then lifting up again with his cheeks somehow redder. “I really do.” He pulled her in for another hug. “I didn’t feel totally comfortable with that until just now, though, Han.” He drew back, moving his hands to squeeze her shoulders. “Oh—”

He opened the top drawer of the dresser, pulling out a boar bristle brush and some hair oil. “I got what you said. To try for Mum’s hair. But I didn’t want to do it until you were here, too, and—we just got distracted and stuff, haven’t come back together—is this right? I asked Parv for help with picking the right things…”

Hannah smiled at him, feeling like she had swallowed the sun. “That’s perfect. Here--why don’t I do it? Comb and stuff?”

“You don’t mind?”

“No.” As she took the brush, she hesitated. “Actually, why don’t I do it—from here on out. I can stop by regularly. We can even start with hair and then think about other things I can do—maybe there’s something that can help with their toe—hygiene, health, if there’s a way to prevent those fungal infections they got last fall—maybe not, but maybe there is. Besides. It’d let me have an excuse to come around here. Spend time with Yvonne and Hestia.” She shrugged. “Maybe…learn what kind of healing I’d want to do. Maybe, someday. Padma knew all along she wanted to do dark magic wounds and curses, but…I don’t even have a clue what I’d want to do, if I could ever do this. Except—being curious about everything,” she admitted with a bashful laugh.

“You sure? I know…you haven’t seen Dad and Mum in really bad days.” He frowned. “Not that I think you’d—” He hesitated. “I should just accept this at face value and say thank you, right?”

She beamed at him. “Exactly. And accept me telling you thank you.” 

Neville’s face went white. “Ohhhh…but you might run into my Gran…she isn’t totally predictable in when she comes, she can get an urge to come more than once a week sometimes.”

Hannah’s eyes went wide. “Maybe…you and I should work out exactly when she wouldn’t be here. Bi-weekly hair appointments, Sunday church, things like that.”

“Weekly card games. Her thrice-monthly vulture hat re-stuffing. Actually, that’s real.”

“Do you think people are born vulture hat-people, or do you become a vulture-hat person? Like, I’m thinking about Luna and her lion hat, yeah? That feels like a gateway hat, doesn’t it?”

“But—I feel like…that’s different, right? A—statement hat, as Parvati might call it, is one thing, but a vulture hat is a whole bloody choice. A choice that says, I am going to eat your corpse.”

“Nevvie, I have to say…it’s kind of impressive that you grew up in the House of the Vulture Hat, yet you’re still this well-adjusted.”

“I constantly run into situations where my death is quite likely, and I go back for multiple rounds willingly. I don’t know exactly how well-adjusted I am, Hannah Leigh.”

She burst into a laugh, grabbing a handkerchief lying on the dresser and chucked it his way, giggling harder as it limply fell to the floor. “How do you know to call me that?”

He shrugged, grinning back. “You told me.”

“When!”

“Sometime after the bar-top dancing photo, sometime before you passed out on the floor of the staff loo at the Leaky. Right around the second or so time you puked.”

“Oh my god,” she moaned, immediately flushing, and he laughed, reaching for the handkerchief and threading it between his fingers. 

Neville sat on the end of Alice’s bed and watched Hannah brush his mother’s hair for a while in silence, every bit of his body visibly relaxing, mouth a bit open with the dawn of a smile as he continued to toy with the hankie, pulling it over and over again like twisting a ring around his finger. “So…does it seem like working? Is there any progress?”

A smile began to blossom on her face. “We’re getting there.”

Chapter Text

July, 1999: So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road

20 July 1999

Dear Miss Abbott--

The Auror’s Office is contacting you regarding a case where you have been named as a next-of-kin. Due to recently gathered information, we would like the opportunity to meet with you and provide an update on the investigation and its status. Please send a return owl if you are amenable to a meeting within the next few days so that we may find a mutually convenient time. 

Regards,

Seamus O. Finnigan, Auror

(sorry to be formal about this han, but I have to follow procedures. i’ll come with nev along to dinner tonight, and we can talk over any questions you have about what this is about, even if i’m not allowed to tell you the details yet.)

///

Seamus gave Hannah an awkward wave as the guard at the visitor’s entrance put her wand on the scanning weight, keeping her stranded on the other side as he ripped off the device’s printout.

“Ten inches, Sabawa…Saba-whane—“ He did a double take. “I don’t—“

”Sabawaelnu. Sabawaelnu scales.”

”What’s that?” Seamus cut in, peering at the piece of paper and then Hannah’s wand. 

“Canadian water-spirits, kind of like a mermaid, though their bottom half is more fish-like than dolphin-like in how it looks. They’re known for…sorry,” she mumbled as the guard started to look bored. Hannah started picking at her cuticles. 

He tried again, reading from the paper: “Ten inches. Sabawaelnu scales, been in use since 1996. This correct?”

She nodded as Seamus idly rocked back on his heels. The man handed back her wand, gave a curt instruction for her to follow on her exit, and Hannah was able to join Seamus on the other side. 

“Hey, Shay,” she said, giving him a hug.

“Hey, Han. Something happen to your first wand?”

Her face burned red as they pulled apart. “After my O.W.L.s, Mum thought I needed a less powerful wand. That I needed something—more simple. We got it in Toronto a couple weeks after we got our results when I was visiting my aunts.”

She fell in step beside Seamus. He nodded at her. “You were saying that the—Canadian mermaids, they’re known for something?”

Hannah gave him a lopsided smile. “For their use of song. They use songs to control the weather.”

”Hey, just like how you use songs to control the mood of the pub. Seems like a good match.” He hesitated. “This is going to sound so weird, but I have this really, really vivid image of you and me fighting together in the Great Hall, in the second half of the battle, right after Harry--did his return from death thing, and Nev was set on fire but survived and the snake--maybe it was all so crazy, my brain was like, Remember everything, so I remember how it was you and me for a bit, and you cast a Reducto to stop a giant stone or rock or something from slamming right into my head, and I remember that extra well because I think I probably should have died five times, all of which I remember bloody picture-perfect, and that was the last shoudda-died moment.”

Hannah’s walking slowed, her breath becoming heavier, more labored. And even in all of the memories that were rushing back, the ones she couldn’t shake were of watching Neville burning to death right in front of their goddamn eyes--

--then escaping, unharmed--

--and then--  

“Yeah?”

He tapped her wand with his own. “Your wand was cherry wood, that day. It was right in front of my face, Han, remember it clearly. Pink-y, very Hannah. And this is pine.”

”Oh. Yeah, I went and got my old wand out of my trunk, I just…had this feeling that…” She blushed again. “I know this is dumb, but I wanted the wand that I used when I hexed Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. It’s the only time I had been truly, unhesitantly mean and aggressive in my life, and I knew…I’d need that. A wand that was happy to get into a fight.”

”Sounds like my kind of wand,” Seamus grinned as they stepped onto the lift. “So Susan’s meeting us at the conference room—Ernie, I’m so sorry, he’s had to head out to join Dawlish in Norwich, the object Disapperator is on the fritz, and Robards was pretty insistent that Ernie get his arse out there now. No delay.”

”Is he safe, at least? He’s not—in the mix, right?”

”Yeah, this is just a dry-run for later, with the Cavagaras raid we have planned, so the fact we’re having problems…well. If they can’t fix it today, I think Ern’s going to start molting from stress, though, so be warned.”

Hannah puffed out her cheeks. “Okay. Thanks for letting me know.” She hesitated for a moment before saying, as casually as she could, “And…will Nev be able to come? I mean--I know--you lot are so busy right now, but…he said he’d come unless there was an emergency, so…”

Seamus shut the door and gave her a knowing grin. “Uh huh.” 

Hannah scowled at him. “What!”

“Nothing.”

“Shay.”

He punched the number “7” and glanced at her, his shrug so lightly innocent, it was too practiced to be real. “I mean. If you had a neon sign over your head that was flashing, I’m absolutely mental for Neville Longbottom, it would be more subtle.”

“I am not.”

“Uh huh.”

“Shay.”

“Han.”

“Stop it! I’m--I’m not, okay, I’m not, but--even--even if I were, it wouldn’t matter, Nev deserves some--you know. He’s a top-flight kind of hero, right, it’s Harry then him, so--he deserves a girl who’s…you know. Like him.”

Seamus hit the hold button on the elevator, making the car jerk violently as it paused between floors. “Oh, you mean, sweet-natured and caring like he is, all about plants like he is, and encouraging of his newfound love of Muggle movies and culture, that you’re responsible for? That…kinda sounds like you.” Seamus gestured at her with his wand. “And I know for a fact that when you met his parents the first time, you were so—just right in whatever you did, that when he got back to the house, Dean and me heard him crying in his room, and we practically had to wrestle him to admit what was up, and it was that he was just—really grateful. That you just got it. With how to be with them, especially his mum. And then how to help him afterwards get his head together.” He elbowed Hannah. “Isn’t that exactly what he deserves?”

He hit the resume button on the elevator, saying, “C’mon, let’s go collect your ‘best friend’ and get this show on the road.”

Hannah followed in an almost dumb silence, stewing on any way to push back on Seamus, zing him the way he had just utterly body-checked her, yet repeatedly coming short as they moved through a maze of corridors that finally opened to an overlook of some double-height rooms that reminded her of squash courts in Muggle gyms, the kind Justin’s father belonged to--Justin had brought her and Susan and Ernie to it several months before for a few hours of bashing balls against walls with no real purpose, just laughing themselves silly as they smashed the rubber balls about, sneaking their wands out to be paddles when they were certain they weren’t seen, cracking up as the lights above violently flickered when all four of them cast spells at the same time. 

“It’s so funny…thinking of you all fighting, like the D.A. When…I didn’t know the aurors weren’t just…” She shrugged a bit, staring the group, firing off practice spells against dummies and targets. “Dealing with murders. My mum…my dad--an auror had to create a fake cause of death for my dad, for the Muggle newspapers. Things were so chaotic with Fudge’s sacking, Susan said, that they didn’t do it quickly for her Aunt Amelia, didn’t get the cover story in place in time, and it scared all of her neighbors in Battersea, if not all of London, something awful.”

Seamus’s eyes popped open. “I haven’t had to do that…wow…” He nudged her slightly. “What, um, did the auror do? For your dad?”

“Oh. It was--the killing curse, so--easier to deal with than with Aunt Amelia.” She shrugged as they came to a stop at one of the windows. “The aurors faked a drug overdose.” Her mouth flickered slightly. “To this day, they press talks about how, like, Julianna Marks’ solo career started ‘cause the lead guitarist of her first band was just another strung-out rock star.”

 “I’m sorry, Han.”

“Well--he did do a lot of drugs, so. Maybe that would have been his end, anyway. I dunno. It doesn't matter, I didn’t know him.” She pointed down into the room. “What’s going on?”

“We’re working out the exact battle plan Harry wants for when we raid the sleeper cell,” Seamus said, adding quickly, “Don’t tell him I told you. I don’t even know if Nev will slip that to you, he’s really intent on following Harry’s line and keeping plans quiet. But. If Nev comes back battered in a couple weeks--you’ll know why. And--you can see how it began now, yeah?”

Hannah put her hands against the lower part of the window, gazing down at about a dozen and a half aurors, most of them members of the D.A. or classmates who were in the years above who had initially joined the Hitwizards or general law enforcement ranks, like Laurel Dearborn, Vilnius Miller, Mary Beate Carlissimo, and Susan’s older brother Sam. Most of the herd was within Hannah’s Hogwarts years, but one or two--in particular a silver-haired man Hannah recognized from the Battle prowling the edges near Michael--were clearly from the old auror group. 

Harry was standing at the head of the group, Ron a few steps away to his right, mostly watching his best friend, though he interjected a few times, gesturing to a board that Hannah couldn’t see from this angle. She could almost see the group of aurors splintering themselves in thirds; one was firmly to Harry’s right, one to the left where Michael was at the head.

In the center cluster was Neville, standing at the back with his hands on his hips, wand held between his index and third finger on his right hand while his new deputy, Laurel, was in the front, keenly taking in the instructions. He kept glancing around at the seven aurors in front of him, scanning, surveying, drifting forward to whisper to one or another, sometimes sweeping his wand like an instruction, other times in a visualization of whatever Harry or Ron was explaining. He didn’t move away, she noticed, until the person nodded--nodded confidently, otherwise he’d tug them to the margins, their heads growing even closer together as Neville pressed at the person’s pain point until it released. 

And each time, as Harry stayed focused on the larger task, she noticed Ron’s chin jutting up at Neville, relaxing each time as Neville nodded back. At the conclusion of the talk, Ron immediately pulled in Michael, then hurried over to that group to give them the follow-up adjustments and clarifications they didn’t get along the way.

“I’m usually there at his side. Michael’s,” Seamus told her. Hannah looked over at him. Seamus gave her an easy smile. “During Harry’s breakdown. So Ron’s papering over me not being there--I’m the one who is making sure everybody’s on it for our group, the way you saw Nev doing. That’s what the deputies do--me and Alicia, that is. Well--Harry sees himself as a player-coach, which makes things kinda--interesting for Alicia. Nev has his flipped, though, since he likes that part more than the tactical stuff.” 

“Are you hoping to become a group leader some day?”

“Oh. No. God, no. Merlin, no. I want to work, not worry about leading the way the group heads have to.” He shrugged. “I’m not one to give a bloody rip about ‘prestige’ or ‘advancement.’ I just want to be a good auror, and be allowed to do my thing, right? Do my cases, get in the fights like this. Mike and me work in a way that lets me be me, y’know?”

She snuck her arm in with his. “Yeah.” She bumped against him. “Thank god we have people like you, who just--want to jump in the trenches and do the hard stuff..”

“Aww, you’re puffin’ me up.”

“Because you deserve it.”

“I do, but--” Seamus bumped her back. “Appreciated.” His eyes focused on Neville. “Nev said once we got into the practice sessions, he’d peel off to join you and me and--ohhhh, boyo--”

Michael was marching up to Harry, his wand gesturing as fiercely as if he were in the midst of conducting a symphony, and the two--quickly joined by Ron and Neville and Alicia, started to retreat further back as Michael was increasingly animated against the stony wall that was Harry.

“What’s wrong?”

“Mikey’s really not a fan of how exposed our flank is and he’s been pushing on this for days now--but Harry feels like Michael’s counter-idea is too aggressive--” He idly spun his wand between his fingers. “This’ll be a few.” He pointed at Neville. “Here, watch him, see if you can tell the exact moment he’s tuning out of the argument and picturing himself with his plants.” 

“Is…Michael always picking fights?”

“He’s not ‘picking a fight,’ he’s pushing back to make sure we’re going in correct. Harry’s not always right, nor Ron--we all get better by having other people push on plans, talk stuff out. And, I mean, Mikey’s no picnic, but Harry can be a massive dick, too, Han, when he’s got his temper up. You don’t know, you didn’t have to live with the dude for, what, going on seven bloody years now.”

Seamus knocked her arm. “Lookit. Nev’s starting to get his ‘I’d rather be planting’ face.” 

And--yes, Hannah felt a flood of affection at the expression that was washing over Neville as he slowly sagged, his head listing to the side. Alicia edged over to him, and the two of them whispered. Then Neville took in a visibly deep breath, staring to speak, his hands moving from Harry to Michael, back and forth, forth and back, twisted between them all, for a couple minutes. At one point, he cast a shield charm, so strong it made the hair and robes on everyone around them ripple with the shock of its force. 

“He’s the best of us with those. Like--not even a contest. It’s why Michael calls him the ‘Human Shield.’ Well. One reason. He’s so fast with them, and each time, they are like bloody concrete, they are. And he figured out how to use them as a weapon, it’s so cool. Scary, but cool.” 

Neville cast another, that wind-like rush rattling at them again, and Michael started pointing to the side, as if Neville were demonstrating his exact point.

“What’re the other reasons Michael calls him that?”

“Oh.” Seamus scratched at his head. “‘Cause…Nev’s usually covering Harry, right, so--even if the protective charms fails, there’s still a human shielding Harry.”

Down below, Ron started to nod, then he stepped in, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder while giving Michael a stern look, beginning to speak; when he finished, the five nodded and broke apart.

“Aaaaaand…peace is in the offing!” Seamus’ laugh died quickly as he watched Neville glance at his watch, gesture frantically, and then head for a door that was just out of sight. “Wait--that’s the wrong door…” 

“Shay?”

He turned to face her square on. “Don’t freak. But. I have no clue where he’s going, heading that way. I bet Harry’s got something he needs Nev to do, okay?” He gave Hannah’s chin a graze of an acknowledgement. “Don’t worry. He’s gonna be there. As if wild thestrals could keep him from you.”

“But--what if Harry--”

Seamus put his hand on her shoulder, holding tight. “Wild thestrals, Hannah Abbott.”

///

Seamus sighed, spinning a bit in his chair. “I’m sorry, mates, I don’t know where Nev is.”

“Any chance Harry is under attack?” Susan asked, dryly lifting her eyebrow. 

“Funny, Suz.”

She checked her watch before glancing at Hannah whose head was drooping down with each minute they waited. “We should get into it, Shay.”

He took in a deep breath. “Yeah…” He sighed it out in a lead-heavy way. “You good, Han?”

No. But. She reached over for Susan’s hand; her best friend threaded her fingers in and held tight. “Yeah.”

Seamus let out a loud exhale. “Alright. So.” He pressed his hands on the conference table. “Back in December…no. Wait. Before that: This was Tonks’ file--Nymphadora Tonks,” he quickly added, to Hannah’s nod and Susan’s tiny shoulder flicker of a shrug. “She was the auror on the case back in fall of ‘96. Then the case went kinda cold from a bunch’a dead-ends--and other matters went white-hot. Then Tonks had to go into hiding after the Ministry fell, so it all just froze in place. And she died in the Battle, so--all the aurors who were in the Fallen Fifty or fired, their cases got divvied up amongst us new people, and it ended up in my stack when I joined.”

Seamus’s nostrils flared slightly. “I won’t lie, I didn’t get around to this until Nev asked to see it back in…what wazzit, Christmas abouts? He made a really good point about how hard it is for people to not know exactly what happened to their loved ones…” Seamus shot Susan a knowing look. “But. He might have had some…other motivations.”

“What?” Hannah asked.

“Nevermind. Anyways. I got kinda--let’s say, invigorated, and he and me looked over the file, and a couple’a things jumped out at me. Okay, so--” 

As Hannah sucked in a sharp, shaking breath, Seamus reached for the file, starting to open it, a stack photos becoming partially visible as he slid the folder over, a hand that Hannah recognized as well as her own edging into view--

Hannah could barely breathe at the sight of them, clutching to Susan--

“Seamus? Han? Hold on--we’re coming--” Neville’s voice echoed, bouncing its way to the hallway in front of the conference room, and Seamus closed the folder, leaning back and trying to see down the hallway. Hannah glanced at Susan, futilely craning her neck, too. Suddenly, Neville jogged into view, grabbing the door handle with a bit of a pant as he yanked it open, gesturing to an unseen person to come inside.

“Hanner-baby?” That odd accent: a hodgepodge of something between American and British, Irish and Canadian, the different regional dialects of England and Canada clashing to make whatever that was coming out of an unseen woman’s mouth--unseen but not unknown.

Hannah let out a loud gasp, staggering to her feet. “Aunt--Louise?”

“Hannie,” Louise said, finally hurrying into sigh, barreling through the door in her slim-cut black pants-suit, the bangs of her short blonde hair dangling over her left eye. She threw her arms around her niece, hugging her hard as Hannah began to sob into her aunt’s neck. “I missed my portkey, I’m so sorry, I was so into writing Theon breaking into the Ethyal throne room to get the fragment of the Heart Stone and getting caught by the Dragon King that I didn’t hear my alarm, I’m such a dick, I’m so sorry, baby girl.” She kissed Hannah’s cheek. “I think I gave poor Neville a stroke with us being so late.”

“Kind of,” Neville mumbled from the door, face red from running. “I’m real sorry, Han.”

Hannah shook her head, though she beamed at her aunt. “Oh, no, Nevvie, it’s all her fault. When she’s writing a battle scene--or a love scene--the rest of the world disappears. Her wife, me, the cats who are yowling to be fed--none of us exist.”

“And this was a battle scene that was turning into a sex scene, I was totally screwed.” Louise cradled Hannah’s face. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. The moment Neville contacted me yesterday--nothing could have kept me from coming, not even Chapter 12.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t think about having Louise here,” Susan said, shaking her head, then letting out a little ooh! of surprise as Louise turned to give her a hug. As Louise turned to introduce herself to Seamus, Susan strode over to Neville, putting her hands on his upper arms. “You're a damn good dragon egg, Neville Longbottom.” As he blushed, his head bowing down, Susan leaned in to his ear, saying something softly that made his face turn an even more furious shade of red. 

Hannah edged over to them. “What?”

“Nothing.” 

Why did people keep saying that about Neville to her? Utterly perplexing.

He smiled briefly, his head still bent down, though he lifted it slightly to look at Hannah. “I didn’t mean to keep it as a surprise--but--I thought--it might make a hard thing a little lighter, having her show up.” 

She hesitated and then leaned in to slowly press a kiss against his scarlet cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered. 

His hand drifted to hers, and his thumb brushed over the inside of her wrist, so light and so knowing, her head started to spin, and the only thing that she could fix on, to make things go steady again--the rose of his lips, even sweeter under those green eyes--

“Hannah?” Louise had her hand on Seamus’ shoulder. “You ready?”

Hannah put her hand in Neville’s. “Never.” She sighed as he gave her a sad sort of grin. “But.”

“Here, you should sit between Susan and Neville--I don’t think I’ll be able to stay still,” Louise admitted, pacing her way to stand behind Hannah’s chair, shifting her weight from foot to foot. 

Susan took Hannah’s hand again, as did Neville, but he reached over with his other hand and started stroking down her bare arm with the tips of his fingers; she found herself breathing in time with his touch, inhaling as he traveled down her forearm, exhaling as he reached her wrist and started to slide back up again. 

Seamus pulled out a notebook where he had written out a list. “So. We were going over Tonks’ work from the time of the murder. Snape was a double agent, yeah, so he’s the one who passed on the initial information he learned from the bad guys. He didn’t have a ton--he had done a ton of poking around to find out what happened to some other folks, like Amelia,” he said, nodding to Susan who gave him a curt bob of her head back, “who had been murdered. He needed to be a little careful due to that, and since he was at Hogwarts already, he was a little out of the loop on the day to day evil, you know? But he identified four Death Eaters who likely were the orchestrators of the attack on the shop. And Tonks thought the M.O. best aligned with one of them, Victor Avery, but she didn’t have much proof . It all was just kind of a guess: a guess that it was for the Felix ingredients, a guess it was Avery.”

Seamus pulled out a few photos of the vault. “Your mum used fiendfyre, and controlled it-- your mum was no slouch,” he noted, and Hannah glanced up to exchange a wry smile with her aunt. “It destroyed everything in the vault. And the initial blast point, thaaaaat…lines up with, in this list of the vault contents from a few weeks before, the Felix things. So. I think we can say pretty concretely: this was one of the things they were absolutely targeting. Now,” he added, “what’s interesting is, out in the main shop, there are three other blast points from Incendio spells, we think--the supply of truth serum and the energy enhancer, and the rare potions books. I thought this was super interesting: why would your mum destroy these random things…” He lifted an eyebrow. “Unless--they weren’t random. Because the Death Eaters--must be plural--were talking. They must have been saying, like, You get the books, I’ll get the Felix stuff in the vault--oi, check out the vault for other stuff, I’ll get the serum, too. And so on, right? Like idiot criminals in a movie.”

“Yeah…” Louise frowned, looking at the photos of the shop damage. “That’s--lazy. Let the employees know what’s happening so they can try to thwart them.”

“Exactly: lazy. Sloppy. And--given what they did to your mother--”

Hannah gagged slightly, thinking of the empty space in her mother’s chest where her heart was supposed to be. Susan immediately scooted in closer, Neville held tighter to her hand, and her aunt took in a breath so loud, it reminded Hannah to breathe, too.

“--so cartoonishly cruel…which made a few bells start to ring. Now, I think Tonks was right--this feels like one of Avery’s hits. I read all of his handiwork, he always attempted to conceal the purpose. Yeah? Like--he wants to make a cold-blooded assassination, a targeted murder look like--just a random death. The Muggleborn driving a car that crashes concealing how Avery snapped the man’s neck. He wants all of his murders to be just hidden enough that he could try to weasel out of them: Oh, I didn’t kill him, he saw me and swerved the car and what a coincidence that he happened to snap his neck and die! Not guilty, your honor! Bullshit bullshit bullshit. You get me?”

Hannah nodded slowly. As did Susan and Louise. “I do.”

“Wanker,” Susan added bitterly, and Seamus snorted. 

“Agreed. So--” He pointed at the diagram of the apothecary. “Here’s what I’ve worked out. That Avery designed this to look like a mere robbery--oh ho, some hooligans came and looted the Bobbin store and vault and things got out of hand, oh, rue today’s awful youth and crime and such, whatever--but he delegated the job for whatever reason to the two most unsubtle, unstable, unsophisticated, un-everything fuckwads in the Death Eater arsenal to actually take in breaths and do the actual job. Mouth-breathing morons would absolutely would bust into a shop and shout out exactly what their plan is.”

Susan’s eyes immediately widened. “Oh, you’re kidding.”

“He’s not,” Neville said quietly, as Hannah frowned, glancing between the two.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean,” Louise said, stepping back and then forwards again, as if motion would help her process. 

“It was the Carrows,” Seamus sighed, pulling out two full-body photos of the pictures of Amycus and Alecto Carrow. “The two homicidal trolls they brought in as ‘professors’ to torture us during that year--’97-98,” he added for Louise. “These two gits, executing an Avery Strategic Special, fucking it up in the special way that only the Carrows can. But probably covering for how much they utterly cocked up their assignment since Annemarie blasted every single thing they were seeking right to bits--they punished her by yanking out her heart. That just screams them. And--Han, me and Nev think so, and Harry thinks so, and Robards agrees, because--” He pointed at the photo. “See the shape of their shoes? The shoes we saw all bloody year at Hogwarts, as they had us on the ground when they were torturing us, shoving us into dungeons? It’s the exact same shape as the bloody footprints they left around your mum, Han. Look--”

Seamus froze, his hand on the photographs, glancing from Louise to Hannah. “Maybe…Han, maybe your aunt should look at these first, decide if--you need to see them--”

“No.” Hannah took a deep breath. She glanced between Neville and Susan. Then to the photos that were just out of sight, of her mother’s abused and battered body, lying broken on a paved floor in a shop she gave her entire life to, got her entire meaning from. Dying where she truly lived. “I can do this. I--want to know.” 

“How about--you look at me,” Susan suggested, “stay with me, as Seamus puts down the photos, Louise can absorb it, and--you can cuddle into Nev if you need big hugs to recover. Okay? Best of all worlds.”

Hannah hesitated but nodded, first at Susan, then at Seamus, before glancing up at her pale-faced aunt who gave Hannah a wavering smile, her fingers tight on Hannah’s shoulders. Then to Neville, who lifted up their joined hands and put them against his heart, nodding at her. 

“I got you,” he told her.

“I know,” she whispered back before turning her gaze back to her first dearest friend, Susan’s dark and solemn eyes holding her steady and sure. She drank in the feel of her aunt’s hands, held tight to her best friends, and took in a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

///

“That’s the thing though,” Louise sighed, refilling the shot glasses around the coffee table in Hannah’s flat, before corking the firewhiskey and plopping back in her seat on the sofa while Hannah brought a fresh round of drinks for herself, Louise, Kingsley, Hestia, and Susan. “White grout in your loo is such a hassle to keep clean.”

“But I want a uniform look,” Kingsley frowned, shaking his head as he reached for his refilled glass. “A gray or, worse, black grout is going to break up the uniformity, and I want that seamless, classy veneer.” He held up his shot glass as Hannah took her spot on the cushions in front of the fireplace beside Susan, lifting her own glass, starting the third round of toasts. A round each time the last person finished their drink. “To Annemarie. Who likely told Alecto in her very last breath, Your shoes are so ugly.”

“To Annemarie, who absolutely said, I’d rather die than look at your ugly shoes,” Hestia said with a laugh though her eyes immediately filled.

“To Hannah’s mum, who once asked me why I insisted on dressing like I was a swot in some Japanese anime, so she absolutely said something mocking to the sodding Carrows because she wouldn’t go down without getting the last word,” Susan offered, raising her glass.

“Oh my god, that’s so her,” Louise laughed as Hestia rubbed her back. Louise wiped at her own tears. “To my sister, who I’m putting five whole galleons on having said something bitchy like, I’d rather rip out my heart than listen to you for another second, you idiots.”

“To Mummy,” Hannah finished, blinking out another round of tears as she nodded rapidly, the five of them leaned in to clink their glasses together.

And in the next breath, Louise turned back to Kingsley. “It won’t break up the placid quality you’re going for! A light gray grout, I think, will actually bring out the shape of the hexagon in a really lovely way. I think you’re just so fixated on wanting some spa oasis bathroom, you’re missing the forest for the trees here, Kings. Because remember, if you do the Muggle underfloor heating--which I truly cannot recommend enough--”

“The hotel we went to in Paris for our anniversary had it, it was perfection,” Hestia said fervently. 

“--see, then, you can’t charm it for fear of shorting the circuit, which means you have to hand-clean it, and I truly truly cannot stress how obnoxious cleaning white grout is! You should just get samples of different shades of gray and black and I think it’s going to be quite eye-opening for you,” Louise said, gesturing at him with her wine glass.

“Merlin’s bloody beard,” Susan whispered to Hannah. “You told me they were boring, but I did not expect it to be this bad.”

“This is about twenty million times better than the mortgage discussion, though,” Hannah sighed. “That one…I mean, Papa Tom was just put in the ground, and then that? For hours? I was like--is the universe out to get me?”

“Excuse me? Hi. Are we boring you?” Louise cut in, peering at the two.

“Yes,” Susan burst out. “Good god, yes.” She gestured so widely, the wine in her own glass threatened to slosh out. “I thought this was gonna be some epic night, toasting Hannah’s mum, spending it with the Minister, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and Hannah’s cool Canadian writer aunt--”

“Cool Canadian writer lesbian aunt, cheers, Suz.”

“And instead, you’ve been talking about renovating kitchens and loos for the past hour!” She looked at Hannah in horror. “Is this what is going to happen to us when we turn thirty?”

“Actually, we’re over forty, love.”

“By forty, we’re going to be crypt keepers,” Susan shuddered. “And boring enough to stop bloody traffic.”

“Bollocks. We’re so old to them,” Kingsley groaned. “And the real hex in the eye is, we think we’re so young!”

“We are so young! We still have another twenty years to have children!” Hestia said, pointing at Susan and Hannah. “Take this one to heart, girls, witches are, with total ease, able to procreate to fifty-five comfortably, and usually sixty with healthy results. Sixty-five, it gets shaky, that’s our version of the Muggle forty. But! Look at how young our bodies still are! The domestic industrial complex tells you otherwise, but don’t let them snooker you! Forty is just the start of your actual best years of fertility!”

“Fertility, sure, but it doesn’t make you cool .” Susan narrowed her eyes at the three sitting on the couch. “Tell me more about how much you miss disco.”

“Oh, absolutely not with this level of ignorant cheek,” Kingsley gasped. He pointed at Hannah as he took a long sip from his pint of cider. “Hannah, go put on the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack. This girl needs to learn.”

Hannah hesitated. “I don’t think that’s going to help your cause--”

“That’s an order, from your commander.”

She stood, shooting a glare at Susan. “Thanks a lot,” she hissed. 

Susan stared back at Kingsley, putting her elbows on her thighs. “Are we gonna talk about your prostate health next? Maybe how you all are finding trainers with better arch support is more important now, at your advancing age?”

“They actually are,” Hestia murmured to Louise, who let out a hum of interest as she sipped her cocktail. “I run so much farther with an orthopedic sole.”

“Alright then, what is a sufficiently ‘cool’ topic to discuss?” Kingsley asked.

“Please don’t ask about Sirius Black--I get kinda tired of people who want to hear all about him,” Hestia sighed, “as if the Order was merely the Sirius Show.”

Susan waved her hand, her eyes still on the Minister. Hannah had put on the record he requested, and a plucked rhythm guitar and the high voices of the Bee Gees poured out of Hannah’s phonograph. 

“God, remember how we used to dance to stuff like this? How I’d beg you to invite me to your common room, and Lily Evans would jump in there to do The Hustle in those flare jeans of hers?” Louise said with a yearning sigh, Hestia letting out an affirming hum. “Her hair would swing around…”

Ignoring them, Susan squared her shoulders, body lifting up a bit, stared at Kingsley and said, “I think it would be very cool to talk about how you want to commission a report to review the judiciary functions of the Wizengamot.”

“Ohhhh, somebody’s shooting her shot,” Louise said eagerly, poking Hestia. 

“I love Harry’s friends,” Hestia sighed, smiling at Susan. “They have zero fear. We were all so timid after surviving the first war, told we didn’t need to keep fighting, but them--”

Hannah poked Susan. “Hestia told off Harry’s awful Muggle family, you know.”

Susan held up a hand. “I look forward to hearing that story over the next round. For now…”

“Such a Bones,” Kingsley said with a lopsided grin, gazing at Susan. “I can’t tell if you are more like Edgar or Amelia right now.”

“Why not both?” Susan reached forward for the wine bottle, pouring herself another glass. She gazed at Kingsley. “I think you should appoint me to write the report.”

“Says…the nineteen-year-old trainee Wizengamot member,” Hestia supplied, Louise raising her eyebrows high. 

“Says the person who took her first steps in the main chamber. Who had judicial decisions read to her for bedtime stories. Who spent her entire life around the Wizengamot thanks to her mother who drafts its policy and whose father is its head parliamentarian and aunt was Amelia Susan Sodding Bones, one of the most revered heads of the M.L.E. in the body’s history--”

“Point of order--was Amelia gay? I always got a vibe…” Louise cut in, leaning against Hestia as she waved her wand to refill her wine glass, the motion sloppy with how much she had drank, making Hannah quickly jump in to ameliorate the bad spellwork.

“You know? She might have been. She said she didn’t like how her ex-husbands were always in her life and trying to touch her stuff and disrupt her things, but it could have just been that she didn’t want any men in her life,” Susan mused. 

“That sounds like a very distinct possibility. One I support. The fact Hannah insists on heterosexuality is such a disappointment.” She waved her hand. “Carry on. Susan the Fetus was saying…you should let her dismantle your entire judicial system.”

Kingsley had kept his gaze steady on Susan. “What’s your argument against the concern that you don’t have the requisite experience to engage in such a large-scale review of an entire part of our government?”

“Respectfully, I created the dispute resolution system for the D.A. during that fall, since Ginny and Neville were worried about how we were devolving into fights between the Gryffindors and the Ravenclaws. It not only worked spectacularly, we were using it to the very day Harry returned,” Susan shot back as Hannah nodded fervently. “Plus, I adjusted it after Luna left, and then again when Ginny went into hiding so Nev could oversee it solo alongside me. And speaking of Harry…I know the operations he and Ron and Hermione executed at the Ministry and Malfoy Manor and at Gringotts were--stunning, honestly, but does Harry truly have the ‘requisite experience’ to re-shape the entire auror operations? Otherwise, he only taught a covert extra-curricular club and then came back to be, in a way, a featured guest star in a larger battle that you, sir, were scrambling with your Order colleagues to form a battle plan that could be successful against an onslaught that made Helm’s Deep look like a cake-walk.”

“I thought Justin was a Star Trek fan.”

“Sir, I was reading Tolkein before Justin went to kindergarten. English folklore isn’t just for the Muggles,” Susan said, arching a brow. “Though--Tolkein should be taught to all of us, and at Hogwarts. But--that’s for whatever you have planned for magical education reform,” she finished, her eyes skipping over to Hannah.

Hannah did a double take as Kingsley looked at her, too. “Fair point, Justice Bones.”

Susan shook out her hair. “Yes.”

“Hanner-baby, do you have any popcorn, since this is getting good,” Louise whispered, clutching harder to Hestia’s arm, Hestia erupting in a giggle, her head sagging against Louise’s shoulder.

“If Harry is getting his opportunities just because he’s the Chosen One, and similar opportunities are being given to those in his close orbit, why not the same for someone like me? Who has a proven record of learned experience from my family, and an avalanche of respect due to the very fact that I am a Bones and Amelia’s favorite to boot--Sam and Eddie have always been sore about it, and they’d happily say so--and from my actions in the D.A. during that year, and I would have been on track for three O N.E.W.T.s in History of Magic and the real Muggle Studies as well as Transfigurations plus two more E’s in Charms and D.A.D.A if the practice exams counted, and I won the Dumbledore Award for Best Transfiguration Student for ‘97-98, and I’ve consistently ranked as the top trainee Wizengamot justice over the past year, and being new means that I have no real loyalties to this institution’s current systems which is what you need, since we can’t be wedded to ‘how things have always been done’ as we have to find ‘what works for this country for our future.’”

She jutted her chin up. “If my name were Hermione Granger…would there be any hesitation to appointing me to this role?”

Kingsley reached for his red wine as he gazed back at her. Settling back on the couch, he glanced at Hestia, her hand sneaking up to rest on his knee. 

He took in a heavy breath. “No.”

“Then why aren’t I your obvious choice?”

Kingsley stared at Susan, and the two of them finished their drinks--far too long of gulps to finish their glasses, their eyes trained on each other--putting the glasses down in heavy thumps. 

“Hannah,” Kingsley said, and she straightened, crisping her spine as she glanced between the two. “Pour us the next Annemarie round.”

Hannah stood, hurrying to the kitchen to grab a fresh bottle of firewhiskey.

“When do we get to talk about this Neville chap,” she heard Louise whine, and Hannah gasped, nearly chucking the cap off the liquor.

“Oh Merlin’s sodding Y-fro--if they don’t--honestly, I think Harry’s about to finish the burning You-Know-Who started,” Kingsley groaned.

Hannah gasped, wheeling around. “What?”

“Nothing,” he boomed, and Hannah hesitated before turning back to the firewhiskey. 

“Nothing,” Susan added, waving her hands. “Nothing at all. Nothing to see here. Which is the bloody problem”

“Amen,” Hestia mumbled, and Louise burst into giggles. She threw up her hands. “Who’s the issue here, her or him?”

“Him,” Louise said immediately. “Men are always the problem.”

Kingsley refilled his wine, shooting Louise a skeptical look. “Excuse me.”

“Oh, own it,” she said, waving her hand. 

“Her,” Susan said firmly. “He might not have any confidence, but he has to navigate her abysmal self-esteem. It’s like sailing in a minefield.” Kingsley cocked his head, considering it as he glanced back at Hannah.

Hannah’s steps slowed as she came back to them with bottles in hand. “I don’t…understand…anything about what you lot are saying right now,” she said, staring from Susan to Hestia, Kingsley to her aunt in total, utter, baffling uncertainty.

“I know, Hannah,” Kingsley said, extending his arm to take the firewhiskey and starting to pour. “I wish I could simply decree them to…be, I truly do,” he sighed to the other three.

“As do we, sir,” Susan mumbled, raising up her glass. Louder, she said, “To Hannah’s mum: Who, never for a second, thought she didn’t deserve everything. She never second-guessed herself.”

“To Annemarie,” Hestia declared, thrusting her glass upwards like a torch. “Who never ever needed someone to validate her feelings, since she totally believed in herself every single second of every single day. For good, for ill, but--it's rare, to be that confident.”

“To Annemarie Elliot, who got on the Hogwarts Express, learned about the houses, and declared, Well of course I’ll be in Ravenclaw, I’m brilliant,” Kingsley laughed, his eyes on Hannah, who blushed and grinned back. “She was so smart, and as difficult as she could be…Merlin…as Albus said when he learned,” he said, eyes sad as he gave Hannah a small smile, “we lost a good one when we lost Annemarie.”

Louise wiped her eyes. “I forgot that Dumbledore said that.”

“He knew. Everyone knew. What Annemarie stood for, whose side she was on. If it was just about the things in the shop, they’d have come at night.” He held Hannah’s gaze. “Robards didn’t sign off on Seamus going this far since it’s just speculation, but-- I’ll say it: They thought Severus was on their side, and Horace was out for himself. Thus they killed her to make sure the Order couldn’t have recruited her for potions work as the war evolved, I’m sure of it.” He fixed Hannah with a steady look. “As is Harry.” As Hannah took in a gasp of a teary breath, reaching for Susan’s hand, he added, “And Neville.”

Hestia reached over to wipe at Louise’s tears. “You know, the irony that you’d be speaking so highly of Annemarie…”

“I know.” He laughed a bit, holding up his glass again. “Your mum was--oi, really difficult, Hannah. Complicated. But--a good one. Not everyone who is good is agreeable or easy. Or even right all the time, either. Not that your mum would ever accept that.” 

“Oh, god, no. God forbid she accept she could make a single mistake. And yet…to Annie-rie,” Louise said with a shudder of a breath, a sob catching in her throat and making her clutch hard to Hestia’s arm until her throat loosened enough for her to finish, her eyes fixed on Hannah the whole time, “who may not have always have done right by the ones she loved--” She didn’t just meet Hannah’s gaze, she squeezed it hard in her own eyes. “--but she always, always thought she was doing the right thing…and when she was right, damn, she was a force.”

Hannah tried to lift up her glass, but it sagged back down into her lap as she started to sob. “I miss her,” she admitted, as she dissolved into tears, turning into Susan. 

“Me, too,” Louise said, blinking out tears.

“I know she was complicated--and maybe…maybe she wasn’t…” All of the hard things about her mother, all of the things in her head that were cruel, that her mother had seeded there and made to grow, so pernicious and strong, a Devil's Snare in her own mind planted by her own mum--yes, true, but -- “--but--but I miss her,” Hannah sobbed, Susan wrapping her arms around her. “I miss her every day.”

“I know, love,” Hestia said, reaching out to clutch at Kingsley’s hand. 

Kingsley chewed on his lower lip, watching Hannah sob into Susan until Louise was able to pry her niece free, cajole Hannah into her arms, the two of them in a rocking knot on the floor. 

He met Susan’s eyes and sighed. “Send me a written proposal, okay? I can’t green light something this huge based on ‘my fiancee’s good mate’s niece’s best friend made one hell of a case while we were heavily drinking at an impromptu wake.’”

Susan gasped. “Wait. Really?”

“Just--get Harry to write you a raving letter of support. Gushing. Glowing. Visible from a different solar system, it’s so glowing. Get Hermione to write it for him. And then get a second--from Neville, alright, get a half-as-glowing letter talking about that dispute system, and then one from McGonagall. You get them behind you…and list Hermione and Ginny and Sprout as secondary references…” He exhaled. “Just--get it done by the end of next week.”

Hannah tried to wipe at her face, the wet of it all too much for her hand to control, something bright and hopeful starting to break through her tears. She pulled from her aunt to look to Susan. “I'll have Nev’ll write something so good, it’ll blow the Ministry doors off.”

“Hannah, if you asked, he’d tell me to go to hell,” Kingsley said dryly. “Just--get it all in writing, okay?” he said to Susan who nodded, her smile growing brilliant as she pulled Hannah in for a hard hug. 

Susan was so buoyant, it was like she had fully taken flight. “Yes, sir.”

Kingsley shook his head at Hestia. “These kids…” His eyes shifted to Hannah as he leaned forward, his elbows finding the shelf of his thighs as he rotated the glass in his hands. “Well. Susan’s made her move to help with the reform effort…how’d you like to get in the change game, too?”

“Me?” Hannah asked, pointing at herself with her wet fingers for good measure. “For what?”

He glanced between Hestia and Susan before he smiled. “I think it’s high time we looked at how we handle learning in this country. How we can give everybody the best chance to succeed. Hogwarts--and beyond. I think…there’s a lot more that we can do. Would you like to help?”

Hannah wiped at her eyes again, and the smile that started for Susan continued to grow.

Chapter Text

July, 1999: But you're in my head, you're in my blood

“Hey!” Hannah hurried from behind the Leaky bar to meet Neville in a hug, the two virtually alone in the dusky room. “I was starting to get worried.”

“All’s well. Just a really bollocksed dry run tonight. We are having a bear of a time with some of our new gadgets, but--” He leaned in, and whispered with his rosemary-scented breath, “--that’s user error from the field aurors more than the design by lab aurors, but I think if I said that out loud, I’d get jinxed to Hades.”

Hannah made a crossing motion over her heart, mimicked locking a key, and then tossed that imaginary key over her shoulder, making them both giggle, their foreheads knocking together before they slid into another long hug. 

“How was France!”

“So much fun. Louise found eight really fantastic castles and cathedrals to use as models for locations over the next three books, and then we spent two whole days around Reims just going to champagne vineyards and tasting rooms.”

Neville squeezed her slightly. “I would like to do that. Just go from place to place and have them hand me champagne.”

“I’ll take you. Oooh, maybe we can get Justin and Suz to come along, since he is fluent, opposed to me who just kind of pointed and smiled and said ‘je suis désolé’ over and over.”

“What does that mean?”

“‘I am sorry.’” And he laughed with her, his hands warm on her back. “You hungry?” she finally asked him. Stopping herself from saying: You hungry, my favorite? You hungry, my sweetheart? You hungry, my darling? My…my…my…

Just be mine.  

“Would soup be alright? I put aside a big bowl of Cressida’s amazing potato soup and made a pot roast sandwich to go with--”

“Ooooh, can we make the sandwich hot?” he asked happily, drawing back enough to see her face. 

“Absolutely.”

“Then that, yes, please,” he grinned, reaching up to tuck back the flyaway hairs on one side of her hair and then the other. They hesitated, holding tight, until Hannah shifted back and slipping out of his arms, breaking into a big grin as she did. 

“Before dinner, though…” Hannah scurried around the bar, ducking down and then coming up with a very small cake, no bigger than a generous slice, frosted in Gryffindor colors with a sparkler-like candle stuck in it, ready to be lit. “Happy birthday, Nevvie!”

“Oh--no, no, not yet,” Neville said as he settled on a stool on the other side of the bar. “Family tradition is, your birthday doesn’t start until the time you were born, and I was born at exactly half past seven in the morning. Which has always meant cake for breakfast,” he said happily. He tilted his head to the side, though, looking proud. “Last year, I went back to Gran’s for the whole day like usual, but this is my first birthday away. Like--independent. And then celebrating with friends.”

“Do you have your independent breakfast cake all prepared then?”

“No. I didn’t think that far ahead. But Gran and me are meeting for lunch, and I bet I’ll get cake then…and an office cake…and then cake at the party, so I can’t really complain.”

“Don’t be silly--” Hannah conjured a small box and carefully put the cake and the candle inside. She handed it to him. “Your breakfast cake. The tradition continues.”

He beamed at her, his fingers trailing over hers, making a shiver ripple under her skin. “Thank you.”

“This is not your gift, don’t think that for an instant,” Hannah warned him as she went to get the tray with his dinner. 

“I didn’t--I know you too well,” Neville grinned. He pulled off his robes, smoothing a hand down his tie. “So I have a few updates. More than just what I sent in my one owl.” He put his hands flat on the bar, leaning forward slightly. “Harry. Brought in. Cleaners. Real live cleaners! Ahead of the party! I mean--it was more that Ginny and Hermione put their feet down, saying we couldn’t bring civilized company over for several hours when the place was that funky. Kreacher is so leaked off, but--tough.”

Hannah placed the soup bowl and the plate with the steaming-hot sandwich in front of him before turning back to get him a pint of his favorite ale. “You must be so relieved.”

“Oh. Merlin. You have no idea. I practically danced in the shower when I got in it yesterday. And? Whatever smells like it died in the kitchen has finally been given a proper burial. I’m still probably going to move out soon, but--at least I won’t be storming out in total disgust.”

She poured herself a cider as she resisted the urge to hint that he should consider letting out a suite here at the Leaky and brought both pints over to the bar, sliding one in front of him and leaning against the bar as she set down her own. Neville took a first sip of the soup, humming with happiness, then reached for his drink. “I’m assuming you got the cleaners’ contact info.”

“Oh, better than that: The girls set them up to come every week. I practically threw the two of them a parade. I’m calling it an early birthday present.” He tucked into his sandwich, hiding his mouth behind his hand as he spoke. “And my blue olive tree is in full bloom--I’ll show you when you come to the party, but it means we’re about a month out from the fruit, and Han, there is nothing more delicious than fresh blue olives. Other than birthday cake. Do you think you would have any recipes that you could use them in?”

Hannah grinned. “I’ll find some--I’ll ask Cressida and Dagmar for ideas, too. You’re sure you want to share, if they’re so good?”

“Mmm, maybe I’ll ask for something in exchange…” His face suddenly flushed, and he busied himself with his dinner until it started to fade; Hannah bit at the inside of her lips, glancing down, feeling her own face start to heat up, though she couldn’t fully explain why. 

He tentatively looked back up at her, clearing his throat before he reached for the other half of his sandwich. “So…at work--we’re getting closer to going out and--” He broke off. “Actually, I can’t talk about this, really, not in public--I know we’re basically alone,” he added in a low voice, though his eyes landed on a couple folks cozy in shadowed booths, and Hannah leaned in even more. “But. Constant vigilance, right?”

“You can tell me later,” she assured him, squeezing his forearm, then daring to run her fingers over the hard rise of the muscles there. 

(Do not think about how you wish he had rolled up his sleeves. Do not think about how they are your favorite part of his body.

Do not think about his body, at all! Especially with rolled up sleeves and then no sleeves and then no--and also no--until there is nothing but that body --Hannah, stop!)

What was going on in her head anymore! All during France, Hannah kept reliving the feel of Neville’s fingers drifting up and down her arm, catching the bundle of nerves in the wrist and striking her like a match. She’d be standing in some castle, some cathedral, staring out at some vineyard and trace her own fingers up and down. Pretending. She’d lay in her bed, Louise’s snores audible from the other room, picture his face and close her eyes as she slid her hand into her pajama pants and thought of his perfect fingers, biting hard at her lips to keep from making a sound. Pretending.

What if she went to the party and had to watch him find some girl-version of her thing with Oliver? Worse, what if it was someone he liked? What if it was finally Luna or maybe--Tracey, Tracey was so striking, or perhaps Lisa would see him with his new haircut and think he was worth a second chance, or what about--well, she didn’t know who else, just what if? What if she had to watch him stop pretending with her because the real thing came along? 

She grabbed her pint glass and gulped a too-large mouthful down.

“You okay?”

Hannah jerked back to reality, nodded, forced herself to move her other hand from his arm. “Sorry, just got a little distracted. Thinking.” She hesitated. “Worrying.”

“Don’t worry, we’re gonna be fine. We’re prepped within a centimeter of our lives.”

“I don’t like Michael’s nickname for you. ‘Human Shield.’ It makes me think like your role is to get hurt in the name of protecting Harry. Or--worse.”

He put the sandwich down and reached for her hand, his fingers folding over hers and holding tight. “It’s totally fine. Michael loves the name because it works on, like, three levels, and he is so proud of himself. Thinks he’s all Peak Ravenclaw with it. Personally, I think I got off easy--he keeps calling Ron ‘Goose,’” Neville said, his nose wrinkling.

“It’s a nickname from a Muggle movie called Top Gun. It’s not an insult.”

“But geese are wankers . Total jerks! When I was five, a goose chased me around Hyde Park, kept trying to bite me? Gran marched right up to it, swatting her purse, and then she literally lectured it--finger-wagging and everything,” he said with a giggle in his voice. 

“Was she wearing the hat?”

“She wasn’t, she wasn’t! It was in for--”

“The thrice-monthly stuffing,” Hannah laughed, so hard that she put her head on the bar as her body shook. 

“This is not where you try to tell me she needs a back up hat,” Neville warned as Hannah finally calmed down. 

“Do you really think that goose would have come for you had it seen the angel of death--”

“That is, the vulture hat--”

“--yes, exactly, and even dared to molest you?”

“So true, so true--but I’ll choose the goose,” he laughed, and she cracked up again. As she leaned against the bar, beaming at him, he ran his thumb over her knuckles in their still joined hands. “I have something else for you, that I learned at work. About this task force.”

“People are already talking about it?” Hannah frowned just slightly. “Kingsley said that it’ll be six months to a year before he’s ready to announce.”

“Just Dean. I was bragging a bit about you being asked, and he was like, ‘Mate, I know about a hundred times more than you, stop,’” Neville admitted with a blush and a laugh. Then he gave her hand a squeeze and slowly let go. “Sorry, I’m so hungry--”

“Eat, eat,” she urged. Then she bobbed her head to the side, feeling her blush creep back. “Next time, I’ll make you something you can eat with only one hand.”

“Makes me eager to get to the soup, right?” he grinned back, and she found she was glancing back down at his hand, eyes trailing up from there (forearms, biceps, shoulders, neck, smile--lips--Hannah, stop!).

He washed down a bite with some ale, nodding the whole time as if urging himself to finish faster. “So--I know who he wants to get as the chair--Professor Grubbly-Plank!”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah! Turns out, she’s taught at international schools all around the world. She loves to travel, just like Pomona Sprout, and she’s built her whole second half of her career around working at magical schools, doing stints at magical preserves in between…she’s right now at Mahoutokoro, teaching Magical Creatures for the next six months--and that’s the thing Dean said, she’s filling in for a teacher who has spattergroit, so they don’t know if it’ll be six months--”

“Or a full year, that makes sense.” Hannah doodled her thumb into some of the grooves in the bartop. “Is this silly that I thought, like, McGonagall would chair?”

“I don’t think it’s silly, Han, but--I’m real glad she’s not. I think…it would be quite difficult to have perspective on Hogwarts while running the place. And she’s given basically her whole life to it, so…it would almost been unfair to ask her to have clear eyes. I think she should be on it, but--not leading.”

“What do you want to see us do, on the task force? What do you want to come out of a ‘systematic review of education in Wizarding Britain’?”

Neville cocked his head to the side for a moment, reaching for his ale. “Huh. What do I…well. Better Muggle Studies, for one. And--honestly, Magical Studies for the Muggle-raised. I didn’t get at all why Hermione and Harry and Dean and such had to learn about their old world when it would have really helped them instead to get a really in-depth understanding of their new one.”

He opened his mouth and then immediately closed it. He winced. “I don’t want this to be the Pity Poor Nev Hour, talking about my time at Hogwarts.”

Hannah stilled. “Are you thinking about Snape?”

“Not…exactly. More like--I got this thought in my head that…like…listen, I know what my reputation was: I was a total flop, all-time pathetic power rankings leader, no doubt, right? And I really was at the start of each year and the start of new units--I always had to dig in there and work incredibly hard to improve, but I did. I’d always improve the more I did something, with--well, potions, I just got worse and worse, but even Transfigurations, I’d go from Ts and Ps all the way up to solid As by the end of the term, even with McGonagall telling me how terrible I still was. Things got much easier once I got my own wand, but--it didn’t come naturally to me, the theory-based classes.” He screwed up his face, as if the thinking was taking a lot of effort, saying, “I feel like--kids like me, where we had to work really hard to see a payoff? The teaching really is the difference. I needed good teachers, invested in the--what’s the word, you’ve said it before, for the work of teaching?”

Hannah thought for a moment, then her eyebrows snapped up. “Pedagogy.”

“Yes. Who are invested in that, and who--are invested in the actual students, all of them. See, I--well, Hermione said this, and I had to agree, that I woudda done quite well in Potions the whole time, had I gotten a good teacher. Or even an average teacher, not a tormentor. Potions has got minimal wand work, so those first five years when I had Dad’s wand I wouldn’t have had the same uphill climb I did in the wand-heavy classes. Plus, it’s practical--that is, hands-on like herbology is, and I learn really fast when I’m able to get in there and do stuff. Theory’s hard for me to get my head around at first, it trips me up something wicked in Transfigurations, even now. It’s why I did so well with Harry teaching me, even now when he’s teaching new skills at work, since he’d teach from the outcome, not the theory. Lupin, Lupin was a bang-up theory-to-practice teacher--he would come in and really walk you through it, so all the theory you read, here’s how it’s being used right now. Merlin, imagine if we had gotten a Lupin to teach us Potions! He was such a great teacher.”

Neville put his elbows on the bar. “You know who I don’t think we give enough credit to? For being a good teacher? Dumbledore. See, I know some folks second-guess how he set up Harry discovering everything during that year, but I think he was trying to deliver it in the best way for Harry to learn . To get it. And meet him where he’d be along the way--and I think that’s the best kind of teacher, one who is always adjusting to find where someone is, and at least help them get one step further. And then another. And then another. And then you gotta learn at the same time how your student is moving. Like--I’m a walker, but Hermione? You gotta run with her--and even, figure out how she handles some leaps along the way, since she does take huge leaps--see how much farther you can get her, too. The point is, Dumbledore had learned Harry along the way, right? And he had one shot at trying to teach Harry and lay out a good timeline for Harry to learn, and he designed it as best as he could. When he couldn’t make any adjustments along the way since he was--you know, dead.” Neville nodded a bit, more to himself. “I really admire how he learned Harry, though. He didn’t need Harry to be anyone else other than himself.” 

He lifted up his drink, slowly, adding, “I had a lot of resentment around how I was taught at times. It started really hitting in spring of that year, and it’s a little frustrating to me that it still gets on my mind from time to time, so I have to keep working through it.”

“How do you work through it?” 

He shrugged. “Gardening. Seriously. Give me a fifty pound bag of mulch and a flower bed that needs weeding. I might not have it completely figured out by the time I’m through, but I’ll be feeling pretty okay again by the end of it.” He nodded with his chin towards her. “How do you work through things?”

“I--don’t, actually. I just let them devour me until they drift away. Though then they usually come back.” Hannah squinted. “I don’t think that’s a strategy you want to copy,” she said with a snort of a giggle. 

“I love you, but no, I’m good--” His eyes bugged open, and he turned crimson in the span of a second. “Um.”

Hannah tucked wildly at her hair; just being near her cheeks was making her hands feel hot. “I--um. You--you were saying, something--about how you were taught? Wh-wh-wh-wh-what what what? Did you--mean?”

He was staring at her, vaguely catatonic, but then he jolted back, blinking, and then ran his hand over his tie, loosening the knot, making it looser and longer. “I--uh--yeah.” 

I love you. 

She belted back the rest of her cider and then turned around for a refill. “Well--when I think about you being badly taught--I think about Snape, honestly.”

“Put aside Snape. Snape wanted me to fail, and he was successful at his goal every single time--except when it really counted, at the O.W.L.s, when for the first time, I didn’t have to make a potion with him watching me. And I was so focused for my O.W.L.s; Christmas hols was a huge turning point and I was locked in, and I was gonna take my one chance and I’d picture myself marching up to him with a big fat O on my exam sheet, and I’d say, Fuck you.”

He put a hand over his mouth. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I think he deserves exactly that, too. But--despite all of that…I’m putting Snape aside?”

“Yeah. Because Snape wanted me to fail.” Neville toyed with his nearly empty pint glass. “It’s McGonagall who I struggle with sometimes.”

She began pouring him a new pint. “Why?”

“She--did you know, she never paid me a single compliment? Not until I was setting my N.E.W.T. curriculum. Which was quite nice of her; it meant a lot to hear it. But--like. That was the start of my sixth year . I dunno. She had so many chances to say anything remotely positive to me--Merlin, like even after I got all those house points our first year, yeah? And she could have learned from my other professors in classes where I did well or--like Charms or D.A.D.A. where I always improved over the year--and ask them why or how, if she cared, right? But--I dunno. I can’t put my finger on why she treated me the way she did, but--most of the things I think over, they don’t make me feel great about her. Which doesn’t feel great, period, since I respect her. A lot. And I still really want her respect. But--when your Head of House acts, often, like she wishes you weren’t in her house at all because you’re such a complete drip, it’s--tough. It’s all--complicated,” he said, wrinkling up his face before he shrugged. “But it is what it is.”

“I think…” She slid the glass over to him, her fingers lingering in the hope he’d skim his over hers. And he did. And she felt a warm spot in her chest start to glow in pleasure. “It’s really generous of you to hold two thoughts at once like that--the negative but still care about her and her opinion.” She drummed her fingers over his. “You think you’ll ever get there with Snape?”

“Oh. No. Never.” Neville gave her a grim smile. “Please don’t tell Harry. I keep telling him that I’m not ready to talk about Snape or I am not in the right place, and it’s true. Because I don’t want to deal with how Harry will react when I tell him how I really feel. But. That doesn’t need to be today. Or anytime soon.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

“Cross your heart, throw away the key?”

“Exactly, yes,” Hannah grinned. He picked his sandwich again. “I was--okay with McGonagall, before the exam. But god, I’m certain she hates me now, after how badly I did. I tried to avoid her as much as I could--she was never mean to me that year, but…she’d have to be disappointed in me.” 

“If she is, she’s wrong. Teachers shouldn’t take it personally when a good student struggles--they should wonder how to help them do better. Period.” 

Hannah sipped her cider, watching him for a moment. “You know, McGonagall really did respect you, in seventh year. I heard her chatting with Professor Sprout once in the greenhouse. She was talking about how you had come into your own--you were the definition of a late bloomer.”

Neville pulled a face, groaning a bit.

“What?”

“I really dislike that. ‘Late bloomer.’ The way we use it in everyday speech. Like--what does that even mean! Late according to whom? Every plant blooms in its own time. That phrase comes from the folks around that plant, waiting and watching for something to happen, whinging about how the plant's timeline is wrong. Or even…it’s January, and you plant some things that bloom in the spring and some that bloom in the fall, yeah? They bloom late in the calendar year, but here’s the thing: that’s not how we use the term, we use the term like we were expecting every seed to be a spring blossom, like it’s some surprise when the flower that was always meant to come through in September bloomed in September. But it’s just the use of the word late. Late, like something bad.

“And it’s not,” he said, finishing the last of his sandwich and picking up his soup spoon again. “We’re just impatient. We’re being so unfair, imposing what we want to happen versus just--letting it be in its own time.” He pressed forward against the bar. “A mimbulus only blooms after a minimum of ten years, and that’s only when it feels the need. Which could be fifty years later, or it could be never, you don’t know. That’s what makes it so special, when its time arrives. The time it chooses.”

Hannah tried to fight the grin spreading on her face. “Or he.”

Neville blushed. “I wasn’t speaking metaphorically.”

She bit her lips together to smother that smile.

“It’s not a metaphor! C’mon, I wasn’t talking about me! I was talking about plants.”

“Wait, you’re not a plant?” she said, finally succumbing to the giggles. “Oh, no, you’re just obsessed with plants, huge difference.”

He began laughing, too, picking up his napkin and covering his crimson face for a moment before tossing it at Hannah. “Maybe I was talking about you! Yeah? It could be about you, too!”

She caught it and tossed it back. “You’re a nut. All of that running after bad guys made you goofy tonight.”

He grabbed it in mid-air, growing serious in the time it took to lay it back in his lap. “I feel like…it’s important to say that I also hate the idea of a ‘late bloomer’ because it kinda makes us forget that, like…that blossom wasn’t alone, that, say, gardenia or rose you’re holding, it came from a bush or a tree with loads of other blossoms which are different and in different places and--just--different . It’s not just one way we get to bloom.”

Hannah realized she had been holding her breath. “Ar-are you talking about me? Because I--I dunno. Exactly…what…”

Neville hesitated as he held her eyes in his gaze. “Well. If you think you see yourself in that…wouldn’t it make sense? Think about your journey, just here at the Leaky, yeah? You started here as a server, right, for a while during that year you came home. That and helping Tom as a hostess. You thought you were going to be doing that forever, and here you are, you’re the owner of the place, doing all of these great things that have made it so much better and more vibrant...? Think of how many flowers those are, how much you’ve done...” 

His face had started to lose its flush, but it erupted again. He seemed to stammer silently before he added, “I’m so grateful we’ve gotten--closer, so I’ve been able to see some of them, and I’m jus’ so excited to wait and see how you bloom—blossom, uh, flower-um--bugger,” he said, closing his eyes. “‘Flowering’ sounds rude and maybe a little pervy, sorry—“

He huffed out a breath; his face was nearly maroon. “See, this is why I hate the metaphor! It’s--it’s--clunky, you probably h--” 

“I loved it.” 

I love you. I’m good.

Her cheeks were so warm, her skin was uncomfortable with the burn of heat. Hannah couldn’t bear to look up at him; she investigated the nicks in the bar with her thumbnail. “I want to think…I have more seasons in me, still.”

Neville’s smile was loose with awe. “See, you just changed the metaphor’s meaning, that’s--it’s beautiful, Han. You’re...” He stared at her, slightly unfocused as his gaze fluttered down from her eyes--once, twice. Where was he looking—oh.  

It wasn't the first time that Hannah had been sure that Neville wanted to kiss her, but this time felt different, humming with the energy building between them. How she was edging all the way up to the bar to get as close as she could, enough to smell the faint scent of peat and earth and rose from his hands and his skin. He was staring at her lips with such intensity that she heard that long ago echo of destination deliberation determination as a drumbeat in her pulse. The little nudge of the tip of his tongue came out as darted it out to moisten his lips as he took in a deep, sharp suck of an exhale. His hands tightened on the bar as if to prepare for bracing himself into a stand--no, to start a lean far over the bar to meet her. 

She held her breath again as he closed the distance between them. 

She wondered if this is how it felt to be a gardenia's bud right before the moment it opened to the world. 

Then his face rippled in a wave of panic as he darted his eyes from her face down to the large bowl that sat directly between them on the bar counter, where his tie was currently drooping into the potato soup, and he froze, looking dazed and horrified, staring at the tie in disbelief.

He thunked into his seat, quietly cursing as he frantically tried to clean the thick coat of soup from his tie with his napkin. 

I love you.

But no.

She stood, lingering in a horrible, skin-prickling silence. Barely able to look at him, but when she snuck a glance at him, his face was almost violet; he had that strange, unfocused look like he did after the Ministry hearing, and the air of panic around him was making it almost hard for her to breathe. A strange fuzzing, buzzing sound was filling her head. 

“Hello? Oi, is the bar still open?” a man loudly slurred, he with a woman wound around him lurched in from the Muggle London side of the pub, giving her identical bleary looks that vaguely resembled Neville’s face. “Can we get a nightcap, love?”

She nearly sprang over the bar to hug them. “ Of course. What would you like?”

“Firewhiskey. On the rocks.” 

“I--I should go,” Neville said, swallowing hard and standing up, though he looked around in a kind of haze for a moment before giving his head a shake. 

But no.

“Of course. Sure. It’s really late.” She began pouring the drinks. “I’ll see you at the party?”

“Yeah. Yes. Right. The party.” He grabbed his robes and the cake box and tripped slightly as he walked backwards. “I’ll, um. See you then. There. Later.”

“Watch yourself--yeah. Um. Right. And--and--happy birthday, Neville,” Hannah added, smiling a little. “Almost. Enjoy your cake.”

“Neville! Like the snake guy!” the man slurred, grinning at Neville. 

“Like the snake guy,” Neville nodded. “Yup.”

“Real hero, that one.”

“Don’t believe the hype.” He stared at Hannah, nearly tripping and dropping the box, muttering, I can’t believe this, under his breath as he turned and hurried towards the Diagon Alley side and the Disapparation Point. The escape point.

Hannah watched the door close behind him and closed her eyes.

“Whadd’I owe ya, blondie?”

“Nothing.” Hannah sighed, pushing the drinks forward. “On the house. Have a nice night.”

With a wave of her wand, she cast the wards to seal the bar from any patrons who might try to help themselves during the overnight hours and trudged towards the concealed entrance for the dumbwaiter system to ride the lift up to the top floor--she was just too tired for the stairs tonight. As she reached the corridor, she glanced at Tom’s portrait, where he gazed serenely down from the pub wall. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” she sighed.

He smiled at her. “Just another night at the Leaky.”

“Sure…” Hannah’s head sank. “I thought he liked me, Papa.”

Tom’s smile grew more fond. “He doesn’t like you, Hannah.”

That hurt as hard as a punch: he doesn’t like me. He doesn’t. She nodded absently and drifted by, barely even registering how she got to her flat, to her shower, to her bed. He doesn’t.

I love you. But no. I’m good. 

He was already good. Let it go--let him go.

She kept her hands firmly tucked under her head after she turned down the lanterns in her bedroom. 

She went to bed that night, both convinced things would never happen with Neville…but as her brain ordered her to kill off that dream (he’s not interested, it’s over), it just couldn’t make quiet that voice in her that was starting to whisper, a bit louder every time: I have more than one season in me. I am just beginning to bloom.

Hannah found herself getting out of bed, wand in hand, and drifting into the living room, past the gardenia Neville had gifted her for Christmas, filling the flat with the most enchanting scent. She headed for where she had put her school trunk, tucked between two bookshelves to make a bench in case she needed extra seating. Opening the lid, she almost immediately saw the Ollivander box holding her first wand, her cherry wood wand.

I have more than one season in me. I am just beginning to bloom.

Why did she think she wasn’t strong enough? Why did she listen to her mother and hide away a piece of her own power? Kingsley and Hestia and Louise kept saying it, over and over: her mother was a force, her mother was so confident, her mother was sheer will. And Hannah…was her shadow, her negative, timid and cowed and tearful. Apologetic for the space she took up, for existing, for the air she breathed.

I have more than one season in me. I am just beginning to bloom.

Her hand wrapped around her cherry wood wand; her pine wand had the scales of singers in its core, but it was her cherry wood wand that made her entire body burst into song. Into the empty expanse of her flat, she cast the hex that she had aimed directly at Draco Malfoy, that left him gasping in pain and shock. Then the hex she had shot at a reeling Crabbe, then the one she sliced at Goyle--overkill, since Anthony had already brought him to his knees, but how dare he menace Harry. How dare they come for someone who mattered so much to her and the fight for what was good. 

God, did the fight come easy to her that day. Did feeling strong come easily. 

I have more than one season in me. 

I do. I have. I am more. 

With an upwards whip of her arm, wrist facing out with the ulnar bone up at a forty-five degree angle to the floor, she cast the same shield charm she had seen Neville do less than a week before. It was considerably less powerful--just the tiniest bit of a breeze floating in its wake, the whisper of a gong-like impact as the ward displaced the air. He was the best at protecting, Seamus said, it was the source of Neville’s greatest power. She closed her eyes and thought of Harry’s speech on love at the Battle, of Neville’s refrain on that in the courtroom. She cast another shield and let herself feel how strong she could be, casting something that was purely cast out of care.

She held tight to her cherry wood wand. I am more: I am just beginning to bloom .

And in a sigh under that as she sat on the floor in the shadows, staring at the bright beacons of the gardenia blooms, shining as bright as the sun: Why can’t I bloom--and have him, too? 

Chapter Text

July 30, 1999: Those who lift up your life then you are home

“What are you doing up, partner?” Neville asked as he entered the kitchen at Grimmauld Place holding his box of cake, Ginny curled up in a chair beside a roaring fire, though it had been charmed to give off only a fourth of its usual heat.

She lifted her giant mug of tea and a scouting report for the seven Quidditch teams considering drafting Ginny. “Couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about tryouts next week, and so why stare up at the ceiling when I could stare at this instead,” she sighed, waving the report. She picked up her wand to summon another mug and the teapot for him. “Help yourself. It’s a tea Luna picked up in Sweden, supposedly it helps with sleep.”

“She got in alright?”

“Yeah, just before dinner. She’s making breakfast for us all. She’s so excited to see you.”

“Good, me, too. I miss her.” He studied the thick report in Ginny’s lap. “Did you write that up yourself?”

“Actually, George did. News reports, yearly stats, Lee’s dispatches--it’s not exactly how I would have put it together, but…” She gave Neville a crooked smile. “I haven’t seen him this eager and happy in over a year, so he can do whatever he wants. He can even write me up a strategy thing for the Canons, and I’d rather chew off my hands than play for those cellar-dwellers. So, whatever, I have my George back.” She put a bit more milk into her tea. “I hope--when I make a team--”

“When,” Neville repeated firmly.

“--you know it, when I make a team, I hope…he’ll stay this excited. That this will give him a real lift.”

“Me, too, Gin.” 

“How did the dry-run go?” 

Neville shrugged, sitting down at the table with his own tea. “If I told you that was only the first thing that fell apart tonight…”

Ginny’s mug sank against her knees. “Oh, no. Hannah.”

He scrubbed at his face with his hands. “We were having this great talk, as usual, getting more and more--you know…touchy--there was even this moment,” he said, his face pinking as he looked down at his hands, “where she was touching my forearm--right here--and she got so red--”

“Ohhhh.” Ginny gave him a knowing nod. “She has a thing for your arms.” She bobbed her head again. “I’m like that with Harry’s calves.”

“His--calves?”

“It’s a Quidditch thing. Anyway. You two were touchy, getting closer…what happened?” Ginny said, already starting to wince. 

Neville sighed, kneading at his forehead with the tips of his fingers. “I went in to kiss her. Unfortunately, I had to traverse over a bowl of potato soup, and…” He fished his soiled tie out of his robes pocket. “There was a casualty in the campaign.”

“Oh, Neville.” Ginny clenched her eyes closed, then pressed her lips together.

“Go ahead and laugh.”

“I’m sorry,” she burst out, covering her eyes as she broke into manic giggles. “But--you’re kidding. Your tie. Wait, why didn’t you just ignore it and kiss her!”

“And then smear soup all over her? That would have been a bloody romantic show, innit?” Then he wrenched up his face, eyes closed. “And I swear to the stars above, I could also hear Parvati screeching all horrified in my head as I looked down at it just dangling in the bowl, and I was like, Oh, now I get what the three of them meant when they said the Horcruxes screamed when they were destroyed.”

Ginny let out a Luna-like blare of a laugh, barely managing to put her mug down before nearly doubling over in laughter. Finally, she lifted her head, eyes bright with tears. “Thank you, thank you for that mental image, that was exactly what I needed to break all of my tryouts tension. Destroyed like a fashion Horcrux,” she added, breaking into laughter again. 

“I’m here to help, always,” Neville said, laughing despite himself. He sighed, shaking his head down at the tea. “Why am I like this, Gin?”

“Because when you’re nervous, you’re clumsier than a drunk niffler, Nev…but think of it this way, when it finally happens, the payoff’s gonna be just that much sweeter.” She wiped at her eyes and leaned back in her chair again. “Oh, partner. Don’t get discouraged, yeah?”

“Everyone’s gonna take the living piss out of me when they find out.”

“Don’t tell ‘em.”

“But the plans the group came up with for the party--”

“This doesn’t change it. They don’t need to know; only tell 'em if you want some advice, otherwise just--don't. We’ll tell ‘em on the other side, when Hannah’s all snuggled in your arms and you can cheerfully take a solid hour’s worth of unrelenting shite for L’Affaire d’Tie .”

“And soup. The tie didn’t sin alone.” Neville flashed her a rueful kind of grin before his face fell. “This is gonna set Hannah off scurrying again. You should have seen her face, it was like I was handing her some--gorgeous gardenia and then yanked it right away, just as she was breathing in the scent. And then pouring acid all over it.”

“That’s…the most you analogy I’ve ever heard.” Ginny hesitated and then waved a hand. “No, it won’t.”

“Yes--yes, it will.”

“No, it won’t. This is your birthday, it’s like--it’s an exception, it’s the one day where you get to reset, where nothing can be ruined. Even if she’s laying in her bed, right now, crying about how this is another big blaring example of how you don’t actually love her--”

Neville reared back, his face instantly going red. “Who--who said--I didn’t say love!”

Ginny’s left eyebrow lifted in such magnificent skepticism that he wilted. He sighed and jerked a kind of nod of affirmation, and Ginny let out a snort, taking a long sip of tea, those eyebrows still arched up over the horizon line of the mug. 

“Anyway, as I was saying, she’s going to show up at the party pretending that everything is fine, at least for one night, because it’s your birthday, and she’s going to follow your lead to ensure you have the happiest night.” 

She started ticking off on her fingers: “She’s going to hug you as she wishes you happy returns. She’s going to give you a present and get nice and close, and there will be hugs before and after that, too. She’s not going to ignore you for fear of ruining your special night, so any time you ask her to dance or cuddle up to talk for a bit, she’ll say yes. And all around her, the plan runs smoothly, and by the time you walk Hannah to the door at one, two in the morning, you’ll give her a lovely kiss goodnight, and hooray, you’ve just kicked off Harry’s birthday well which is giving him the end to you mooning over Hannah Abbott because Harry hates being reminded that he had a hopeless crush on me for a bloody half-year, and let this be an early gift to you, to remember that Harry was utter shite at this, too, okay?”

Ginny shook her head. “I mean: Every time Haz even tries to act like you’re just so lame, I want you to repeat, over and over, just four words: Cho Chang, tea date.” As Neville laughed, Ginny held up a finger. “And my brother was gagging for Hermione from the Yule Ball on, yeah, yet he didn’t make a move until two and a half years later, with a massive assist from ‘So we might die tonight: fancy a snog?’”

“In the utterly romantic setting of a monster snake skeleton.” 

“No, it was after the snake skeleton, that just helped set the mood.” 

“Sure, sure, some blokes take their girl to a fancy dinner before they make a big move, give her flowers…Ron…”

“...winds up his lady by taking her to the place where his sister almost died.” She kissed her fingertips. “That’s amore.”

The two of them stared at each other before dissolving into laughter. 

“Gin?” Harry appeared in the doorway, glasses off, looking bleary and boyish in his sleepy state. He stretched his lean plank of a body as he yawned, his bare torso shining like a pearl in the firelight. There was a small trail of dark hair that ran from the muscles of his abdomen down below the line of his pajama pants, and he scratched the trail of it absently before burying his fingers in his wild hedge of hair, tugging on it slightly as if it would wake him up just a bit more. “You okay?”

“Yeah, Harry, I’m fine,” Ginny smiled. “Just wanted to get Nev’s opinion on my tryout strategy for the Harpies.”

“I said she should kick more,” Neville nodded.

“‘Kay.” He blinked, his eyes closing more each time he did. “Come back to bed?”

“I will, baby, just a sec.”

“‘Kay, baby.” 

Neville waited until Harry had shuffled away. “Baby?”

“Shut up. Tell me again about your tie.”

He stuck his tongue out at her, and Ginny grinned, standing up. She tossed the report back on the chair but held onto the mug as she made her way around the table, pausing in front of Neville, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I love you, mate. So much.”

“I love you, too, Gin.”

She kissed the top of his head. “Just remember: You deserve good things, you don’t have to work for everything: you deserve good things just coming to you because you’re you, Nev, all the good things in the world, especially cutie pie Hufflepuffs with adorable braids who somehow, somehow, think more highly of you than me and Harry do.” She grinned. “But especially me, partner.”

“Always especially you.”

“You’re bloody right.” She started walking out of the kitchen, snickering into her mug as she raised it to her lips. “Kick more …”

Chapter Text

July 30, 1999: A prelude to a kiss

Hannah had laid down on the floor of her living room, breathing in her gardenias, toying with her cherry wood wand; just the feel of it in her palm made her pulse move stronger in her veins. 

I thought he liked me, Papa…

He doesn’t like you, Hannah.

No: He doesn’t like you, Hannah. He had said it like that, the way that Padma and Su and Morag had said it when they came to tell her that Anthony liked her. And she had stared blankly at them until they leaned onto that word, dressing it up with meaning and suggestion: He likes you. The way Harry had said it to her the night of the stereo test, about Neville: Do you like him?

She got up, wand still in hand, and headed downstairs. The pub was silent, still, draped in darkness. But she didn’t need light to guide her way, to head directly to Tom’s portrait where he was snoring, a bit of drool congealing in the left corner of his mouth. 

“Papa?” Hannah hesitated; he continued to sleep. She reached out and tentatively gave the frame a shake, and he snorted himself awake. “I’m sorry to wake you--”

“Hannah Leigh,” he said warmly. “My favorite face.”

She smiled back at him. “Papa…you had said…when I told you that I thought Neville liked me? And you said he didn’t like me. What--what did you mean?”

“He loves you, Hannah.” Tom bathed her in his smile. “He loves you very much. I reckon he’s been in love with you the whole time I’ve been hanging here, back in November…but it was the night of your welcome home party that I was sure it wasn’t a mere crush. He was staring at you all night, and when you started snogging the Quidditch boy, he looked utterly wrecked. But when you collapsed and he took you in his arms, he was so content, despite the real concern you were going to vomit all over him. I know that concern well.”

Hannah gripped her wand, taking in a deep breath through her nose. “In my head…I can come up with all of these reasons why not with him. Like…that I’m not special enough. That other girls would be better. But…” Her eyes filled with tears, and she wobbled a smile at Tom. “But I think I want him more.”

“It’s okay to get what you want, Hannah.” Tom’s face was so gentle. “You deserve good things. A good boy who loves you. Who has a nice haircut to boot.”

Hannah wiped at her eyes. “He does have a nice haircut. I think it makes his eyes look bigger. I love his eyes,” she said, wistful. “And his hands. He has the most beautiful hands I have ever seen, I love it when he takes my hand in his, puts his hand on my back. Tucks back my hair...”

Her jaw set, and she nodded a few times. “Tom? I’m going to move you to the Minister’s parlor. I’ll let Faunas know I need him to cover for me as valet for the breakfast--but could you please let Kingsley know that I’m very sorry to call out at the last minute but…I had to see about that thing he wished he could decree.”

///

Ernie opened the front door to Hannah’s flat, calling out, “Hannie?”

“We’re in the dining room.”

“Is everything alright? I won’t lie, it has been an exercise in anxiety since your patronus arrived--the need for an impromptu breakfast gathering invites worry,” he fretted, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“Same,” Susan said, frowning at Hannah. “Thankfully, we were able to ring her on her mobile phone to make sure it wasn’t an emergency.”

“But she still had to go down to the street to be sure it would work. There has to be a way to get a telephone in here,” Justin said, narrowing his eyes. “A line running up the Charing Cross side, perhaps, right into your kitchen…”

Hannah hesitated. “Actually, that might be the solution. That’s quite clever, Jus.”

“Cheers.” He reached for the plate of pancakes. “Now we’re all here: what’s going on?”

Hannah puckered her lips and exhaled, reaching into the pocket of her smock and pulling out her cherry wood wand, setting it on the table. 

Susan’s eyebrows shot up. “I thought that wand was ‘too powerful’ for you.”

“I think…I need to start deciding things for myself more.” She bobbed her head. “I came back from my trip feeling better about what I wanted from the Leaky, and I think I’m finding my way here. I think--I’m making my family proud with where we are. But I haven’t done the best job yet of--making myself proud, away from work. And I think that starts with…” She picked up her wand and studied it. “Listening to my voice. More than hers.”

Ernie thumped his fist on the table before bolting up to his feet. Hannah jumped up, too, staring at him in alarm; she let out a little oh! of surprise as Ernie took two steps to her and swept her in his arms, hugging her tight. 

“I have never been more glad to hear something in my whole life. And I spent weeks after the Battle in St. Mungo’s waiting to get the okay that I could go home!”

“Ern--”

“My whole life.” He took her face in his hands. “You don’t understand how hard it’s been to see someone I love so much so committed to not loving herself. For you to finally know that about hearing her in your head, and how--”

“How she might have loved you, but Hannah, I swear, I don’t think your mum liked you all the time,” Susan said, her voice right by Hannah’s left ear as she wrapped her arms around her two friends; a moment later, Justin joined the knot, stretching his long arms around the three, holding onto Hannah and Susan’s wrists to tie them all together. “It’s a lot more complicated than that, I know, but…just because your mum thought she was always right didn’t mean that she was. Not about you.”

“We’re right about you,” Justin said. “And you’re wonderful.”

“Bloody right,” Ernie declared. He hesitated and then steeled up his face before blurting out, “Sod your mum! No disrespect to the dead, of course. But--I stand by that!”

“Artfully done, Ern,” Justin laughed.

“I don’t know if this will be easy, to--not even not hear that mean voice, I think that’s asking too much, but at least…I don’t have to listen. I can work on that. But--I’m going to need to work at this, so…” She looked at Ernie, then turned her head to Susan, then Justin. “Please don’t be frustrated with me if…I’m not magically fixed. Like--better. Less--like this right away.” 

Justin kissed the top of her head before drawing back. “Han, it isn’t a magical fix. Undoing how we think and live…it’s not magic.” He stepped back to take his seat again, studying her. “Do you think you should consider therapy? I think…this might be a lot to try to do alone. A therapist could really help.”

“What’s a therapist?” Ernie asked. 

“It’s like--a Muggle healer that uses talking to heal your mind,” Justin said. “You go every week, maybe less if you need less help, and for an hour, you talk about your life, and the therapist helps you work through it. Like--my mum saw a therapist after what happened to me during our second year, and she’s seeing them again to deal with what happened last year. For Hannah, I’d imagine she’d start with her relationship with her mum, her self-worth…try to work through all of that. Come up with techniques to cope when her brain starts to get cruel towards her, or when her anxiety is starting to overwhelm her, that would be a good place to begin, too.”

“Fascinating,” Ernie breathed, heading back to his chair as well and immediately tucking into his own pancakes. “I wonder if we couldn’t develop a spell that could have a similar, and more efficient, effect.”

“If you figure it out, let me know,” Hannah said ruefully. She shrugged slowly. “I dunno, Jus, I bet…it would be helpful, but…it’s just a bit too much for me to worry about how I find somebody and--I dunno. Maybe.” She dunked a long, skinny rectangle of toast into her soft boiled egg. “Louise thinks I need to get into art, that art is therapeutic.”

“Louise doesn’t have a loud nasty voice in her head telling her that she’s stupid and pathetic that she’s got to shut down,” Susan said, raising her eyebrow. “I’d think about it, Han. It’s really helping Charlotte. She no longer sees our wands and starts to cry.” 

“Your poor mum,” Hannah sighed.

“True…but on the other hand? My mum is getting help. How many magical parents aren’t getting any kind of support after, oh, learning that their kids were being crucio’ed and locked up in the dungeons and had words carved into their skin. There’s having a stiff upper lip--and then there’s writing off a whole generation to being barking behind closed doors.”

Hannah kept dunking her toast into the egg. “Can I ask you all a question?”

“Of course,” Susan said, pouring herself a cup of tea.

She ran her teeth over her lower lip as the yolk dripped down. “Is Neville in love with me?”

Susan nearly dropped the pot, and Ernie began to choke, requiring Justin to rush over and thump him on the back until the pancake was dislodged.

Ernie spluttered slightly. “What would give you that--”

“Yes.” Susan nodded. “Yes.

“Incredibly,” Justin said.

Ernie looked between them and then sighed, leaning back in his chair. “He talks about your two types of blushes: your embarrassed blush and your happy blush. I hadn’t even noticed that you had a variety of blushes.” He raised his eyebrows as Hannah’s hands flew up to her face to press against her suddenly hot cheeks. “He says between your pink cheeks and your blue eyes, your whole face is like a garden. We were all quite taken with that.”

“He thinks you are lovely and kind and incredibly loyal and brave and smart and he loves talking to you more than anyone else in the world.” Justin shrugged his own eyebrows, dousing his pancakes in more syrup. “And tonight…he is going to kiss you, and since he’s so bloody bad at this--”

“There was a failed attempt last night,” Hannah cut in, closing her eyes with a wince. 

The other three groaned. “How is he so bad at this,” Susan said, shaking her head. 

“He gets so flustered, that’s why,” Justin sighed. “He is so fixated on it being…oh, Mr. Darcy-and-Lizzy Bennett dream-worthy--”

“Even though they don’t kiss in the book,” Hannah frowned. “Which he finds deeply annoying.”

“Yes. We’ve heard all about it,” Susan said dryly.

“--that he’s putting far too much pressure on the moment, and he bloody panics every time it isn’t going perfectly.”

“This is giving me so much food for thought for when I eventually ask out Morag. Neville is providing a deeply helpful ‘how-not-to’ map for me,” Ernie said, loading up his fork with another bite. 

“Don’t lean over a bowl of soup while wearing a tie,” Hannah cringed, as Justin and Susan dissolved into sympathetic snickers. 

“Just for the record, Ern, you could ask Morag out before you slotted ‘Romantic Commitment’ in the twenty-year plan,” Susan said.

“Now is the time for career, Suz, I don’t have the energy to be a good boyfriend and an auror and position myself for promotion into administration. She knows my intentions. And besides, she is quite occupied with her architecture studies at uni so she is likewise distracted. We are approaching this most practically,” he said smartly. He almost wiggled in his seat. “We’ve had ourselves a few interludes as part of the D.A.’s intrigues vis-a-vis Nev and Han, things are progressing well.”

Hannah blinked. “Intrigues?”

Justin wiped at his lips and resettled his napkin in his lap. “Mmm. This goes back to what I said about him kissing you and being so bloody bad at this that the whole D.A. has basically come together to help make this happen.” As Hannah stared at Justin, her mouth agape, he waved his fork in the air. “If you two are together tonight, we’re all supposed to give room so that we don’t accidentally interrupt something, like we three did the night of the first movie. If you two seem on the verge of kissing, everyone is to turn away so you don’t get anxious if you don’t want the kiss to happen publically.”

“Parvati and Padma have a twin swap planned in case we need to get you a little jealous and competitive, get Battle Hannah to come on out, where Parv will pretend to be Padma and flirt with Nev,” Susan said.

“What!”

“Padma said she couldn’t flirt with Nev with a straight face, however, she’s deeply into them getting to do a Parent Trap scenario.”

“Also, we’re all very concerned about why twin Muggles have these traps for their parents, but the Muggle-raised won’t tell us where to find them,” Ernie frowned, and Susan nodded, looking troubled, and Hannah glanced at Justin and started to giggle.

He cleared his throat and continued, “Parv and the Ravenclaw girls are going to take you upstairs to Lee’s room to get ready--”

“Morag is happy to curl your hair, if you’d like,” Ernie piped up. 

“Dean’s on deck to dance with you and loosen you up--so is Luna, and given that her dancing is…unique, I’m really looking forward to it,” Susan grinned. 

“Dean also gave Neville a lesson on how to do a non-waltz slow dance and not trample on a partner’s feet--”

“And used Su Li as his demonstration partner, and they had a little moment, it raised quite a few eyebrows,” Justin noted, and Hannah took in an excited breath. 

“Seamus is prepared to pull you aside and tell you all about how he and Paddy Shanahan have been ‘hanging out’ and steer the conversation to get you good and mushy and feeling brave about going after your crush. Hermione and Michael have been listening to Muggle radio to create a playlist with romantic songs and songs about flowers and such threaded in there to encourage things along. Angelina and Alicia made sure Oliver knows to go find some other girl for ‘snogging’ or whatever tonight. He's even willing to not come, if that would make you more comfortable. He's quite an ideal shag-buddy, in being so cheerful to bow out, I must say.”

“I think he should just skip it, personally, I might owl Angelina and tell her that. Oh! And Tracey is volunteering to flirt with Anthony all night, potentially snog him, to keep his attention totally diverted. She said, and I quote, ‘He’s cute enough. I’m bored. Tonight, call me the Human Shield.’”

“Then Ron and Ginny are going to provide Nev with real-time updates on your mood, provided by us--”

“And we are going to spend dinner tonight priming you to be quite ready to begin dating Nev,” Ernie finished. "Maybe a bit unnecessary now..."

“Oh, and the Ravenclaw boys have provided plenty of commentary,” Susan said, rolling her eyes. “Harry is truly about to hex Michael and Terry to bloody Belgium.”

It took her a moment to find her voice; Hannah swallowed roughly. “How…how long have you all…been planning this?”

“This? A couple weeks, though, we really moved into action in earnest when Louise took you over to France, using the parlor as our Room of Requirement. But a smaller group of us have been discussing how to get you two together since--actually, since right after the Gryffindors left you at the Ministry,” Justin said. “That very night.”

“December?” Hannah breathed, her eyes wide. “You lot have been--since December?”

“Or to put it another way?” Susan lined up her own serving of soldiers and egg. She paused to take a sip of her tea--for dramatics, Hannah was sure, because any good jurist knew that the ruling was best issued memorably: “About a dozen people, from the very start, thought you and Neville were perfect together. And then Michael horned in, and then more people found out, and right now? The whole D.A., save Anthony but plus several allies, is deeply invested in getting you and the plant-nerd of your dreams together.”

Hannah shook her head. “No…it has to be for him, right? Getting him the…what am I?”

“Flower-nerd? Though you do have an impressive kitchen garden. Flower-and-herb-nerd?” Ernie mused. 

“No, it’s for both of you. You still don’t get that people love you, Hannah. All you do is focus on how you perceive failing others, you completely miss the truth of things,” Justin said.

“Okay, but spin the hypothetical,” Susan offered, “let’s say everybody is only rooting for Nev to find his true love. Hannah--that means people are looking at you and saying, This girl, she’s the one special enough for our guy.”

Hannah slowly finished off her piece of yolk-soaked toast, feeling the weight of her friends’ eyes on her as she lingered in silence and thought. All of her friends, caring so much, doing so much--and yet--

Her eyes were fixed on her egg. “Tell everyone…the plan is off,” she said slowly.

Susan put down her toast. “Pardon?”

“Surely, Hannie, you--”

“No.” She looked up at Ernie. “No. I got this. Nev’s been trying to create something perfect for me--but also for him, I think he’s always been kind of deflated that his first…maybe not the literal first kiss with Parvati but basically their whole 'relationship'--”

“As it were,” Susan interjected.

“--yes, exactly, ‘as it were,’ it was…Parv killing time, Parv getting a boy to snog while Lav and Stephen were together, and--he isn’t a monk, he got to have some fun, too. But it wasn’t special, and I think that stung because he is romantic, he’s meant to be a girlfriend-guy. You could see it all over him when he was with Lisa.” Hannah shook her head. “I’m sure the plan would have worked--and actually, let everyone know that I would like the not staring at us and what have you, that’s a capital idea, and we can just do that with me all the time even--but anyway, it would have worked because it was all designed to bring down the pressure around me, but it still leaves the pressure he’s putting onto it from inside of himself. But I think there is one way to bring that down…and it’s me. So. The plan now should be: Hannah’s got this.”

Justin beamed at her. “What has gotten into you, Han?”

“You. Do you remember the email from December? The one you sent with Nev’s letter?” 

Susan’s eyes locked on his in suspicion. “Nev’s letter?”

“Uhhh…” Justin gave her a cringe of a smile. Then he threw up his hands. “He begged me! He begged me to send her a letter, Susie!”

“Um. Can you two fight later?” Hannah said, raising her hand. “So--in the email, Jus said…there are moments where everything changes between two people, and the question is how do we meet those moments. Nev said something to me last night, about ‘late bloomers,’ and…the more I’m thinking on it, something--something is blooming in me. I can't get it out of my head--it’s taking hold.” 

She took in a breath, meeting the eyes of her steady Susan, her confident Ernie, her kind Justin, and she could feel her heart beating harder, as if each of them were a part of it. Which they were. 

“I got this,” Hannah said. 

///

Hannah heard Anthony first, as he entered the bar area and went first over to where her three best friends were having dinner to give Justin one of those boy-hugs which always started with clasping hands and then slapping each other on the back, as if concealing that there was actual affection underneath all of the thumping. As he turned, Hannah took in a deep breath, glancing at her friends as she headed from behind the bar, nodding at Margot to signal for the other woman to take over. 

“Hey. I came.” 

“Hey. Thank you.” She gestured with her head towards the left. “Can we go talk?”

“I’m assuming that’s why you owled. Not to have me watch you do your little bar tricks.” 

Hannah pressed her lips together but simply led them towards the hidden entrance that led to the service corridors and stairs. Silently, she took them up two flights of stairs and then to a large, deep bay window that overlooked Charing Cross Road, a double decker bus rumbling just below. 

He sat down; so did she. He took in a deep breath and then sighed it out, chewing hard on a piece of gum. “Just so you know: I’m not going to the party tonight. I know what’s going on--Mikey told me--and I really don’t need a front row seat for your epic romance reaching its big climax. Have it underlined that I’m just the bad guy who kept you from your true love.”

“But Ant…” Hannah pushed her nails into her cuticles. “You were my true love, too.”

Anthony stared at her, face stretched between wounded and mad. His eyes flickered over to the window. “Why did you ask me over here, Han?” He paused. “And tell me there’s liquor.”

She smiled a bit, tapping the space below the window with her wand, revealing a bottle of firewhiskey and a stack of four glasses. “My Nana Liz liked to sit here and people watch at the end of a shift. Traffic watch, more like it--she thought cars were fascinating. Sometimes, she could get Tom and Margot and Faunas to join.” She poured them both a drink and then clinked her glass against his. “Cheers.”

Anthony smacked his lips. “Wow, that’s aged powerfully.”

Hannah let out a soft giggle, staring down at the glass in her hands. She breathed through her nose. “I didn’t feel okay about--what’s going to happen tonight, it happening without…me talking to you.”

“What, you want my permission?”

“No. But it felt wrong that the whole D.A. is supportive and encouraging…and then there’s you. Because, to me, you’re…” She ran her thumb around the lip of the glass. She had absolutely no idea how to ask, so she just shook her head a few times and let the first words in her head come out in a blurt: “Did you love me?”

“What the f-- what? ”

“Did you love me.” Hannah rotated the drink. “What happened, in April--I know--"

"It was an accident," Anthony said in a harsh whisper; his face was ashen.

"I know. I know." Hannah swallowed. "I don't mean that. That was the war, that...that wasn't about us. I wouldn't have tried again if I didn't...I mean--did you want me. You wanted me back, in August and then this spring, even though we were not good together, and sometimes--I can’t tell if you loved me or just the idea of me. That I checked all the right boxes--it wasn’t me.” She wiped at her tearing eyes. “Because I loved you so much, and when you act like you are about me and Nev getting together, how you are so mean, it makes me…you were my first real love, weren’t I for you? I don’t…”

Anthony stared at her. “Han…yeah. Yeah. I loved you. I loved you so much, I...everything terrible about the war turned the one thing that was good into--into shite, and I wanted us to try again because I did love you, and--I wanted to love you, away from that. And--see how it could be. Which...was not much, in the end." He sighed out. “And yeah, you do check--the boxes, whatever, but that’s not a bad thing. It makes sense to know what you want in a girlfriend, a wife, you know? It’s just smart.”

“I get that, I do, but to me? My--boyfriend, husband…he’s not going to ‘check boxes.’ I have checklists for events, not people.” She looked at him and smiled, wistful and sad. “We’re really different.” 

“Yeah.” 

A silence settled between them, fog-heavy in how it filled her lungs. “How much…of wanting you and me was--just trying to be right?”

He sucked in a breath through his nose, looking up. “I dunno. Probably…a lot more than I want to admit.” He shrugged, his mouth tugging to one side. “And--okay--I knew Nev liked you. He would watch you too much in the spring, starting after the prefect punishment, it got me--just keeping an eye on him. It was deeply irritating that every sodding time we had a hard moment in April, he was always around--even just part of a group, he always bloody around to help you feel better without me. And I could tell, the more he was noticing you, he was starting to come into focus for you, too, and it was like--go the fuck away already. You and me were barely keeping it together, I didn’t need some noble-ass Gryffindor’s sheer existence making the case that you could be happier with somebody else.” He exhaled hard. “I could tell he was about to kiss you that night in August, on your roof, and I…I guess I didn’t want to lose out.”

“Like--a competition?” Hannah wilted. “Being with me--was just about showing up Nev?”

“Yeah. Maybe. In the moment.” He rubbed at his eyes. “I sound like a total asshole right now. I swear, though, part of it, the biggest part of it, was just that you were my first love, too, and you made me feel so special with all of my experiments in a way that really encouraged me to go for it. But--I mean, Han, you were there last year, we got through it together, together to the very end, despite how rough things got in April, and…now I’m around all of these Muggle girls at uni who are cute and great, but like--” He did a huge, slow shrug, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure it was very hard when your parents got divorced or your mum lost her job or whatever normal thing happened to you, wanna hear about how that ‘burn scar’ on my hand is actually me searing off where I had I will obey carved into my bloody skin? Or about my other repeated tortures? Wanna snog?” 

Hannah looked down at her own matching “burn scars,” hers erasing both I will obey and Blood Traitor, wiping at her eyes with that very patch of waxy skin. She could get that, yeah.

His knee brushed against hers. “If--you and me could work, then I’d get back a thing that made sense. It all made sense when I could just kiss you.”

Hannah couldn’t stop her hand from snaking over to rest in his. “The problem was…we couldn’t always just kiss. Or be in bed.”

“And that’s a damn shame. We were always really good there,” he said with a shadow of a smile.

She smiled a little back. “Yeah.”

Anthony drained his drink and then reached to refill it. “Here’s the thing. I admit…I did a dick move of knowing Nev was about to kiss you and interrupting it. I know that you and he…you two fit a lot better than us. It’s part of what was so damn irritating about him in April, knowing that deep down. I think--there are things that I would say to you that I thought were helpful and being a supportive boyfriend but--you’d say hurt,” he said carefully, and she wondered what was the shape of the thing he was dancing around. “So I don’t…like, I’m not mad at you for getting with him. I’m not. I’m not an idiot, I think--you guys are gonna be good together. But I am pissed at him, and maybe that’s shitty and petty, but I am, and I will be for a while.”

“Why?”

“Because maybe if he had been a little less blatant about his crush, maybe you’d have tried again with me, and that would have been the time that we’d have made it work. Maybe I just needed more data to adjust, you know?” Hannah gave him a skeptical frown, and Anthony tipped his head back and thunked it against the window well. “I’m just mad. It’s not fair, but I don’t care, until I get all the way over you, it’s gonna be hard to watch him stand in the place where I stood, and he’s just gonna have to deal with it. And it sucks that the whole D.A. is all ‘Boo Ant, Yay Nev’ and--I’m just mad. That’s just all there is.”

“I’m sorry that this means you can’t be friends with Nev anymore.”

Anthony shook his head, once to the left and then to the right. “No, I didn’t say that, Han. He’s still my friend--he’s my leader, what we went through that year--we’re a band of brothers, and he was our captain, him and Ginny, too, but he was there for it all, for after Michael, and the D.A. means more to me than almost anything. Maybe even more than my own blood family. I’ll…I’ll get there. I just need time to--be mad. You know?”

She took his hand again. “Yeah.”

“I don’t want him whinging at Michael about how unfair I’m being.”

“He won’t. I promise.” She smiled a bit. “I’m glad you want to stay friends with him. One of my favorite memories from that year was you and Terry and Stephen and Nev and Shay, laughing your heads off as you were doing the ‘Ask me about my blood traitor-ing’ thing.”

Anthony’s grin was wide and pleased. “That’s our birthday gift to him. We put that on a t-shirt: Ask me about my blood traitor-ing! Complete with the exclamation point.” He took a sip from his glass. “Don’t let Mikey or Terry take credit, that was totally my idea. Well. No. It was Steve’s, he--” Anthony’s jaw tightened, and his eyes immediately glossed with tears. “When the Carrows burned it off Nev’s arm, Steve said, We should totally put it on a shirt and wear them around. We were gonna, but I can’t remember what happened.”

“I think it was when Padma got in trouble for refusing to say ‘mudblood’ in Muggle Studies, and they crucio’ed Parv. She was inconsolable, Ernie had to sneak up to Ravenclaw to give her one of my calming draughts. And then Shay and Demelza and Cricket got it for--something, maybe a curfew violation, I just vaguely remember Tracey trying to heal ‘Melz and--oh, that’s when we had the game night, since Nev said we needed to all calm down a little.”

“Sounds about right.” He grinned. “Remember when Mikey Polyjuiced as you to take one of your dungeon nights so we could spend my birthday together?” 

Hannah began to giggle. “And the Hannah Abbott-Off to choose which one of your friends would get the ‘honor’ of being me?”

“It’s literally the memory that cheers me up when I’m having a bad day, picturing all of us in our room, the lads auditioning, the girls voting.” He batted his eyes and mimicked a bashful expression, running his hands down imaginary braids. “‘I’m Hannah Abbott, I love hugs and Anthony and the color pink and unicorns and the D.A. and also hugs.’” 

Her giggles growing, Hannah shook her head. “And Morag docked points from Terry because I’d love rainbows more than the color pink, and that’s when I was like, Hmm, maybe she and Ernie are a good match with that kind of stickler attitude!”

“Mikey in your robes,” Anthony laughed. He reached out and tapped her knee. “Oh, oh, remember when we were snogging in my common room and Luna came up so worried that we were susceptible to spotted targarian infection because of our ‘unabashed hormone production’?”

“And so you started snogging me even harder ?” Hannah said, dissolving into full laughter, holding her stomach. 

“Hey--can’t spell lunatic without--”

“Stop it! That’s mean. She’s so creative, it’s lovely.” She paused. “Except when she’d start arguing with Professor Sprout about how the textbook was full of lies, that always got weird. I’m not…unhappy Luna didn’t make the Herbology N.E.W.T.” Hannah grinned again. “Remember the first time you came to our common room, and you were like, What’s with the guitar playing?”

“Remember when you came to mine and you were like, Why is it so quiet? Or--actually, I was thinking the other day about when we went to that cider festival in Dorset back in October, and we jumped around in the leaf piles afterwards…” He hesitated. “When…I’m able to not want to punch him in the face, Nev’s gonna get it, right? That we’ve got all of this, and--these are really good things that are…they aren’t things I want to forget, just ‘cause he might not want to hear that you were really happy with me, a good part of the time?”

“I don’t want to forget them, either. Ever.” Hannah’s eyes moved from Anthony’s face to gaze out of the window, watching a black Range Rover barrel down the road. “In a weird way--I think he’ll be more than okay with us talking like this because…like, he felt so responsible for all of us, knowing that--here’s concrete proof that even in the torture chamber, we were still living. And being normal kids. And, you know, you all lost Stephen and Mandy, they lost Lav and Colin and Fred, I was dealing with Tom, but--look. Life went on. We could go and be silly in a leaf pile in Dorset. We could find our way through.”

“Well, bugger.” Hannah jerked her head back to him. Anthony was rolling his eyes. “If you’re right, then Neville really is a better human, and seriously, fuck him for that.”

“I’m so glad your instinct is to hate.”

“ ‘Don’t congratulate-- hate.’ ” Anthony began to laugh, Hannah tumbling into giggles with him. “ ‘Anyone who tells you otherwise is a bloody Hufflepuff.’ ”

“Thanks, Michael, I needed that reminder. No wonder Ginny called him the worst sore loser on the planet!”

“‘I’m Hannah Abbott, I love sing-a-longs and unicorns and absolutely acting like I didn’t let Anthony shag me against the wall behind the tapestry of the Battle of Hogsmeade.’”

“No!” Hannah swatted at Anthony, giggling despite herself as he held up his arms in defense, laughing to the point of tears. “You are not allowed to repeat that! Kevin is a bad man for saying that! And you were so bad for telling your idiot mates in the first place!”

“I thought Nev would--”

“Bad! You all are a very bad boys!” Hannah yelped and gave him a final smack before settling back against the wall.  

Anthony cackled lightly, lifting up his eyebrows and his drink in unison. After he took a long sip, he exhaled, studying her. “I feel like…it would be sporting of me to say ‘good luck’ tonight, especially since Michael was absolutely trashing the fact that you tossed aside some very carefully crafted, Ravenclaw-approved plans in exchange some pure, old-fashioned Hufflepuff can-do spirit. So in other words: you’re doomed and need it.”

She gave him an appraising look. “But you aren’t.”

“Nope.” His head listed to the side. “I will say that--I hope you’re happy at the end of the night. Because I want you to be happy, Hannie.” His smile came in crooked. “And you’re the type who, when you’re happy, you want everyone in your whole universe to be happy, so maybe that ends in me moving past you and finding--I dunno, my second true love.”

“When you’re ready, tell me, and I’ll make finding her my new hobby.”

“Absolutely not there yet, but. Okay.” 

He held her eyes in his own; before, it was the most thrilling thing in the world, for Anthony’s deep brown eyes to roam over her. Because no one else could, no one else would. That this was as good as it would ever be, from a good boy who hurt her without meaning to, who was too eager to pull her behind tapestries and into his bed and thinking that was romance. But she could almost breathe a sigh of relief, to know that it all was love. A clumsy, too-physical and all-consuming first love that left bruises and scars but just enough beauty to make it all worthwhile. At least to her. And--at least to him, too.

Now, those eyes were just the stare of a friend. A good one, a special one--but nothing more. 

She thought of Neville’s spring-shaded eyes and felt her whole body bend in want, in need.

She smiled back at Anthony. “Okay.”

March, 2001: Why Can't It Be Me?

O.W.L. TRANSFIGURATIONS PRACTICAL EXAM

PROCTOR INSTRUCTIONS (O.W.L. TRANSFIGURATIONS PRACTICAL EXAM)

Please read the following out loud to students queuing for the practical component:

Dear Students: We wish you a hearty congratulations for finishing the theory section of your Transfigurations O.W.L. examination and welcome you to the second half, composing of a practical examination where you will be asked to cast a series of spells testing your ability to apply Transfiguration theory into actuality. There are [INSERT NUMBER] stations inside of the examination room; you will be called in groups of [INSERT NUMBER] and assigned a station by the room’s head proctor. Each station has one animate object and four inanimate objects, one for each material group; however, your examiner may not use every material type. The objects are different at each station to prevent academic misconduct. Ten (10) questions are drawn at random for each round of students from a bank of 103 questions curated by the O.W.L. examination board that appear on the examiners scroll. Questions fall into five areas: Vanishing, conjuring, animate-to-inanimate transfiguration, inanimate-to-inanimate transfiguration, and inanimate-to-animate transfiguration. Please note that reversing transfiguration and restoring an object to its original state may or may not be a part of a question; you will be prompted for this by your examiner. Good luck.

The exam period will begin in five minutes; please take these last moments to review what you know and best prepare for your moment.

On Hannah’s seventeenth birthday, she got out of bed. She didn’t shower, but she brushed her teeth and hair, though she didn’t have the energy to plait it. Still: she brushed it. Put on fresh clothes. And came downstairs to the pub, clutching Pride & Prejudice, ready to sink into her now-regular spot by the fireplace to read for the day. Because she was trying to live, even just by inches. Because she had made it to another year, even though her mother never would again.

“I have a gift for you, my Hannah Leigh,” Tom told her, urging her to follow him up to the fireplace, pointing to the keystone engraved with D.A.D. 1508. Daisy Aurora Dodderidge, the founder and first landlady of the Leaky, who wanted to give a place for Muggles and magicals alike to come together. Enjoy each other. Provide them a caring community. The Leaky had passed from the Dodderidge surname to the Selwyns in the 1700s, and the founding family had faded as the Selwyns expanded their wizarding pubs around magical Britain, but Daisy--she’d bloom in the Leaky forever.

“Come.” Tom’s magical skills were not strong, but he was able to transfigure a footstool into a small platform, allowing them to climb up high enough to reach the keystone. He stroked his fingers over those initials. “Dear old Daisy. Motivated by the most lovely intentions when she founded the Leaky.” He smiled, revealing the gaps in his teeth, making the wrinkles in his face leap out as his skin crinkled like paper. “From what I’ve learned about her, she resembles, so much, your Nana Liz.” His smile widened, warmed. “And you.”

Hannah’s face burned with a blush. “That’s very kind of you, Papa.”

His fingers brushed over the initials. “It’s in your blood, my darling. Their kindness.” He pressed his hand hard against the stone. “This place. Hannah Leigh…” He reached out and touched her cheek with his tissue-thin fingertips. “I know. Right now, you feel as strong as matchsticks in a rainstorm. But remember, your parents’ will was stronger and more solid than Hogwarts. And you can tap into a bloodline that goes back centuries, all the way back to Daisy--this strength, Hannah--” 

Tom reached into the pocket of his apron, withdrawing his wand. He held out his hand, palm up, inviting her own hand. “This my birthday gift to you, my sweet Hannah Leigh. I want to connect you to this line, to let you know you aren’t alone. Can I?”

Hannah stared into his open, desperate face. This man who had been bewildered and broken by the depths of her depression but continued to try to bring her back into the light. The ache for her mother was so strong, she could feel it tugging at her even now, wanting to draw her into a darkness she feared and welcomed all the same. 

And yet: She offered him her hand. As Tom began to slice into her skin, Hannah didn’t wince. The physical pain didn’t register against what it felt like inside. He drew blood, he cast spells, he pressed her palm to the stone. And after the heat rushed through her, standing every cell in her body on its edge, Tom took her and taught her about the power she was tied to--and how to invoke it when it was necessary. What she didn’t realize was that, even outside of the times she would need to call upon that line of landladies and landlords, the Selwyns and the Dodderidges all, that the strength was starting to build within her. 

No--the strength was finding the crumbled pieces in her and, in a whisper, urged her to rebuild herself. 

And three days later, Neville Longbottom walked into the Leaky with his vulture-hatted grandmother, and took her hand. 

///Saturday, 3 March 2001

1. Object Transfiguration: Inanimate to animate with reversal back to inanimate.

For a terrible moment--maybe two, maybe longer, a stretch where Hannah stood dumbly behind the bar, watching Hermione and Ron shooting off spells, catching glimpses of Ernie and Parvati and Lee poised to do the same--she was frozen in place with her hand tightening on her wand, watching all of the movement around her. Like she was coated in resin, trapped in terrible place.

Yet in the next second, a second that was filled with their faces plus Meg and Nina plus her other pub and parlor and inn guests, her inn tenants, her staff --something slammed into her veins and surged her into action. 

Not my people, you absolute and total wanker --

And she moved.

Hannah pulled out her wand and used it to carve a deep X into her left palm, grunting just slightly at the pain; the second she saw blood begin to bloom from the wound, she slammed her hand down on the wood of the bar, holding it there as hard as she could. When she pulled it off, seeing her blood marking the worn oak, she lifted her wand up to the ceiling, to the sky, and yelled as loudly as she could, “Securus hospes totale!”  

As a brilliant jet of light raced out of her wand, she then spun it like she would a bottle in her palm and plunged it directly in the middle of her blood’s cross on the bar, the wand sinking into the wood as her fist closed tight on the helm. In an instant, the shutters of the Leaky slammed shut over the windows, the doors closed with threatening thuds, and shield charms shimmered as they sealed off the bar back, the kitchen, the dining room, the pub, and different unseen regions of the Leaky along the way. Patrons at their tables and booths were held in place, their shocked faces ripping behind the wards. 

Ron startled, his head snapping around as he watched the entire structure lock itself down. “Holy shite.”

“What the fuck,” Meg blurted out, letting out a yelp as the carved animals above the doorways began to move, their blind eyes all lighting up, proof that the doors were sealed and actively warded. 

“It’s a blood enchantment,” Hermione said, her furious demeanor momentarily breaking as she looked around the room then to Hannah’s wand in interest, studying how the rigid line of it seemed to pulse as it cast out magic, a kind of antenna for the enchantment. “A massive one. Hannah…”

When Hannah stopped feeling that pull of the magic from her body and into the pub itself--that the security enchantment had been fully cast, she yanked her wand out of the bar top, feeling a strange wave pass through her. For a moment, she was so dizzy she had to hold onto the bar, fighting the feeling like she was going to be sick, but she closed her eyes and swallowed and pushed through. They need you. So you need--

“Hannah?” Hermione said again.

Hannah made her eyes open; it took a moment for Hermione to stop swimming in her vision, to get the world back into focus. That focus sharpened; she felt like she could see not just her friends, the frightened patrons in the pub, but the whole world in perfect clarity. Her heart began pounding so hard, it seemed to bang against her ribs. There was an odd metallic taste in her mouth moving over her tongue, like she was chewing on a snack of knuts. Suddenly, there was a sparking surge of energy that made her body feel jittery under her skin--but propelled to act. She was still oddly lightheaded, but--something else was animating her, in her very blood. 

She nodded at Hermione, who was peering at her with concern. “I’m fine, thank you.” She hastily sealed the wound on her hand before casting an amplification charm at her own throat so that the sound of her voice would carry throughout the pub, parlors, and inn upstairs. “We have a security concern, please stay in your seats as we work to ensure your safety.” She was shocked at how calm she sounded; though, even when at that loud of volume, her voice sounded small. 

She pivoted around, checking on the three still at the bar: Meg to Nina to Ernie, though the last was fiddling with the small pocketwatch-like device the aurors used to summon each other; she could see its face changing colors--first, a cardinal red before deepening to crimson and then the deep scarlet of a wound. 

“Are you okay?” she said to her old housemates before lifting the bar bridge and walking around.

“I mean, other than having terrible memories of the sodding Battle, fine,” Nina said in a shaky voice, holding tight to Meg. “Is--is Seamus coming?”

“They’re all coming,” Ernie said grimly, joining Ron, Hermione, Parvati, and Lee and directing his wand down to the Snatcher, allowing Hermione to let out a deep exhale of release and step aside to drop into a bar stool, pressing her palm to her forehead. “For all we know he’s the first wave and another is about to strike, I’m sending out a full alert.”

“Harry was only at home with Ginny and Teddy, he’ll be here quick no doubt,” she said, glaring down at the man with a venom in her gaze. “Where’s Nev?”

“He and Justin were at a Star Trek thing in Cambridge. I think how fast he gets here depends on how quickly he can find a place to Disapparate without Muggle notice,” Ernie said. 

Hannah’s body was almost buckling with the desire for Neville to race through the door--but she suddenly startled. “Michael and Shay are home--Bickle!” 

Within a breath, the house elf appeared with a loud crack in the bar, looking both terrified and certain--a mirror of herself, she was sure. “Yes, Miss Hannah.”

“Bickle. There are enemies in the Leaky, and we must protect her. Please go to rooms 32 and 40 and let Misters Seamus and Michael out of their flats since they are now locked in. And then go to Harry--er, the D.A.’s--parlor and allow out any aurors and hitwizards. I don’t think anyone is in there but the Ravenclaw girls for their game night, but just check, please. Then come back to me, friend.”

“Yes, Miss Hannah,” he said, giving her hand a pulse of a squeeze before disappearing. 

Hannah hesitated, staring down at the bound man. He was bleeding rapidly from the mess that was his shattered nose, from a slice on his forehead in the midst of a rapidly forming contusion. There was something odd about the way his forehead looked, too, that belied a break in the skull, she guessed. Her eyes moved over to the envelope--Neville’s name written in an ink color the same shade as that blood--and the journal beneath it. When her gaze moved back to him, she took in a deep breath and then stepped towards him. 

She knelt beside him and aimed her wand at his nose. “Episkey.”

“The fuck are you doing, Han!” Lee yelped. 

“He’s injured.” She siphoned up the blood that had flooded the floor.  

“Yeah, and I see no reason to not let him stay that way! May I remind you, he wants you super dead?” Ron said.

She looked up at her friends. “The healers who tended to us after the Battle had to care for the Death Eaters, too. Medicine can’t take sides. Besides,” she said, pointing at what was likely to be a spectacular bruise on his forehead and casting a spell to bring down the swelling, “he needs to be of sound mind and body so he can stand up to magical interrogation.” She changed her aim and pressed her wand to his forehead to penetrate the skull, to do a first attempt at bringing the swelling on his brain down. “Head injuries, including even mild concussions, can impact the extraction of information from the mind.” 

“How do you know that?”

“From Hestia and Yvonne. A while ago, they explained that even if you extracted Frank and Alice--Neville’s parents--their memories, they’d be unreliable because a traumatized brain spits out distorted information. Even if he’s merely had a concussion, we need to heal the brain as quickly as possible so that if the aurors resort to forcing information out, it can be usable: the quicker he heals, the quicker they can get what they need.” She glanced at Ernie. “Ern? You need to get him to St. Mungo’s so they can treat him properly. What I’m doing is--I mean, it’s the equivalent of putting on a plaster and an ice pack. I think he has a skull fracture.”

“Got it,” he said, drawing out the auror alert pendant and moving some dials, as if setting a watch. “I’ll have a mediwizard here in a flash.”

“I don’t get it, Han,” Parvati said. “When Snape and the Carrows banned detentioneers from getting their punishment wounds treated by Pomfrey…why didn’t you join with Tracey and Padma in learning healing spells? They were teaching themselves, you could have joined them and been a third person to help. I mean, look at you. This is--like, your jam . Why…?”

Hannah looked up from casting another anti-swelling spell at the Snatcher’s forehead. “I was just a first year N.E.W.T. who had failed Transfigurations. I wasn’t on their level at all .” She shrugged. “When I asked Ant if I was right to not horn in, he said yeah, it would have been stupid to hold them back by making them get me up to their speed.”

“What in Merlin’s beard is going on?” Seamus demanded, rushing to them just as Michael came into sight at the top of the grand first floor stairs, thundering down the steps. Seamus stopped short, staring down at the bound man. “Mikey! Looks like we got someone from our Board of Bastards…” He looked at Ron and then Michael. “It’s Callus, from the Scabior pack.” 

Michael grabbed Hannah, almost yanking her up and away from the Snatcher. He held hard to her upper arms. “Are you okay . What did he do?”

The way his face was fixed, with that coldness Hermione had mixed with the fury Ron had--but also fear , fear for her, made her stomach wrench in terror, made that dizzy feeling come sweeping back and loosening her knees. Suddenly, her eyes started to fill with tears, and she just pointed at the bar where the man--the werewolf, this Callus --had left his things. Michael and Seamus hurried in unison; both of them swung their wands around the items as Hermione leaned in to speak to them. Seamus, satisfied at the journal’s benign nature, picked it up, yet Michael prodded the envelope with his magic, casting another spell. Then another. She could only see them from behind, but they were in a perfect duet of silent reactions: stiffening shoulders, shudders of the head, tightening jaws. 

“Miss Hannah.” The owl carved into the doorframe that led to the courtyard and Diagon Alley spoke; its eyes glowed silver. “A Mister Harry Potter along with four aurors are here. He says you can verify it is him because, quote, ‘I asked you talk about something with Nev way back in September, and you are taking your bloody sweet time carrying on with it.’”

Hannah’s inhale was stuttered like Braille but relieved. That was Harry all right. She nodded. “Allow them in.”

With the energy of a storm, Harry swept in, eyes almost immediately finding Ron and Hermione and hurrying to them. “You okay? Ernie summoned us for a high emergency-- you okay ? What’s going on?”

“We’re okay, we’re okay,” she rushed, standing and gathering him in a quick, hard hug. When she drew back, she pointed down at the man. “He was here at the bar when we walked in--I actually brought him down, since I recognized him right away. Do you?”

He peered down at the prone man before his mouth dropped slightly in surprise before stoning over. “Sure do.” His eyes landed on Hannah; he had that same look that Michael did, and her body started to shake as she brushed impatiently at her wet eyes. The energy in her body seemed to bottom out, like water tumbling off a cliff down to a distant pool. Her teeth were chattering, and she felt her hands go cold; she could barely feel them against her cheeks. She looked back down at the man--her eyes couldn’t stop staring at the places where she had healed him. Where she had helped him. Knowing he’d wake and still want her dead. 

Or, from the way Harry and Michael and Seamus were reacting, something worse than that. Her brain was suddenly flooded with the images of Alice ripping at her hair and Frank, his jaw locked in a perpetual scream. Her stomach churned, and she fought to swallow down the bile that was rising in her throat.

Hermione gestured to the journal and the envelope. “He was willing to die to deliver whatever message is in that. He was handing it to Hannah when I immobilized him.”

“It’s not just a message.” Michael was unmoving. He had the envelope in a kind of stasis, levitating above the bar; it was framed in a shimmering blue light. “It’s a portkey.”

Harry drew the s-sound out, making it into a horrible hiss: “Sssshit.”

“Harry--Mike--” Seamus looked over at her--it was his expression, like he wanted to rush over and put his arm around her the way that Harry was with Hermione. Play human shield. The heaviness of it made her knees start to shake. “This journal…it’s all about Hannah. They’ve been tracking her for--god, ages .” 

She heard Parvati gasp, Michael curse, saw Harry’s whole body coil up with tension--in the distance, the sound of Neville’s frantic, furious voice (real? Or just because she wished he would arrive?). They all seemed to stretch, distorted into a demented distance, like at the end of a long tunnel that kept growing longer and darker, spinning wildly, as her knees turned to liquid and she raced for the staff loo, collapsing onto all fours as the room spun wildly, as she managed to grab the toilet just in time, crying harder than she heaved. 

Everything in her that had surged her forward receded. Stopped. Left her inert on a stone floor, just another pathetic, forgotten, stupid--   

And then: one arm wrapping around her to help hold her, the other pulling her hair back. “It’s okay, I’m here. I got you.” Neville was holding her, and she let out a sob of relief as his warm cheek warmed her clammy skin, as the scent of his rosemary mouth filled her breaths. With his sleeve, he wiped her eyes and her mouth and then held tight. “I’m here, my Hannah Leigh.”

///Friday, 24 April 1998

2. Object Transfiguration: Inanimate to inanimate.

Hannah sat on the wool couch, upholstered in a blue tartan plaid, and watched Ernie write in the infractions he had noted during their evening rounds--not together, the four prefects from the punishment were required to partner with one of the Carrow-compliant prefects or I.S. members now. That way, if the prefect refused to log any infractions, someone was still noting every misdeed. Everything subject to punishment, pain. Ernie and Padma and Anthony were willing to sign off on their partners’ log; Hannah watched Ernie’s jaw stiffen, his head dip miserably, his chest expand with held breath as he took the quill from Pansy Parkinson and signed his name.

She was frozen in place as she watched her dear friend push through his pain.

Pansy shot Hannah a smirk as she flounced towards the door. “Have a good night’s sleep, Hannah.”

“Bitch,” Padma muttered once the door shut, leaving the four of them alone in the prefect’s salon. Her face creased in concern as she added, “Han, the Carrows pick up the log book for the week tonight, so you still have time to sign your name to your and Millicent’s rounds from Wednesday.”

“Or just log one infraction from today, just a random one. One ,” Anthony urged. 

When Hannah didn’t move, he slapped his book shut and grabbed her hand, pulling her up by the wrist and leading her to the book. He wasn’t rough, but he was holding her so hard, she knew she’d see the mark of his fingers like a bracelet on her skin when he let go. “Hannie, please . Four members of the D.A. are now in hiding, they tried to kill Neville . They are playing for keeps now, you have to stop.” He pushed the quill into her hand. “The time for a moral stand is long bloody over, listen to me.”

Hannah looked at Ernie. He drew in a breath, looking pained as he met her eyes. She could see the burn scars on his arms from where his Hufflepuff rugby was pushed up. 

He sighed. “Every day you keep going, you push them. And…I fear Anthony is correct, that with every day you push, with the current state of affairs…” His eyes began to shine at the edges as tears took root. “I can’t bear to see you hurt.”

“No one wants to see you dead,” Padma said, “and that includes Michael. It’s been three weeks--more than…it’s been more than anyone could have asked from you.”

“Nobody had to ask, though. Not him. Not Neville.” Hannah looked up at Anthony. The quill felt heavier than her heart. “Because it was right.” 

She let a long breath out of her nose as she leaned over the book. Neville had told them to stop with the larger campaigns after Michael, but he hadn’t yet told her to stop. And until he did… “It still is.”

Anthony peered over her shoulder and threw up his hands as he watched her write. “Why are you choosing something so dumb and destructive? Stop thinking with your heart, it’s going to get you killed!” he yelled, his breath a hot knife against her face, the volume of his shout leaving a ringing in her ears as her tears splotched the ink all over the page. He spun away from her. “You know what, if you want to be a fucking idiot about this, I am no longer watching. Walk yourself to the dungeons tonight, I’m gone.”

She flinched at the sound of the slamming door, her whole body and hand starting to shake as she absorbed his anger--and the fear, god , she was scared of what could come. Anthony was right about that (he usually was…). And yet, she kept writing: Cricket Creek and Paddy Shanahan were great helps with tidying the prefect lounge today :)...Margaret Jepperds volunteered to water the plants in the Hufflepuff Common Room since Colleen Kilready injured her foot in COMC and needed to rest in the infirmary; that was quite kind of her!...

Ernie came over and put his arm around Hannah’s back. 

“I’m so scared for you, Hannie…but I’m so bloody proud to be your best friend,” he whispered.

Hannah still cried, but she smiled down at the page. Her feet were rooted to the floor as she wrote in more commendations, more acts of kindness, letting something good grow on the page; she could not be moved.

///Sunday, 4 March 2001

3. Object Transfiguration: Animate to inanimate with reversal back to animate.

There was a hand on Hannah’s shoulder, rousing her. She rubbed at her eyes to try to adjust them to the darkness of the bedroom so that she could make out Kingsley, his son held in the crook of his other arm, a bottle in that hand. “Hannah,” he said softly, trying not to wake Ginny sprawled in sleep beside her on his and Hestia’s guest room bed. “We need to speak with you, please.” 

“What time is it?”

“After three in the morning.” Even in the shadows of the room, she could tell Kingsley’s face was washed in apology. “We need to make some decisions and move once the day begins, and these are decisions you should be a part of making.”

Hannah hesitated, looking at Ginny with an expression that must have screamed I’m scared, I want a friend who knows so loudly it was as if she had sobbed it out. Ginny had arrived, only twenty minutes after Hannah had been escorted in a tense whirl of activity, to the safety of the Shacklebolts’ home in Primrose Hill, to the shelter of Hestia’s healing and long hugs. She came in, ponytail bouncing, holding up Harry’s message before tossing the journal aside to wrap her arms around Hannah.

“Welcome to the tier,” Ginny sighed, squeezing Hannah tight. “I’m so fucking sorry that it’s now moved from a group of one to us two. I never wanted company here.”

“But--you are my leader, Gin.” Hannah pressed her hands against Ginny’s shoulder blades, the place on the body where, once upon a time, wizards could grow wings. Brave, brilliant Ginny--the person above all that Hannah was certain could sprout those wings again and take flight. “Who am I if I’m not the girl who goes where you and Nevvie lead?”

Ginny sagged just slightly. “Goddamn it, Hannah…do you get that you were both the best member of the D.A. and the one who kind of broke Nev and my hearts?”

Hannah’s eyes opened. “I…don’t think I understand…?”

She pulled back slightly and gave Hannah’s braids a tug. “Because it mattered so fucking much to you to do right by the people you cared about, you’d go wherever Nev and I told you to--but you’d refuse to stop because your heart was utterly fixed to the sticking place. Because you were determined to never betray Harry the way you did during your second and fourth years--which, for the millionth time, sure as shite were not betrayals.” She exhaled, studying Hannah. “I told Nev, we had to be careful with how much we asked of you, since you’d not just say yes, but you wouldn’t know how to say no.” 

Ginny moved her hands to hold Hannah’s face; her smile was so knowing, it held entire libraries of knowledge. “I shouldn’t have worried: Nev had a crush on you from day one of that year, from the second he saw you on he train, and it bloomed into full on adoration the day of the prefect punishment. He’d have set himself on fire before seeing you hurt.”

“But Ginny…he did. Just--” Hannah’s face buckled as Ginny froze, realizing her words. “Just except Harry sacrificed himself so that Neville burning in front of us--” 

Hannah thought of the stone courtyard in front of Hogwarts, of Voldemort stuffing that hat on Neville. Of Neville’s face bursting into a symphony of pain--then a sudden focus as he pushed through whatever unspeakable pain that Harry’s protective enchantment didn’t hold in abeyance because the fire might not kill or leave damage but it didn’t mean it didn’t terrify--didn’t hurt --

 “--it didn’t kill him. It was like…suddenly, he was the Boy Who Lived.” Hannah startled slightly. “Ginny…”

“I know. Hannie. God almighty, do I know. I think…I knew that Nev was a weird mirror of Harry because…hi, why else would he have been the first best friend I made at Hogwarts. I got a type,” Ginny sighed, pulling Hannah in for another hug, more gentle but more sure. “We picked the same bloke--and you and me are different, no doubt, but we both need them the same. You said it back in July, it’s not just Haz and Nev who are similar, it’s also us and us. Which makes it even more…Hannie. You are not alone in all of this, okay? It’s you and me--with Hermione for technical support,” Ginny added, trying to lighten things with a sly grin, a casual shrug, everything to distract from how naked and frightened her eyes revealed her to be--scared for Hannah, scared for their shared and beloved best friend. “Besides. At least I’ve been here for a while now and I know where they hide the biscuits and booze in this oh so terrible, oh so exclusive club, so.”

So. While Harry and Neville, Kingsley, Robards, and several other aurors and hitwizards crowded the living room, Hannah--increasingly drowsy from the anti-nausea elixir with its additional calming draught that Hestia offered to treat her symptoms of shock--retreated to an upstairs bedroom to talk more with Ginny, soon falling asleep beside her friend, her leader, who she would follow anywhere, holding tight to Ginny’s small but solid hand.

Kingsley followed her gaze and offered her his hand as she moved to stand. “Hestia’s there in the room,” he whispered, and Hannah exhaled in relief. “She served on several guard missions for the Order, so we’ve been bouncing a few things off of her this past hour.” He draped his arm loosely around her shoulders as they left the room. “She’s pushing very hard for a scenario where she gets to be part of keeping you safe, which I think is an indication of how bored she is on maternity leave.”

Hannah smiled a bit as she reached out to squeeze Desmond’s toes; the infant’s eyes fluttered just slightly. His skin was the shade of weak tea, closer to Hestia’s than Kingsley, but his face was already a mirror in miniature of his father. Same nose, same chin; when those little eyes were open, the same warm chestnut shade. 

“Back then, she worked with Harry’s Muggle family. Yeah? She told them off for being so awful to him.”

“She sure did.” He grinned, fully, looking like his calm self again versus the tense figure he had held from the moment she arrived. On the other hand, he was currently pressing his son so close to his chest, maybe that was relaxing him more than anything. “Actually, you’d have gotten a kick out of Order Hestia, who just…listen, I’m not saying she idolized Harry, but she took his role as the heart of the anti-Voldemort movement incredibly seriously. Then she got to know him post-Battle as just a normal lad through our weekly dinners. I think it broke her brain a bit to have him morph from abstract inspiration to ‘he’s just a normal teen who needs to be prodded to eat his greens and get a haircut, who wants to talk Quidditch even more as he does war strategy.’”

As they neared the bottom of the stairs to the first floor of the flat, Hannah’s steps slowed. “Sir…when Hestia guarded Harry’s family…that was after you and her did your big fake breakup. Because being with you put her at risk.” Hannah felt a wave of nausea wash over her, and she put her hand up against her lips, feeling that dizziness seeping into every bone; she swayed a bit into him, and he braced her against his side. “The decisions we have to make here…are--are you--I--are you going to ask Nev to--”

“Hannah. That’s not what’s happening.” Kingsley stared intently at her. “At the time, we were on the edge of war with enemies closing in on all sides. Our leader had just been murdered, and we had to position ourselves to endure. How we manage terrorists is a lot different than how we manage survival in a war. Besides.” He gave her a flash of a smile. “I told you I would have decreed you and Neville to get together. Separating you two in a faux-breakup and therefore dealing with your Regency-era levels of longing for reunion--Merlin on a bloody broom, I’d rather the circus that’ll be keeping you safe at the Leaky than deal with that again. Ever. Harry moreso, I’m sure.”

He hesitated and then added, “Besides. Part of why they picked you is because it would hurt Harry and me as well. A great deal. Let alone the entire D.A. which has stayed remarkably close over the years. So, in essence, you’d have to ‘break up’ all of your friendships, too. Which is tantamount to smothering your entire life, Hannah, and we’re not going to doing that. We refuse to reduce you like that. Besides--”

He rubbed her arm. “Hannah…your fiancé is integral to the fight. I…” He hesitated. “Neville, Michael, Seamus, and Alicia are the most reliable aurors in a battle. In that order, hands down. Harry will always, always find a route to avoid the kill, and I absolutely respect him for that--more than respect, that word isn't large enough for how much I support him on this--but that means Neville has to cover Harry since he’s unafraid to do what has to be done. Because Neville knows his soul will be safe because what happened during that year. Neville…in trying to protect an entire school…he learned a different kind of calculus.” 

Kingsley gazed at her, his eyes so clear, she could practically see into the wide expanse of his heart. Her breath became shallow. “That’s why Neville is the Human Shield. Not just to ensure that Harry Potter survives but also that Harry Potter never has to kill. With Ron gone--the only other person who just understood how important that is, in all of the ways it does--that falls entirely to Neville.”

Hannah held hard to the railing as she took in a few of her mindful counting breaths as Kingsley waited; with each cycle (in, hold, out; in, hold, out) , the dizziness paled and let her feel like she was more in control of her body. Controlling her fear just enough more than it was storming through her; she could still feel it in her blood, in every inch of her body, but it was only present, not the loudest noise. The effort was exhausting, but--goddamn it, it was worth it to feel like she was in charge of her bloody self.

"Then again," Kingsley added, and Hannah looked up at him. His steady gaze became so shrewd, she could see how he was moving pieces around in some mental chess board--that she was a piece of high value to him--even though she was certain she was just a pawn. "The woman who immediately moved to heal the man who tried to kidnap her, who had even worse intentions after that? I think she understands the same thing Neville does."

Hannah blushed so painfully that she pressed her hands against her cheeks to try to get them to calm down. It took her a moment to be able to collect her thoughts again. “I…get that I…I’m strategic,” she said slowly. Because that was right, that felt true without being too self-centered. “But what I don’t get is…why you. Why did you order Harry to bring me here for protection versus me just going to the Burrow or even Grimmauld like normal. I mean…you’re not an auror anymore. I don’t…I know they brief you, but Nevvie’s never mentioned you being involved in a mission more than just receiving a briefing, maybe teasing things out--but just especially not…having the full auror leadership in your living room in the middle of the night-kind of involved. Is this…sir, I--” Hannah licked her lips, digging her nails into her palms. “Is this--I-I thought you hadn’t done any personal favors for me.”

Kingsley’s sigh was so gentle, it floated from him like the start of a song. He pulled his arm from her to cradle his son closer, his eyes skimming over every precious inch of Desmond Sturgis Shacklebolt. Named for an idol of Kingsley’s and an adored Order friend that they still mourned. 

In a blink, his eyes moved from his son to Hannah; her mouth dried as she realized he was gazing at her in that same soft, treasuring way. “Because they’ve come for mine tonight. It’s not a personal favor, Hannah Leigh. It’s personal.”

He urged them forward. “Come.” And let her into a room full of people, and at its heart, the two men she trusted most in moments like this, a leader who became her friend and a leader who became her love, both moving to meet her; each step was a promise, an apology, a shield.

///Friday, 10 April 1998

4. Vanishing

Hannah blinked as Amycus Carrow yanked her out of the dungeon and back into the light--even the weak light of the basement was hard for her eyes to adjust to, despite having done this exact ritual for a month now. Ever since she and Anthony--alone, since Padma and Ernie were still in the hospital wing the week after the prefect log punishment--stood in front of the faculty table during Sunday dinner being called to account for refusing to write up any classmates. 

Anthony had glanced at her as they made their way up to the dais, mouthing I love you before they squared their shoulders and clasped hands, the Headmaster said in that languid, disdainful way that colored most of his speech, I believe the usual corrective action will be appropriate for Mr. Goldstein. However, I pray that in considering an appropriate punishment for Miss Abbott…you are mindful of how this show of strength is-- and he stretched out the word, making each syllable a meal, snapping the hard “c” at its end in a way that made her wince-- uncharacteristic given how often she is ruled instead by her feelings. And to her horror, her eyes began to fill with tears, and Snape stared at her, the tiniest bit of a--not a smile but an expression of satisfaction, as if Hannah had given him exactly the evidence he had wanted: Such a simple mind afflicted by such…weakness should perhaps be spared the stress of certain curses. You know what a mess fragile things make when they break.

Her eyes got hot with horror; her tears were warm on her cheeks as they spilled over. As she glanced at Professor Sprout who looked so angry that she could boil water with only her gaze. She dared to glance over at her leaders, to Ginny and Neville; Ginny had that same furious look on her face, but Neville was gazing at her, perfectly calm, and slowly and deliberately mouthed, He doesn’t know what real strength is.

And then, adding at the end in a surprise that made Hannah almost smile, Neville mouthed: Fuck. Him.

The Carrow did as he always did, hand on the center of her back shoving her to the floor in the direction of the waiting Professor Sprout; she preferred that to Alecto, who loved to yank Hannah around by her plaits. Today, though, Professor Sprout only took her left arm. It was Neville who took her under the other elbow to help Hannah back up to her feet as Hannah stretched to try to get out the soreness, the stiffness from sleeping on the stone floor. 

“Neville had asked if he could escort you up to the prefect’s loo and while I am happy to cede that task to him, I insisted on coming along, just for a moment: I told him, I can’t start my day until I see Hannah returned to the light.” She stroked Hannah’s cheek and patted it with her calloused hand, that soft leather feel of the old woman’s skin and its scent of soil instantly making Hannah release in relief. “How was your night, dear?”

“Good. They didn’t chain me up by arms so I slept fine. Though--tell Professor Flitwick that the concealment charm is starting to fade just slightly on the blanket and pillow, I could see a faint shimmer from them when I was settling in for the night.”

Professor Sprout nodded. “I’ll have him slip down here and renew the spells.” She patted Hannah’s cheek again. “I put a tomato plant-scented bubble bath in for you today, you must tell me what you think.” She glanced at them both before leaving. “I’ll see you later in class.”

“See you, Professor. Thank you,” Neville said before offering Hannah his arm to support her body, stiff from a night sleeping on stone. “How often do they forget to chain you up?”

“Oh, about half the time. Filch never does. The Carrows, it depends on if they are distracted or not. Or mad about something else and I am a nice target to lash out at.” They started up the stairs, and Hannah winced a smile at him. “The fact you’re here…either something’s wrong or I’m in trouble.” She hesitated. “Or Ant has asked you to talk to me.”

“And Padma and Ernie and Cricket. Plus Melinda and Paddy. But Ant is pretty insistent…” 

As they started up to the first floor, the staircase started to move, and as she grabbed the railing to brace herself, Neville put his arm around her waist to hold her steady. His face immediately pinked, though, and she found herself staring at his cheeks as the color bloomed. Was he blushing at what he was saying? Or… 

“Ant’s been increasingly upset with me,” Hannah said softly, her thumb rolling into a divet in the stone railing. Just the night before, he had yet again told her this was stupid, that she was being stupid; his words echoed in her head for hours as she sat down in the terrible dark. “He thinks--he’s just scared, especially after Mikey, and I don’t think he knows how to handle it.”

“I know. I wish he wouldn’t yell at you, though,” Neville mumbled, his lips puckering for a moment. “But it’s not just him, like I said, they are all really worried that if you keep going, eventually the Carrows will snap and hurt you the way they hurt Michael.” His speech slowed as he added, “I…don’t think they’re wrong. The Carrows have been getting more brutal, more… unhinged by the day. It feels like they either have a green light from Snape to get vicious--or…honestly? I’m actually worried that he can’t control them.” He frowned. “And I think…maybe Snape’s worried about it, too. I dunno--he’s impossible to read, but…anyway.”

“Nev?” The staircase locked onto the fifth floor, as if it were doing Hannah a grace to spare her hauling her aching body upwards. That happened a lot, somehow, in the mornings, as if the castle knew. As if it were taking a side, too. Neville kept his arm around her as they made their way to the statue of Boris the Bewildered and then four more doors down. She watched him for a moment. “Are you going to ask me to stop? Because--if you are--why am I different from Seamus? He’s been mouthing off nearly as much as you do since coming back from hols, he doesn’t have to pull back.”

“I can barely control Shay,” Neville said bluntly. “ Especially now that he knows Dean is alive and safe so he doesn’t feel like he has to hold anything back…and especially now that he knows Dean was imprisoned, he’s out for revenge. With Shay, I have to pick my battles. He knows he’s going to get badly hurt at this rate--I’m just trying to keep him from getting killed, keep him to just saying stuff, not doing stuff at least.” 

They stopped in front of the door. “Dirigible plums,” Hannah said, and the door swung open. She gave Neville a half-smile. “For Luna. I was so glad that she’s alright, I changed the password in her honor. Don’t worry the I.S. kids don’t know, they just think I really love it in a Christmas pudding.”

“I’ll tell her that, she’ll love it.” 

“Come on in. That way you can tell me you want me to stop in private.”

“No, I don’t want to hold you up too long--I know you have Charms at nine. You deserve a nice long soak and to get some breakfast in before that.” 

He dropped his arm from around her; her body felt--oddly alone suddenly. As he drew back, she realized how his breath smelled…unique, like some kind of herb almost, both sweet and savory, but she couldn’t put her finger on what. Neville’s face was hashmarked with the Carrows’ violence, gashes and slices both old and new on his cheeks and forehead; it made her wonder what the parts of his body they couldn’t see looked like, how badly riddled it must be with the story of this year of pain. Still, no matter how battered it was, his face was so incredibly sweet. He was so incredibly sweet, all heart, kindness embroidering every bit of his being. 

Why couldn’t her boyfriend be more like Neville Longbottom? Neville would never yell at her, tell her what to eat, forget to give her flowers until Parvati and Lavender pulled him aside and swatted at him to make him get the bloody plot, Anthony , god! But lovely boys like Neville didn’t want girls like her. Even still…

“I’m not asking you to stop. Not today,” Neville said.

“Really? Why?”

“Because…I dunno, right now, they’re used to your protest, so it’s not a new thing to provoke them the way a new mission of ours would do. Plus…while the lads in the D.A. are getting worried--Hannah, you’re really inspiring us, too. This is so brave of you--and really? I think it’s helping Michael as he recovers. He’s going to try getting up to go to class tomorrow--and I can’t lie, I wouldn't mind you feeding his ego to give him some extra energy.” 

Hannah giggled as she leaned against the door jamb. “I can do that…though is it really that hard to feed Michael’s ego?”

“Right?” Neville grinned. “I do have two things to ask, though. First, I’d--like you to just…knowing that I’m getting worried about the Carrows? Just think on it, on ending it, okay? For the rest of the week. We can revisit this on Sunday, if that’s alright. In the meantime, I can tell Anthony and the other prefects that I spoke with you and we’re going to keep checking in.”

Hannah smiled slightly. “It is. Thank you.”

“Second? Between now and then, keep your head down. Don’t bring any attention to yourself, Hannie. The Carrows are like--nifflers, they go for whatever is shiny and distracting and then go bananas. It’s why it’s so easy for me to get them to forget to, like, torture a younger year if I can pop off because I’m now the shiny distraction they’ll have fun with. Don’t make them see you that way; stay like the background noise that you’ve become, it will likely buy you more time before they turn their Eye of Sauron on you.”

Hannah sighed. “I miss when Muggle Studies had fun things like reading those books.”

“Me, too.” 

“Nev?” Hannah fiddled with the doorknob. “If…if you ask me to stop, I’ll stop. I only want to do what’s right--but what’s right for me may not be--what’s right for the D.A. And if you say so--”

He gave her a wistful smile, whispered with a longing that she didn’t understand, staring at her for so long that she felt a lump build in her throat; her cheeks blossomed in a blush as he kept roaming his eyes over her face. “I know, Han. I’m so lucky that we have you.” He stepped in and gave her a hug. “I trust your heart more than any of the Ravenclaws’ brains combined.”

“Stop,” she giggled, giving him a little squeeze. “You’re lucky I’m such a good friend, I’m not going to tell Ant or Mikey or Padma that!”

He laughed. “Thank you for sparing me their wrath.” For a second, she could swear he was breathing in to gather up the smell of her hair, her perfume; no . She was clearly overtired. When he drew back, his face was bright red. “Have a good soak, I hope it helps shake the night off.”

“It always does. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

“Okay, cheers.”

“Neville?” She began to pick at her cuticles but smiled at him. “Thank you. For listening to me. What I want. Helping me--keep going with something that’s important to me like this.”

Neville exhaled a slow line of air out of his nose; he got that look again, that smile. “Hannah…why wouldn’t I?”

When she shut the door, disappearing him from her sight, she stood in place--unable to move but not knowing why. An urge (for what?) hit her, and she yanked open the door; he was gone.

///Sunday, 4 March 2001

5. Conjuring

When the meeting--discussion, planning session, the cascade of difficult choices that had to be made but broke Hannah’s heart--finally concluded hours later, the sky was still in the dark pre-dawn, Harry and Neville stayed with Hannah. Robards had ordered those in the room to get as much sleep as possible before their all-hands meeting, so the auror and hitwizard leaders filed out, save the few (like Michael and Seamus, whose absence Hannah felt like a missing limb) interrogating the Death Eaters they had captured at the site the portkey would have taken Hannah to. Yet the two sat with her as she slumped forward, so exhausted that even breathing felt like labor.

As the cost of keeping her safe mounted up:

1. No returning to the Leaky for at least a week, likely two. Potentially three. Figuring out a safety plan for the building and for her would take a while, especially as the aurors were needed more to hunt down the Death Eaters behind this, interrogate the ones who were captured, go out and do it again.
2. No wedding. The event was a giant security risk, and unlike the Minister’s wedding--a state event that the aurors had been able to turn to MACUSA and the European Alliance for staffing assistance--this…was not. No matter if it was for the legendary Neville Longbottom. So. That stack of unsent invitations--growing by the day, thanks to Augusta--would be fed to the fireplace instead. 
3. No O.W.L. exam in May. The target Hannah would put on the whole group of test-takers was too much--and the anxiety that they might feel about the security needed to protect her…well. As Robards had said, that wasn’t fair to the many to secure the one, was it? (“You likely needed a private place anyway for your exam accommodations,” Kingsley reasoned after the decision was made, “we’ll figure out an alternative, I swear.”)

She let out a final sigh and sagged her head onto Neville’s shoulder, all of her tears shed and dried, leaving her tired--the acceptance was exhausting. It all made sense. It was the most reasonable plan. 

It just sucked.

“Kingsley?” Harry asked, glancing between him and a hovering Hestia. “Can we have the room for a few?”

“Hannah, love? How’s your stomach doing,” Hestia asked, ignoring Harry.

“Another elixir wouldn’t be the worst thing,” Hannah admitted.

“Yeah, let’s not have you booting,” Harry said, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “Hestia? Is this just--shock?”

“Well, that’s definitely a part of it."

"But also that protection spell Hannah cast through her blood enchantment…that was a massive energy drain, that’ll leave a wizard shaky and spent on a good day.” Kingsley smiled at her, and the pride there was almost paternal, making Hannah’s stomach flutter but in a welcome way. “Six whole stories of locked doors, shuttered windows, and the team sweeping the building found thirty-two separate security wards sealing off areas. And if not for your elf releasing the wards, Ernie and the rest would likely still be working to bring them down.”

“I didn’t design the security enchantment, though.”

“Doesn’t matter, Hannah. You invoked it. The whole thing. A really extraordinary show of power.” He grinned wider as he started out of the room. “Be sure, when you take your Defense N.E.W.T. that you let it slip to your examiner that you can invoke a securus totales blood enchantment for the Leaky, that’ll get you some ‘portkey at my N.E.W.T.’-level awe.”

“Hermione is such a show off,” Harry said with an annoyance that could only be heard as pure affection.

“Says Mister ‘corporeal patronus at my O.W.L.,’” Hestia shot back. “Alright, I’ll brew a new batch and call Louise to give her an update. We’ll be in the kitchen, just shout when you’re ready to head upstairs for a rest.”

Once the two left, Harry shifted in his armchair, studying Hannah and Neville sitting together on a small loveseat. Hannah had caught a glimpse of herself in the loo mirror about an hour ago when she needed to be sick and had winced at her reflection. Plaits in a frizzy disarray, puffy circles the shade of a bruise massing under her eyes, a general pale and slightly green cast to her face from how her now-empty stomach wouldn’t stop roiling up bile every time she thought of a pack of Death Eater werewolves tracking her for months like the dumb little Bunny Abbott she was, and her, naively chatting on in front of them since she treated everyone at the bar like a friend. Stupid stupid! Letting them overhear everything about her life--

Including how she opened Neville’s mail, keeping track of it for him, sorting it. How many times did she tell a friend about opening some piece of owl post or Muggle mail of Neville's? Like she would have opened that envelope, the one with Neville’s name on it--how the second her fingers brushed that card, the portkey would have activated and yanked her to--

Hannah gagged slightly, and she began breathing in short pants the way Hestia had encouraged her to try to ward off another round of sickness. 

“You okay?” Neville asked her, picking up his wand and casting a spell that sent a gentle breeze of cool air at her face, helping settle her stomach down, too. 

She closed her eyes and nodded, exhaling slowly until the feeling passed. She didn’t dare look at Harry, ashamed he had seen her do this how many times tonight (let alone the one time she couldn’t hold it back, when they said that the card had a description what they had planned to do to her, so when her body was found, Nev--no--nonono don’t think about it--). 

Instead, she looked at Neville. Neville, who had seemed wrecked on the shoals of his own guilt since the moment he and Hannah emerged from the Leaky’s staff loo. Who sat beside her on this sofa during the auror meeting with his arm wrapped around her; his tight hold didn’t lessen once over the hours. It hadn’t even now. But once Robards and the others had left, he slumped down on himself, as if the decisions made in the deep of the night had physically drained him. His eyes were unfocused as inside himself he was getting lost in that guilt--that guilt, she could feel it coming off of him like a scent. Not rosemary and earth; now a bitter, coppery kind of shame. Her eyes started to prick over with tears as she reached for his free hand.

“Han?” Hannah looked over at Harry; he looked so worried, she winced. “Feeling better?”

“Yes. Thank you. And--thank you for asking Ginny to come, Harry,” Hannah said, her voice so much more fragile than she was used to--which made her somehow more scared. “Getting George and Ang to watch Teddy so she…I… thank you.”

“Yeah? I hoped…anyway, she helped?”

“Helping is too small of a word.” She held tighter to Neville. “It was like back in that year, when she was overseeing one of our missions, how she’d…she knows how to explain things in a way that make you go, Okay yeah, I can do that. She gave me her strength.”

“You know…I’d really give anything to have watched Gin that year--the way you all talk about her, her and Nev…Han. I--” Suddenly, he seemed to glitch, trying to say something but unable to, his mouth opening and closing in a terrible cycle. She gulped in a teary breath and hurried up to hold him, giving him a hard hug that he returned with a crushing tightness. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, his words muffled against her hair. 

“It’s not your fault they did this.”

“No, I mean--I’m sorry for what we’re having to do to protect you. What we need to do, what we’re asking you to give up…people did a lot of stuff to me in the name of ‘keeping me safe,’ and it didn’t matter if it was the smartest thing, didn’t matter if I understood or even agreed, it sucked. This all just sucks. I hate doing this to anyone--but especially to my people. At least Ginny was at Hogwarts during the six months of them coming for her, she didn’t have to change her life, except for nixing Hogsmeade.”

“It’s okay. Really. I mean--it sucks, so much, I was just thinking that, but…I mean. It’s what it is. Harry…I came in with my eyes open about what it meant to be with an auror. To be a part of this all, to support you and our cause. I can’t whinge about it now. Not when so many people are working so hard just for me, to keep me safe.” Brushing back tears, Hannah looked back at Neville, staring deep into the green glen of his miserable eyes. “It had to be him, so it has to be like this. That’s all there is.” 

“Oh, Hannah Leigh...” He opened his arms, urging her to return to him, and kissed her before his head slumped against hers.

“Okay.” Harry puffed out his cheeks with an exhale and thumped back down in his seat. He leaned forward, staring directly at Neville. “Nev…you’re feeling so guilty right now, I don’t think you can stand up.”

Neville was quiet for a moment; his thumb was twisting Hannah’s engagement ring from side to side. He stared at the three diamonds nestled in the gold flowers, how they twinkled in the light. When his Gran had sniffed that he was committed to his theme, she didn’t even know how true it was: Neville hadn’t just given her a promise of forever in flowers but also in these tiny stones that sparkled like stars, a constellation and a garden all at once.

“This is the second time, Harry. They tried to kill Gran, and now it’s Hannah. I just…”

Harry glanced at Neville, eyes squinting as he took in his friend’s grayed face. “Do you remember what you told me after we discovered the Hogsmeade plot. About Ginny.”

Neville frowned. “Not exactly--no.”

Hand floating up to his forehead, Harry seemed to play with a bit of his bangs but really, Hannah could see him touch his scar, just a slight skim over his skin. “I was struggling over--how people all the time get hurt because of me. Often for me, which…yeah. Anyway. I was having a hard time, and you said: This is what they do, Harry. They turn our love into a deadly weapon against us. They try to shame us and scare us to not love and not care, when really it’s our most powerful weapon. So…instead of feeling guilty about my love for Gin making this giant target on her…I need to put that into loving her more because that makes me strong: she makes me strong.”

Neville’s face flushed, and his head ducked. “I said that?”

“Yeah. ” Harry’s grin was crooked. “You said you learned it from me, from what I said when I faced Riddle down, but--I think you give me too much credit. You do that a lot, Nev, it’s like your favorite hobby next to plants and dorking out over Muggle sci-fi,” he added with an eye roll. “At any rate, you said that and then you said that there are a lot of people who love me and love her and as I work to keep her safe, I’m not alone. And that started with you. That you’d never stop until she was safe and I was okay.” He let out a ghost of a laugh. “In fact, I think you said something like ‘sod Ron, they have to get through me first.’”

Hannah giggled, leaning into Neville as his blush deepened. “I think Ron’d fight you to be first.”

“Yeah, the two of them would probably come to blows over who loves me and Gin more and leave the Death Eaters with a wide open path while they wrestled.”

“But unlike Ron, I can say the word ‘love’ without getting awkward about it so I’d win,” Neville said, grinning slightly as he kept playing with Hannah’s ring. His head was still down, but his eyes traveled up to Harry. “I do remember saying that. That everyone who loves you is fighting beside you. And that I’d--yeah. Yeah.”

He nodded. “Yeah. So. My turn now, mate. It’s my turn for you.” Neville’s mouth opened, and he looked as if a sob were about to escape. Instead, he got up and lurched across the room the way Hannah just had. When Neville went to hug Harry, it wasn’t in that boy way, with clasped hands and those halfway kinds of holds; no, their arms were fully around each other, hands gripping hard. It felt more like a reminder, a vow, than a hug. 

Finally, Harry drew back, adjusting his glasses. “What do we say when they come for us?”

Neville smiled slightly. “What do we say or what do I say.”

Harry grinned, giving Neville’s shoulder a squeeze. “Get to work.”

Neville’s smile grew. “Game on.”

"Feeling steadier?"

"Much. Thanks, teach." He paused. "I'm sorry, by the way. That it's taking me so long. To--be ready to talk more. About him. I know you--"

"Nev? We'll get to it when it's right," Harry said, glancing at Hannah who gave him a brilliant smile in thanks. "And right now is absolutely not that time, mate, even I can tell that."

With an exhale of relief, Neville nodded. "Cheers."

Harry was nodding as he stepped away. “I think it’s time to get a pinch of sleep.”

“Harry?” Neville hesitated. “That thing you still have to tell me…would--” He paused and then waved his hand, erasing the air. “Nevermind.”

“What?”

“Nevermind. I’m exhausted, forget I brought it up. That’s for another day.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Harry peering at her, as if she’d have some insight, but Hannah was just as lost as Harry was, staring at Neville in confusion, but he shrugged, stealing a look at her that screamed we'll talk later, reaching for her hand. “I need some sleep for sure.”

With a final long, suspicious look, Harry exhaled and started out of the room. “I wonder if your aunt is chewing out Hestia and Kingsley again. She’s--got opinions.”

“I think she’s channeling how scared she is into--well. Shouting,” Hannah sighed, rubbing Neville’s hand.

“Yeah, like at Nev,” Harry snorted before calling out to Kingsley and Hestia to meet them. “I was standing a whole foot away, and I could hear her perfectly.

“It was like a Howler, but right in my ear,” Neville said glumly. “She has a really colorful vocabulary, too.”

“I’m still not sure what an ‘asshat’ is, though,” Harry said, and Kingsley wrestled with his face to keep back a laugh, making Neville blush and rub at his eyes as they started up the stairs.

“Just be grateful Annemarie isn’t alive, she’d put her sister to shame. Michael only wishes he were as cutting as Annemarie could be.” Kingsley’s mouth tugged up a bit as he started up the stairs. “After your father died, she called me…what was it, ‘a hack constable hiding my investigative mediocrity behind a flashy wand and an exaggerated baritone’ and that instead of a soul, I had a Saville Row suit and an aloofness that I desperately try to pass off as depth.”

Harry’s jaw dropped slightly. “Damn.”

Hannah had her hand pressed against her mouth. “No --”

“She was holding you during the whole thing, too, that’s what made it so memorable, her chewing me out in the middle of the M.L.E., holding a sleeping baby. You don’t want to know what she said at Thomas’ funeral,” he said with a slight chuckle. 

“How can you laugh at that, she was so cruel,” Hannah said, staring at him in disbelief, feeling something inside of her curdle at the memory of her mother throwing those verbal knives at everyone, not stopping until she knew she had left wounds. Suddenly, all she could feel were her own scars, and she felt sick to her stomach again, holding a bit tighter to Neville. 

“No worse than Severus,” Hestia noted with a slight snort, catching up and handing Hannah a new bottle, and Hannah caught Harry’s quick glance towards Neville. Neville immediately looking back down at his feet.

“We were in the middle of a war, Hannah; every day was a nightmare. Annemarie’s in-person howler while holding a sleeping infant was pretty much the most ridiculous thing I had experienced in weeks, I laughed about it with Sturgis and Frank for ages.”

“Frank?” Neville repeated, his head lifting back up, and when Kingsley nodded and smiled, Neville had a momentary look of longing pass over his face as they reached the second floor.

“Alright, we’ll leave you to get up to the third floor on your own. Harry, Ginny’s in the middle bedroom. Hannah, we’ll put you and Neville in the back room for now--it’s smaller but it overlooks the garden. However, you two can pick which one you want to settle in for your longer stay. We'll have breakfast ready when you all get up.” Hestia took Hannah’s hands in hers. “You’re quite sure you don’t want to go to Louise’s, at least for the week?”

“No.” Hannah bobbed her head. “I’m staying. I’m not leaving Nev--and I’m not letting them win on this one, chasing me away from him, from my friends. Everything else...I can let go of, but not him and not them.”

“Good. That’s what I told her just now.”

Neville was staring ahead at an oil painting of Hogwarts. “That’s by Dean. That’s--that looks just like the one he painted for Grimmauld.”

Kingsley glanced at it. “Oh. Yes, I went over to Grimmauld for…I can’t remember what, but I saw it and must have been so effusive that Dean painted me this for Christmas. Brilliant, isn’t it? Though he’s been using watercolors a lot more over the past year and a half, I think he prefers that medium more than oil.”

Neville was staring at it intently before spinning around with an almost invisible aura of new energy radiating off of him. He grabbed Hannah’s hands, his eyes wide as dinner plates as he looked at her, before saying to Harry, “Do you remember the night Dean came up with the idea for the Hogwarts painting at Grimmauld? Painting over the portrait of that old hag?”

Harry let out a laugh. “How could I forget, that’s the night you nearly burned the house down!”

“Excuse me, what?” Hestia said while Neville’s face ignited in a wild crimson color. 

Neville waved a bit, pushing the story aside. “Just another one of my patented Epic Flops. But that’s not the point--it’s that Dean said we were so focused on magical ways to take down the painting, we didn’t see this super simple--and Muggle --solution that was staring us right in the face. It’s like coming up with ways for Hannah to take exams while managing her anxiety: just because we haven’t thought of a different way doesn’t mean we can’t create it. Right?”

“Nev, I say this with love since you know how much she means to me, but…you’re kind of starting to sound like Luna.”

“God, I wish Luna were here, she’d get it!”

Kingsley rubbed at his eyes. “Neville, I told you when we decided that Hannah shouldn’t take the O.W.L. exam in May that I will work with my Education team and find one of those solutions for her, I--”

“Sir, no, what I’m saying is you don’t need to find one. We already have one.” He pointed at Hannah. “She already took her O.W.L. exam. The theoretical exam on Thursday night, the practical on Friday.”

“Nevvie--it was a practice exam.”

“Except it wasn’t. It was more than a practice. We used exam conditions: it was timed, the booklets had all of the anti-cheating charms and hexes, all of it. Hermione and Susan wrote the exam using past exam questions that were only lightly edited, if at all, and each exam was reviewed and approved by McGonagall.”

“She did that?” Hannah asked, curling back in surprise.

“Yeah. She offered when they contacted her for the past exams. She wanted to ensure that they were being clear-eyed, since they’re so close to you. You know, neither too generous nor too challenging,” Harry said, and Hannah felt her face flush as gratitude to her old professor rushed in. “Honestly, though, she’s also a giant swot so just like the Ravenclaws and their… whatever exam battle Royale they are doing, this is Minerva’s idea of a good time, curating an exam.”

“So it’s literally O.W.L. standard questions,” Neville summed up. “And then? You had the theoretical and practical exams proctored by an Associate Justice for the Wizengamot Court; the lead practical examiner was a junior legislator for the Wizengamot assembly. Also known as the Hermione Granger--but Hermione was a little worried about bias so she brought in two other people to grade: Morag Macdougal who is basically as good at Transfigurations as Susan and Hermione…and then Hermione went so far as to get someone who actually is a proctor for the qualifying exams, though he did Runes and Arithmancy not Transfigurations--”

Kingsley’s eyebrows went up. “Percy Weasley?”

“Yeah. He had a really intimidating expression the whole time. Especially when I started to hum songs to remember my movements,” Hannah said, her face heating up.

“I love your spell songs, he should be lucky he got to hear them,” Neville told her, lifting up one of her hands and kissing her knuckles, and she beamed at him. He tucked her hand against his heart as he continued, “So. It’s O.W.L. standard questions, proctored to ensure academic honesty, a Ministry-approved examiner…and while Susan and ‘Mione had a third person who is, er, was also a Ministry-approved examiner with zero knowledge of whose exam he was reading since he read Hannah’s and Terry and Anthony’s, too? If whomever makes the call on whether the exam counts or not says no to that examiner’s grade? Hermione has it, she can give it to whomever at the Ministry would need to grade it to make it real.”

Hannah frowned. “Who?”

“‘Mione went up to Hogwarts,” Harry said. And as in her head, she was predicting him to say Professor Flitwick or perhaps Kirk Proudfoot and not, “To have Headmaster Dumbledore’s portrait be the grader.”

Hannah gaped at Harry and Neville. “The Headmaster?”

Hestia’s mouth opened, too. “That’s actually quite clever…the portrait has all of his memories and knowledge…and he is maybe the best Transfigurations talent in the country from the last century.”

“But if, you know, ‘portrait of a dead man’ is a little too…” Neville hesitated.

“Out there?” Hannah offered gingerly.

“Lovegood-esque?” Kingsley suggested in a dry tone.

Neville dipped his head back and forth in a chagrined agreement. “If it is, that’s fine--again, just give the exam to an approved living human to grade. Hermione's had it under lock and key this whole time.”

“Sir?” Hannah could feel Neville’s heart pounding against the back of her hand; the beat of it echoed into her own blood. He was fighting for her--fight for yourself, too. So much had been lost tonight--her wedding plans, her exam plans, her safety ; this was her moment to take a bit of it back. 

In a slightly nervous rush, she said, “I’ve studied the rules around O.W.L. exams, for my Task Force report on accommodations and helping measures for exam takers. There’s nothing that stops me from getting the kind of measures I need, like music or being in a private room, all of that, the only rules are: Exam questions approved by the Ministry to ensure they meet the appropriate academic level; Ministry-certified graders; and the final result needs to be reviewed and approved by the Department for Education. That’s it.”

Hestia gazed at Hannah. “You aren’t sure if you passed, though. You told me that on Friday.”

“I’m not.” She took a breath in, holding it as she surfed over the memories of the two-part exam. “I think…I got an E on the theory, or at least a high A. But I think an E. The practical…I got kind of nervous--I mean, Percy has a really superior look that he can pull out that is totally unnerving! And Morag is hard to read on a good day, so--I tightened up a few times from nerves, I know I lost a lot of points each time I reversed the objects or animals back. Whether that is E worthy…I don’t know. But I could have failed in May, too. I could fail…and then I’ll take it again,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “I’ll work harder, I’ll do it again until I get it. Because it’s not just about my O.W.L., it’s also about managing my anxiety, right? And I know I’m getting better there, I am each time I try again. I'm learning myself,” she said, squeezing Neville's hand.

As she inhaled, she realized she was breathing in unison with Neville. In, out. And he was doing the holding, pressing her hand closer to his chest. Watching him, she said, “I can’t ask all of you to do everything you are to keep me safe, to keep me alive, if I’m too scared to be less than perfect. I know that’s in me--that urge. To let things crush me and get so overwhelmed by how I feel that I just-- can’t. I lost a whole year of my life because of that.” Neville’s eyes were so bright, they reminded her less of spring than of the sky. Of the stars: the North Star in the shape of a sweet-hearted boy. 

An old memory floated to her: “Just because a flower blossoms later than we might want it to, than maybe it wants to, doesn’t mean it’s ‘late.’ Or that it’s bad or…less.”

Neville reached out, tucking pieces of her hair back behind her ears, those lovely eyes of his gathering a well of tears as he beamed at her. “That’s what makes it so special, when its time arrives. The time it is able to bloom.”

“And there are so many seasons more,” Hannah added, as Neville came in and kissed her.

Hannah was dimly aware of the sound of a smack--Hestia, the back of her hand against the front of Kingsley’s chest. “Look at them! I can’t believe you had to cancel their wedding!”

“You’re funny.” From down the hallway, a baby’s cry erupted, racing down towards his parents. “You got him?”

“I do.” Hestia kissed Hannah’s cheek and then squeezed Neville’s arm; she gave Harry a wink. “Get some rest.”

“Yes, let’s get some rest. And…in the morning, let’s get all of the exam paperwork and what have you together for me so on Monday, I can bring Hannah’s perhaps-not-a-practice-O.W.L. to Zeke Tofty to see if he’d be willing to certify it--and if necessary, grade the theoretical exam if, like you said, he’d prefer the examiner to be alive.”

“Honestly?” Harry shrugged. “I’ve done much wilder stuff than this. This is nothing. On a scale of one to ‘escape on the back of a bank’s secret dragon,' this is like…a two. Two and a half.”

“I dunno, Harry, I kinda feel like ‘sneak out of Hogwarts via thestral to break into the Ministry in the middle of the night’ is the ten," Neville squinted.

“No, wait, no, I think ‘using a Time Turner to face down my professor-werewolf and save my dog-godfather and a hippogryff’--”

Kingsley began to walk away. “Goodnight.”

Hannah waited for him to close his bedroom door before glancing between Harry and Neville, these two sides of the same heart. Though--Harry was the Chosen One for the world, but she couldn’t, for a second, no matter how similar they were, imagine choosing anyone but the one who had her in his arms, running his hand down her braids. 

“Do you think it’ll work?” Hannah asked.

“I dunno, Hannah Leigh, but if it doesn’t, we’ll keep at it, keep doing the work.” He rested his forehead against hers. “Dawn’s due to break at any minute: it’ll be a brand new day.”

She kissed him. “Perfect time to begin again.”

Chapter Text

July 30, 1999: Trying to catch your heart is like trying to catch a star

The four Hufflepuff D.A. members entered the foyer of Grimmauld Place, shaking their umbrellas and pulling off raincoats beside a large painting of Hogwarts that was framed by velvet curtains, Dean's initials in the bottom right corner. “Do you think we’re the last ones here?” Justin winced, taking Susan’s trench coat. “I do hate being late.”

“Poor Nev, he’s likely in the fetal position if we are,” Ernie sighed. 

“Wait, are the Hufflepuff Four finally here?” someone shouted from upstairs. 

“Sorry, yes, sorry sorry, just as my shift ended, there was a fight between these Magpie and Bats fans over the upcoming player signings, then the bread oven up and died—“

Harry stormed into the hallway to them--to Hannah, his finger rigid as he pointed it at her. “Okay, explain.” Before she could even speak, he threw up his hands. “Nev’s gone round the bloody bend with anxiety, he even rushed out of work this afternoon saying he had to ‘see about a field,’ which is one of the most mysterious things I’ve heard out of him, and this includes when the man’s told me that the sword of Gryffindor has opinions, and like--” Harry goggled at them. “What the bloody fuck, right? So. You’ve made him go hide in a wheat field or something. Explain why the plan is off.”

“Are we demanding explanations from Hannah?” Ginny rushed up from the kitchen, hurtling at them like a quaffle to the hoop. “Good! Because what the bloody fuck!”

“They are a match made in heaven,” Justin murmured to Susan, who nodded sagely.

“I find it difficult to comprehend that you wouldn’t have full faith in our Hannah,” Ernie declared, taking her raincoat and giving the two Gryffindors a superior look.

“I assure you: I don’t. Tell me more about how it took you until the end of July to accept that Neville is utterly mental for you and you’re up for it,” Harry told her flatly.

“Wait, wait! Are we asking Hannah to explain what the fuck?” Seamus bellowed eagerly, his voice coming down the stairs along with the loud chorus of a pop song, something American in a five-part harmony. 

“Get her up here, we demand satisfaction!” Padma yelled. “Parvati and I were so excited to Parent Trap!”

“How was Lee okay with this plan?” Hannah frowned, calling up the stairs as she leaned on the bannister. 

“It was like going to a pantomime, watching her in action. Parv’s a star,” Lee shouted back. “Besides, there wasn’t going to be any snogging.”

“Ug, no. Been there, done that, upgraded.” 

“Aww, babe…”

“Hufflepuffs!” She winced as Angelina and Alicia appeared at the upstairs railing, the former yelling, “What did you get Neville for his birthday?”

“Don’t say gardening gloves,” Alicia said, “since he’s already getting six pairs, we all just realized.”

“Six? Where’s your creativity, lads!” Ernie huffed. 

Susan shot Harry a suspicious look, and he reared back, offended. She called up, “Um, no, Justin and I got him a telescope for city star gazing, and from Ernie some new Star Trek novels.” She glanced at Hannah who immediately ducked her head, blushing. “Hannah’s gift is a surprise, but it’s not bloody gardening gloves. Honestly.”

Alicia let out a relieved exhale before pointing down. “Hey! Hannah! What the sodding fuck is going on with cancelling the plan! Nev started sweating so much at work, I thought he was about to have a stroke!”

“I think I need a drink before anything,” Hannah said, rubbing at her forehead. 

“We’ll meet you upstairs. So you can explain yourself,” Harry said, giving her another glare before heading up with Ginny. “‘Seeing about a field’…”

Ernie wagged his finger at Hannah. “There are no schnapps bottles in this house, young lady, and you need to stick to cider at a measured pace. You can’t be too intoxicated or Nev will feel uncomfortable kissing you, as if he is taking advantage, which I find to be quite a gentlemanly position.”

“It shouldn’t take a chap being a gentleman to feel that way,” Susan said, rolling her eyes and Justin touched his nose and then pointed back at Susan in affirmation. “I’m gonna find Hermione.”

“I’ll come with you to get a cider,” Luna said, appearing at Hannah’s side, sliding into her for a hug. “Hello, Hannah. Unlike the others, I’m very relieved to hear that the plan is now simply: Hannah.”

“Have you been a part of this all along, too?” 

“No. Harry and Ron were concerned I’d have difficulty keeping a secret. They are likely right. When Ginny finally told me, it was very hard not to owl you myself and ask you to please consider dating Neville, as he is utterly lovely and quite besotted with you.”

“And would that have worked, Hannah?” Justin prompted, pausing on his way upstairs.

Hannah winced harder and slowly shook her head. “I’d have said…he deserves somebody better. I know, I know, I’m sorry, I’m really frustrating.”

Luna looped her arm in with Hannah. “As am I. And I am never sorry. Let’s go get something to drink and then you can explain to everyone why your thinking has changed. It’s been quite the topic of conversation all day. That, and what Neville’s field is all about. I hope it’s a field of dirigible plums, the gains to Neville’s imagination would be boundless. And he’d have such a harvest to share with us all! Hermione would certainly benefit from a steady diet that includes them--plus, they are delicious.”

“And good jewelry.”

“Quite.” She looped her arm in with Hannah’s as they headed into the dining room, the table heavy with bottles of liquor and two enormous buckets filled with bottles of cider and ale. “I will say, this all has made me think about what I would like out of my first experience with love.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmm.” She bobbed her head. “Harry and Ginny, Ron and Hermione--and imminently, Neville and you--have all had romances born out of close friendships. Do you think that’s the best way to cultivate love?”

“I don’t think anyone could see Parv and Lee and not think that love can bloom in an instant, with anyone. Do you want to date a friend?”

“Not particularly. I’d hate to think the world is so small, the only opportunities I have for love lie in the people up in the drawing room or perhaps their circle of friends,” Luna said, gesturing up at the ceiling. “I want to spend the rest of my life showing how big everything is, how much more there is than what we’ve been told or know. It would be a bit disappointing, if after everything I have planned as an adventure naturalist--or naturalist adventurer, I’m not sure which yet--I just end up with…Terry Boot. Or Theo Nott. Or--”

“Neville?”

Luna turned the full force of her wide eyes on Hannah. “Even more so. That kind of ‘I’m off to see the world, but the world was you all along’ romances are ones I find incompatible with my own spirit.”

Hannah squirmed a bit as she pulled a bottle of Strongbow from a bucket. “I…was kind of like that, coming back after my big trip, still wanting Nev.”

“But that is aligned with your spirit. You are the person who insisted that the entire D.A. exchange hugs before the Battle; your friends are your world.” Luna bobbed her head as she grabbed a butterbeer, popping the top off and transfiguring it into a straw. “Besides. Neville fills your heart and soul, that wasn’t going to change no matter where you went. For me, friends are everything to me, this…wonderful golden chain that I can wear close to my heart, all of them linked and linked with me, no matter where I go. But Hannah, I want to go, I want to be awed with the wonder of the world and drink from the marrow of its possibilities. That’s me. All of us are different--” Luna smiled, her teeth bright like pearls. “--and we do not apologize for our existence, do we, Hannah?”

“No. We don’t. Dean.” The two of them giggled, and Luna patted her arm as they left the room, Dean perking up as he was halfway down the stairs. 

“I heard my name. Am I needed?” 

“Always,” Luna smiled. She patted Hannah’s arm a second time. “I was just reassuring Hannah that I have absolutely no romantic interest in Neville. He’s quite like how Ernie is to her, and always has been. Plus he’s too rigid about his plant lore, he just refuses to see beyond what the textbooks tell him to believe. I’ve always found that to be quite a disappointment in Neville, his lack of seeing beyond.” She sighed. “Also, I don’t like tall men. When he started his growth spurt in his sixth year, I lamented losing another one to that dreaded beast, height. Tall men are deeply unattractive.”

Dean did a double take. “Wait-- what?”

“You and Ron in particular, but Harry and Nev and Michael are also far too tall,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I find excessive height suspicious.” As Dean stared at Luna in disbelief, she continued, “It’s why I cheated the night we did the D.A. Spin the Bottle game to ensure I could kiss Seamus. He is still too tall--”

“He’s five-eight, Luna. In boots.”

“--but much more attractive in his stature than the other options. Ernie and Terry are the ideal handsome height, but Morag has been sweet on Ernie since they were children so I couldn’t kiss him, it would be unkind. And I couldn’t kiss Terry because he is Terry.”

Dean shook his head. “Well. That I agree with, at least.” He gave Hannah a poke. “Sooo…I gotta grab some drinks, so don’t start explaining w-t-f is going on until I’m up there, too.”

“Why do I feel like I’m heading into a firing squad,” Hannah mumbled, starting up the stairs. 

“Mmm, more like the Spanish Inquisition. Vaya con dios,” Dean called out. 

“That sounded ominous,” Luna said cheerfully.

“It was.” Hannah took in a deep breath as she reached the first floor, turning towards the drawing room and the few dozen people therein.

Ginny jumped to her feet. “I believe we had just paused our conversation at ‘what the bloody fuck,’ yeah?”

Hannah opened her mouth, moving it silently for a moment before she finally found her words to say, “I…” Twisting her hands around her pint glass, her mind went blank. What am I doing. How did I think I could do this. Hannah, say something! She found Susan, Ernie, and Justin and took a deep breath, then glanced at the other Hufflepuffs, sighing that breath out as they gave her smiles and encouraging nods: the ones who had demurred from joining the “swotty” D.A. but had given their hearts in support all year--her yearmates Nina and Frannie and Hassan--as well as the Muggleborn of-agers who had fled with Justin to Beauxbatons but returned for the Battle, Megan and Ananda and Colin. 

Dean appeared behind her, brushing her upper back with his hand and whispering you got this in her ear before weaving through the crowd to hand bottles to Seamus and Su Li, both giving her encouraging smiles. Seamus had the same mischievous look in his eyes that he got every time in April where he’d run his mouth off, drawing the Carrows fury, Neville’s self-appointed deputy “shit-stirrer” (a title that always made Hannah giggle, even though it simultaneously made her stomach clench in worry). For some reason, she even sought out Michael, and he made an impatient rolling motion with his hand, though his eyes were surprisingly kind. 

She had left her hair long that night, and she paused to tuck thick chunks of it back behind her ears. Hannah took a gulp of cider and then started again: “Well…so--so--you all made these plans thinking…thinking that he’d be clumsy and I’d sabotage it. I don’t know if he’ll be clumsy. Maybe, I dunno, he gets self-conscious when he's being watched and feels pressure, but...but--I know I’m not going to sabotage it.” She stuffed a deep breath into her body, feeling her whole self solidify from her head to her heels. “He loves me, and I love him, and I’m not going to let another day go by without him.” She hesitated. “That’s--that’s all. I--I hope that’s enough...”

While several of the girls let out sighed coos, a number of boys giving her approving nods, Tracey smiled from the window seat where she and Theo and Daphne were sitting with Padma and Terry. “That’s very sweet. But. Don’t say ‘love.’ Not anytime soon. Bad strategy,” she said. Theo nodded, making a slicing motion at his throat.

“Tracey’s right, you need to wait for a good while to say it. Hermione and I talked about this, and she flat-out told Nev, too: the transition from loving someone as a friend to loving them as a boyfriend-girlfriend thing, you gotta, right, kinda feel it. Like when you’re chasing a snitch, you gotta be patient then it’s got a lot of gut-feel to it, you know?” Ginny said.

Hannah blinked. “Um.”

“Did you just use a Quidditch analogy with Hannah?” Hermione said, the delighted and slightly sappy expression on her face dissolving as she frowned. “No, Han, falling in love…is like going to the library--”

“Oh, no,” Ron said, shaking his head rapidly. “Honey, no--”

“My matchmaker back in Jinshan says that love is like a cash register,” Su Li said, looking a little glum but matter-of-fact, Dean’s face twitching as he glanced at Seamus.

“Oh, Li-li, that’s--really depressing,” Susan said with a grimace. “I don’t even know what that means, and I’m bummed out.”

“Love is a cluster of wrackspurts,” Luna said to Harry, and his face spasmed as he managed to not laugh, though Ron and Seamus weren’t as successful. 

“You all are overthinking this, love doesn’t require an analogy, it’s just--you know, whatever, the stuff around sex,” Terry declared.

“Ew,” Morag said, wrinkling her nose, and Ernie nodded fervently at her.

“Ah yes, that’s what I was waiting for: Terry Fucking Boot to tell us all about love,” Alicia laughed.

“Listen, sweetcheeks--”

“Whoa,” Angelina barked, aiming her wand at him, George and Katie and a furious Leanne jumping to their feet.

Megan looked at Nina and Hassan, rolling her eyes. “It’s like, now that they aren’t saving the school, they all don’t know what to do with their extra energy, so they channel it into banter.”

“And because they don’t know how to express their affection for each other in a heartfelt way, they also channel it into banter,” Nina sighed. 

Daphne looked at her in suspicion. “Are you going to propose we have a sing-a-long instead?”

Ernie scoffed, turning to her. “You underestimate the value of singing a perpetual canon composition to build camaraderie!”

“Love is a cluster of wrackspurts--”

As the noise got louder, Hannah tucked in on herself, took in a breath, and clasped her hands. Standing here in front of everyone, it gave her an odd flashback, to being in this exact pose on a Saturday in March, last year, standing on the dais of the Hogwarts Great Hall in the center of a small circle that Snape had drawn with his wand. The circle’s width didn’t give any room for stretching, merely shifting, moving weight around the pressure points of the feet, rolling shoulders and neck, the same small movements a server could do while standing and taking an order without a customer noticing that their waitress was exhausted. Ready and wanting to drop to the ground--but no, no, still hours to go before she could clock out. 

It’s why, as Anthony stood in a similar circle in front of the Slytherin table, Ernie Hufflepuff, and Padma and her ski accident-damaged and unsteady knee centered in front of Ravenclaw, Hannah stared down the Gryffindor table and knew: She had this. She would be fine. Just another day at the Leaky.

Even when Padma was the first to move and hit the invisible boundary that seared the skin and left her gasping in pain, leaving Hannah suddenly disoriented as she stared at the unseen ward around her and felt fear shredding at her ability to keep her balance, she swore to herself: she had this. She could do this. Even if she hit that boundary here and there if she shifted a bit too much, if she just had to stretch or squat for a moment or two, she could do this. For the full five hours that Snape had assigned. For as long as it would take. What they had done as prefects was right and good, and this punishment was literally standing up for what was right. She could do this. 

A kind of calm overtook her and her eyes scanned over the long row of her friends’ fearful faces at the table ahead of her: the new younger D.A. members, Jimmy and Ritchie and Demelza and Cricket, and her beloved yearmates, current--Ginny--and old--Lavender and Parvati and Seamus and Neville. Neville looked so sick to his stomach; she gave him a long and lovely smile, whispering, I got this, before closing her eyes and beginning to hum to herself. A song of her father’s that her mother used to put on the stereo as a lullaby, the one with the lyric that promised: Beyond the next horizon, the sun is almost rising... 

So soothing; her mind drifted. She wasn’t afraid. 

I got this.

And when Padma’s weak knee finally buckled after less than an hour, sending her fully to the floor and burning every bit of her legs and arms that had gone akimbo and landed outside of the circle, it took Hannah too long to come back from the safe place she had traveled to in her mind, heading for that sunrise, too slow to react. As Anthony shouted for Snape to make it stop, goddamn it, what’s wrong with you, Hannah hadn’t come to her senses and out of her songs enough to even open her mouth before Ernie was blurting out his yelled plea to a stone-faced Snape, who was gliding up to the platform as the spell pummeled Padma’s body, “I’ll take the rest of her time! I’ll do it!” A pledge that made Snape hesitate, frowning for a second in a resemblance of dismay, before freeing Padma. A pledge that ended seven hours later with Ernie collapsed on the platform, the circle’s sear burning so deep into his body that it singed the very marrow of his bones in the time it took McGonagall to find Snape and end it all. Or--at least this punishment; at least that night.

This night, in a room full of noise and life and stupid teenage bickering, in a house that had once been defined by misery and stillness, Hannah stood again, disappearing into herself and waiting in her own strength until Neville returned. 

Nev: Funny, now that she thought of it, the moment her punishment time expired and Hannah stepped off the Hall platform--while Anthony was being carried off by a group of his mates, his legs riddled with cramps--when she finally tore her eyes away from her boyfriend, the first person she saw was Neville, already on his feet, having immediately stood in solidarity with Ernie for those additional four hours, his round face red with fury and worry. His face, fixed on her. She was walking directly forward, walking to him--his hands were reaching out to her--

“Hannah Leigh?” 

She startled, gasping slightly, hands breaking apart as her head whipped to the side where Neville was slipping in beside her, his hair wet from the rain. The sleeves on his dark blue, floral-print Oxford were rolled up to his elbows, and there was an even stronger scent of earth than usual on his skin; she had to fight to look back up at his face. 

“Is there a reason why you’re standing at the front of the room but nobody seems to see you?”

“Except you. You see me.” She studied his face, the wonderful rose of his blushing cheeks and the bright shine of his light eyes. “And I see you.” She reached out to take his hand.

He stared at her, reaching up to tuck back a piece of hair behind her ear, his fingers combing all the way down to the ends; since her hair was braided so often, it was a new feeling, and she felt the echo of his touch rattling all the way through her nerves. “You’re all I can see.” 

Her face ignited, and she swallowed hard. “Well, that’s not true--you also had to ‘see about a field.’ What’s that about?” 

He had been opening his mouth, clearly to say something else, and he had to give himself a shake. “Oh. It’s just so I can do some--you know. Larger-scale gardens. Plantings. Ten whole acres.”

“That’s a good birthday present for yourself.”

“Yeah… Listen--” He sighed, wincing. “I’m so sorry for last night, I get if you’re mad at me, I truly do--I know you told everybody that the plans are off, and ‘I got this’ doesn’t necessarily mean good, so if you don’t even want to be here, or-or-or you, you know, you’re wanting me to leave you alone like that, I mean--I get it, Hannah, but maybe, please, you can let me beg you for one more chance, just one more, I promise, this time, I won’t blow it, please, Hannie--m-my Hannah Leigh, I know I don’t deserve another chance, but I swear, I--”

His face was starting to turn scarlet with distress, and he was staring at her in a kind of desperation and desire; his free hand was balling up in a fist, and he flexed it twice, shaking it out as his voice trembled along with it, too. Justin said that Neville had begged him to send that letter at Christmas, and now she had an idea of what he had done to break down her best friend’s resolve. 

Best friend. Which sounded like deep breath. 

Best friend. Same amount of syllables as my love, too.

A brave kind of fire started to blaze in her belly, melting her blood into something almost too bold for her body to hold. Because his eyes were a match: she was incandescent in their gaze. Hannah stretched up on her toes and leaned her lips against his so lightly, barely more than a hint, a promise more than a kiss. She could feel him gasp in a surprised breath, clenching and then dropping her hand, and she felt herself grow dizzy as she waited for what he was going to do. He didn’t seem to move, and so she reluctantly let her heels drift back down to the floor, pulling them apart. 

“Han--” His voice choked off. He stood in place, looking exactly how he had after the Wizengamot hearing, dazed and bludgeoned. Then he sucked in a breath through his nose, followed by a whoosh of an exhale. Then another breath in and heavy breath out. So she waited for him to move through his shock, find his focus and his senses again. His pupils seemed to reduce in size and locate her in their center. 

In a kind of slow motion, his fingers reached out, brushing his backs against hers before threading them together. He lifted their hands up to his heart and gave her a smile that was weighted with relief and need, the way storm clouds were heavy before the release of rain. He was holding her hand the way he had when Seamus had been on the verge of showing her those pictures of her mother’s murder, the ones that had absolutely shattered her to pieces in their horror--and after each one, he had held her. Brought her to a place of peace.

This time--he was holding her hand, but he lifted it up and kissed her knuckles, squeezing to test that she was real, that this was real; she held back just as tight to test the same. 

“Yeah?” he said. “You’re sure--”

“Hey, Mr. Mystery Fie--oh, shit, we’re making eye contact. The plan says to ignore them!” Parvati squealed, and when Hannah’s head jerked over to find her friend, Parvati was swatting at Katie and Lee and George, trying to get them to look away.

“Plan’s off, I’m gawking as much as I want,” Seamus declared. “I thought--” He goggled, his eyes moving from how close they were to their hands pressed to Neville’s chest, the almost tangible waves of yearning radiating off the two. “Ohhhh.”

“Yeah, see? Get a clue, Shay,” Padma sniffed. “Turn away!”

“But I thought when Nev returned, we were gonna do the toasts, so we could finish the birthday part of the night and start the party part,” Terry said. “If they are just gonna stare at each other like awkward third years at the end-of-term House party, can’t they do it after we start drinking heavily?”

“As if you weren’t already drinking heavily,” Ginny snorted.

“Hey, I got a lot of war trauma to process, Cap, don’t judge me.”

“Nev?” Justin was pressing his lips together lightly, a knowing tilt to his eyes “Do you want to be alone with Hannah for a bit? We can wait on the toasts.”

“No.” Hannah breathed out, her thumb rubbing Neville’s. “I think--you should do toasts. Like Terry said, to--you know. Let the party grow.”

“Aww, they already kissed,” Susan said, beaming at them. 

“How did you know!” Neville gasped as Hannah squinted a bit, saying, “I don’t…think it exactly counts?”

He goggled at her. “It doesn’t count?”

“Jesus Christ, Neville, again?” Michael called out in disbelief. “Do we need to come over there and coach you on this, step by goddamn step?” He looked at Cho. “Did Lisa say he was this bad?”

“No, but Lisa’s very polite.”

“Yeah, she needs to get over that.”

Hannah waved at him in a shushing motion. “Stop it! I mean--no, it counts, it does! It just, you know, it was more like--like a preface not a full chapter,” Hannah said, giving Neville an encouraging smile as he looked in disbelieving befuddlement back at her. “It wasn’t not a kiss, but more it’s--a promise that there will be more. More--bigger kisses.” She gasped a bit, squeezing his hand. “It’s like how when the Enterprise goes into warp speed travel, it just disappears in a twinkle? But we usually only see the ship once it’s at the destination, versus following the travel? We just twinkled. Future travel is assumed.”

“Ohhh…I love how you describe things,” Neville sighed, melting into relief. “We twinkled. Like--the North Star.” Her eyes roaming his face, Hannah nodded and broke into a brilliant smile, the kind that you get when you realize that you’re almost home. 

He hesitated for just a second before bending down to meet her lips. It wasn’t tentative, that first real kiss, and it was so gentle, it was like stroking fingertips over antique silk, thrilling over how soft and perfect it was.

Hannah knew--she could see--the others in the room reacting, could almost imagine the mix of coos and comments and probably a cheer (probably by Ernie and probably something that would make her blush--her embarrassed blush--Neville knew she had different blushes), but there was only a buzzing in her ears where everyone’s voices should be. All she could hear was the slight click and pop of their lips as they pulled apart, the way he immediately breathed in and sighed out in delight, a tiny ghost of a giggle on his breath. 

“That one counted,” he beamed at her, resting his forehead against hers.

“It really did,” she grinned back. “Best friend.”

“Best friend.” His smile somehow grew wider as he whispered, “Girlfriend," almost shredding himself in delight as Hannah nodded, her own joy flooding her face.

Neville kissed her fingers again and then tugged her along to where Ginny and Harry were by the fireplace, the two of them speaking animatedly. Ginny let out a whoop, throwing her arms around Neville and giving him a monsterous hug as Susan--along with Justin and Ernie--rushed up to her, elated expressions on their faces, which Hannah returned with a little bounce on her toes, then letting them surround her. When she looked over, Neville was whispering something to Harry, causing Harry to burst into laughter as Neville grinned, looking proud and a bit sly; Harry turned and whispered into Ron’s ear, which made him crack up, and then all three were snickering at each other, looking a little jubilant and silly and so young, it made Hannah’s heart expand. 

Hermione caught her eye; the other girl’s face was shining as she beamed at Hannah, though she tried to put on an exasperated expression as she nodded towards the three laughing Gryffindors beside her, mouthing Boys are so dumb sometimes! But it didn’t meet her eyes. It didn’t have any weight at all, evaporating in the heat of Hermione’s happiness for Neville. For Hannah. She had never felt any real closeness with Hermione before, yet in an instant, she already could feel the shape of her life changing to make room for her boyfriend’s best friends. 

Ginny summoned a chair and then jumped on it so she was able to see the entirety of the mass of people in the room. “Alright! Well. Let’s get the birthday part of this done, as Terry said, so we can have the rager of 1999. But folks, please, we’re having this party here versus the Leaky because Nev didn’t want Hannah to have to clean up his party. That means that we who live here have to clean it up ourselves, thus you lot better use the actual bins we have put around the house for your bloody rubbish. I’m watching you all,” Ginny threatened, scanning the room with her wand. 

“She looks so much like my mum right now,” Hannah heard George mutter. 

“It’s kind of unnerving,” Ron agreed. “Brace yourselves for her to make you mop next.”

“I should , actually.” She took in a breath. “So! It’s our boys’ birthdays! It turns out that neither of them have had a proper, invite-your-friends type of birthday before, so here we are. Now, I know a lot of us were discussing making toasts, but Harry and Nev unequivocally informed us that they would rather have afternoon tea with the Carrows than receive compliments--Harry gets physically uncomfortable and Nev rapidly dies of embarrassment, so that’s off the table, mates. However! I did get them to agree to toasting each other . But first, I get to say something.”

Harry frowned up at her. “We didn’t agree to that.”

“Tough, I got the room on my side. Who’s your captain!” Ginny bellowed, and she shot Harry a smug smile as she received a roar and hands thrust in the air in return. 

“Great. She’s drunk on power.”

“Every sodding day since birth,” Ron sighed, George nodding, pointing at his brother.

Ginny let out a little cackle as she fished a piece of paper out of her jeans pocket. “Hem-hem.”

“Nice. Evil, but love a callback,” Dean snickered. 

“Thanks, I try.” Ginny took in a breath, pushing her long mane of hair behind her bare shoulders, Harry watching her every move in a way that made Hannah shiver. She was certain, if she looked at Neville, he’d be gazing at her the same way, and she wasn’t yet ready to be stared at like that, not without rushing from where she was standing with her three best friends to throw her arms around him and kiss and kiss and kiss. No preludes and no endings. She took in a breath. Her eyes slid over to him…

Oh, he was. And when she smiled back, his whole face unraveled in a naked kind of want, blossoming in shades of rose. 

Ginny snapped her fingers in front of Neville’s face. “Hey. Eyes up here, you can snugglebunny with her in like--four minutes, okay? Dig deep, man.” She tossed the other half of her hair back and then glanced at her parchment. “I went through, like, fifty drafts of this. The funny thing is, about forty-nine of them, in what I’d write about Harry and Neville, it came out pretty similar in describing them both. I mean, obviously, their personalities are different. But their cores are so alike: these two lads who will do pretty much anything for others, who feel an utter obligation to protect , who never stop fighting for what’s good and just, these incredible moral compasses for what is right and wrong, legendary bravery and courage--the truest Gryffindors Hogwarts has likely known since two dudes named Godric and Albus, let alone our Madame ‘Nervy McG. And I’m very, very lucky to say I love them both, deeply.”

“Oh, Ginny,” Neville sighed, his eyes glossing with tears.

“Dry up, Longbottom, damn,” Harry scoffed, his soft eyes not leaving Ginny.

“Shut up, Haz, I’m not done. So it was in realizing that they are so similar, I was like, Oh, that’s it. These mates are just opposite sides of the same coin, right? And that’s so true of how they are with all of us. There’s a reason why basically everybody wanted to toast you two, and it’s because of how much you both mean to us.” She turned slightly to her right. “Neville, everyone in this room is here because of you. Don’t argue, I can see your shoulders slumping, knock it off-- yes , others might have recruited most of the folks in the room, but we’re here because of you. All I wanted to do that year was fight back, I was mad for it, and I know I was kind of relentless, yet you lot were always at our backs, ready to go, too.”

“Damn right, Gin,” Seamus said, but he raised his drink up, Demelza and Jimmy and Ritchie and Cricket following him, with Dennis looking determined as he nodded fervently. 

“But none of us could have kept fighting if my co-captain wasn’t doing his level best to protect our bodies and our souls the way Nev did. And that absolutely includes protecting me,” she said. Her eyes only barely fluttered to him, gaze so carefully veiled that only Neville seemed to see beyond it, their hands meeting in a momentary squeeze before she barreled on, “And in April, everything could have fallen apart after I disappeared and then what happened to Michael, but Nev just put you all on his back and kept going. And we can never, never say enough that the reason there are four houses represented in this room is because of you , because you said: In the greenhouse, everybody gets along. Then again, everybody gets along with you --we just adore you to bits, partner.” 

“We love you, Nev,” Parvati added, and Neville ducked his head--though instead of fixing his eyes on his shoes, he looked at Hannah, swimming into the safety of her eyes and giving her a bashful smile, and it took everything in her not to yell it out, too: I love you, Nev.

Ginny let out a breath as she turned slightly to the left. She paused, a long, quiet moment, before she said, her voice oddly tight, “And Harry…nobody is in this room without you. Nobody . Because we wouldn’t be here at all.” Her smile was struggling to stay in place as she gazed at him, giving her piece of parchment a little wave like a flag. “That’s it. It’s that simple.”

“Thanks for saving our lives--and the world--mate,” Angelina said, raising her glass like Seamus had.

“Again,” Alicia added, grinning wide and lifting up her bottle of ale.

As the rest of the room raised their drinks, Harry waved. “Stop, stop, stop, hey, you didn’t for Neville, stop--”

“Well, let’s see Nev die to save the world, then he can get spontaneous acclimation,” Padma said, and Neville grinned wide, nodding eagerly as he lifted up his pint glass, too. 

“Sorry, Harry,” he said unapologetically. 

“I guess this is a little easier to handle than how you all basically jumped me after the Battle, so.” Harry’s face was a deep red. “Thanks, mates. I’d--yeah. For you…” He seemed a bit lost as he hunted for words and finally just sighed, “Always.”

“We know you would. It’s why we love you, too, even though you’re a cranky sassypants where Nev’s pure sunshine. We’d follow you anywhere, always,” Ginny said, leaning down to kiss him. “Happy nineteenth to my two favorite non-Weasley boys. To use an analogy our Plant Merlin would appreciate: If this past year planted the seeds, let this next one be filled with the growth you deserve. Can’t wait for your twentieths.” She winked at Seamus who let out an eager hoot. “We’re gonna make you two do twenty shots, start prepping your livers now.”

As Ginny hopped down, pausing to kiss Harry again and move to the side by her two brothers, Harry and Neville ignored the cheers of the room as they both glanced at their watches.

“Okay, we are in competition to see who can toast the other quicker, so we can get back to the party and have you lot stop staring at us,” Harry declared. He looked down at his watch. “Alright, Nev, your time starts… now.”

Neville took in a breath and said, “My first year, Harry jumped on a broom and flew--when he wasn’t supposed to--just to recover my Remembrall from Draco. Now, I understand that this was just another round in the nascent blood feud between Harry and Malfoy and all, but I was firmly established as the year’s unquestioned loser, and Harry didn’t have to do jack all for me and risk being associated with such a dork, and yet he did. It was the first time, but not the last, that I thought-- I wanna be like him. Except for the broom part, brooms are the worst.” Neville gave Harry a crooked grin as he laughed a bit, his face flooding pink. “One of the best gifts we can get in life is being inspired by our friends. When our friends end up as our greatest teachers--and in Harry’s case, literally, with what he did in our fifth year. But he had been teaching me how to be a Gryffindor, the kind of man my father wanted me to be, from the very start. Anytime I had doubts during that year, I’d just say to myself: What would Harry do? And it always guided me true.” His smile widened a bit, but he looked more shy as he added, “I’m sorry I kept you awake with my snoring all those years, but I’m so grateful I ended up in your house, your room, your side for eight years now--and however many there are to come. Thanks, Teach. I’m really lucky to call you one of my best friends.” 

“I’m in the tier,” Harry grinned, glancing at Hannah with a grin.

“Yeah, she’s above you, though.”

“No shit.” 

Neville raised his glass. “To Harry. Again,” he laughed, clinking his ale glass against Harry’s glass of gin and pumpkin juice.

Harry nodded at his watch. “Under a minute, not bad. Definitely not your most moving speech but a solid effort.” He handed his drink to Ginny and cracked his knuckles before drawing out a piece of parchment from his own jeans’ pocket.

“You know, Nev didn’t need notes.”

“You know what I’d like for my birthday? For Michael Corner to shut up for ten minutes.”

“Don’t ask for miracles, Harry,” Susan said with a snort.

“Seriously,” Cho murmured, earning a wounded scoff.

Harry rolled his eyes with a grin, and he looked over at Neville for the signal to start. He cleared his throat and said, “So I wanted to read to you guys how I described Neville in an essay.”

“An essay?” Neville repeated, looking confused.

“Ahem. ‘From basically the moment I found out I was a wizard, people put expectations on me: I was the Boy Who Lived, assumed to be heroic for something I had no memory of. And then as the years went by, I kept being put in situations where I had to step up--and it was assumed that I would. It was almost expected of me; Dumbledore did, at the very least. It defined me, and it gave me a kind of courage that I didn’t even appreciate, but it reinforced something that was already inside of me. It’s just a simple truth: when people believe in you, you believe in yourself. Neville, though…well, a good friend of ours told me once something that I can’t get out of my head. She said: Nev was told his whole life he wasn’t a hero, he wasn’t what was needed, he wasn’t enough and couldn’t get it done even if the moment needed him. And yet he acted just like you every time a hero was needed, too. Without hesitation. First into the breach.’” Harry paused and without looking down at his paper finished, ‘“I don’t know if we deserve him. She’s right. We don’t.’”

He held up the parchment. “That’s from my nomination for Neville to receive the Order of Merlin, First Class. We’ll have to wait a bit to find out if he gets it, but I usually get what I want anymore, soooo…”

“About fecking time,” Seamus shouted as Dean started applauding, and the sound ran through the room like a wave as the rest of the crowd tucked their drinks in their arms to use both of their hands to clap for their friend, whistles and calls punctuating the undulating applause; the whole while, Neville stared at Harry with an expression of shock that Hannah knew so well. Harry handed him the parchment, and Neville read it over frantically.

“I--I--Harry --” His mouth kept forming words--fragments, more like--and failing, as he shook his head over and over. “And--Ginny? Lun?” He looked at her, dazed and teary. “Was this you? Luna--”

“Oh, no. But I wish I had, it’s exactly right,” Luna beamed.

Neville’s gaze wheeled frantically to Hermione, then Ginny—

Harry put his hands on Neville’s shoulders and turned him physically to face Hannah. “It was Best Friend,” he said.

“Hannah? You-- you said that about me?”

She felt the entire room turn its gaze on her, and she battled to find enough courage to turn up her voice’s volume to say, “Well-y-yeah, yeah, I--um, the night of--with Ant’s big test of the stereo, at the Leaky. I--”

Neville barely managed to push the parchment back at Harry before he took four long strides into the crowd to close the space between them, wrapping one arm around her and with the other, slid it against Hannah’s jaw, his thumb sweeping over her cheek as she took hold of his waist. “You are more wonderful than a whole field of flowers--” And he rushed his lips to hers.

This was the kiss Hannah had dreamed of, the kind of kiss that almost got at how much she needed him: mouths opening like garden gates, fingers twisting in hair, tongues tentatively touching and then eagerly tangling, too. Hannah clutched at him like a long-sought after shore, the utter treasure of a solid place to stand. Neville kept sighing out in those brief seconds where they broke for a moment's breath; it always sounded like her name. 

They couldn’t get any closer. Hannah’s arms had found their way up to his neck, and his had drifted from her face to her back, her waist, her hips, then in an act of symmetry, his right hand stretched across her bum and lifted her up just as she bounced on the balls of her feet, so when he picked her up with his arm, it felt like she was flying. 

Her right leg hooked up against his left hip, her lower leg dangling down as she pressed her knee against his waist, Neville’s right arm tightening across her bottom to hold her against him. She cradled the back of his head in her hands, slowly pulling them forward to find the line of his jaw, as he buried the fingers of his left hand into her hair and gathering a fistful of it in a gentle squeeze. She pulled up her left leg, too, ankles crossing, hugging him with her whole lower body. Their foreheads pressed together, his green eyes so sweet as they met her own, almost drunkenly closing as he pressed in for another kiss, his tongue stretching over hers. His fingers tilled through her hair as if it were soil, gently skimming over her scalp, every kiss a softly planted seed.

“You’re snogging!” Ernie yelped, grabbing Justin’s arm and shaking it.

“You’re straddling,” Angelina laughed. 

“Merlin on a bloody broom, come up for air,” Terry finally yelled. “We can’t have cake and booze until you finish.”

Hannah drew back from Neville, nearly panting for air, and felt a breeze comb through her hair, sweetly skimming her body; the room flooded with the strong, lovely scent of lavender.

Parvati waved her hands slightly as her eyes shone with tears, looking so wistful, Hannah could hold the weight of it in her hands. Her arms wrapped around Lee’s waist as they leaned into each other, Padma resting her head on her sister’s back. “Lav is so into this.”

“Me, too, Lavender,” Neville said softly, gazing at Hannah. 

“Hell yeah, Lav,” Michael burst out, “finally!,” and the room erupted in cheers, whistles, shouts, a cacophony that made Hannah’s face go crimson as she tucked it into Neville’s neck, giggling at the feel of his own burning cheeks. The noise was as fierce as a wave; the noise felt like it would never stop.

Hannah lifted her head and stroked his fingers over Neville’s cheeks, his hair, his neck; each touch made his face go slack, as if she were casting the sweetest spell with just her fingertips. “I…” He beamed at her: his whole smile was a star. “I, um. I think we should, that, uh--we’re gonna--go,” Neville said, grinning at the room as Hannah giggled, nodding in agreement.

“Oh, you gonna go talk? About Quidditch, perhaps?” Dean teased, shooting Harry and Ginny a knowing look; Harry’s neck flushed slightly, but Ginny just gave him a sly grin back.

“Absolutely not, we’re going to keep snogging.”

“You’re gonna miss your cake and blowing out the candles,” Su Li pointed out with a wide smile, so (intriguingly, tantalizingly) close to Dean.

Neville brushed back a bit of hair from Hannah’s face. “I already got my wish.” He glanced at Harry. “As long as you don’t mind me blowing off our whole joint party, I know it’s kind of rude of me--”

“I’ve never been more happy to have somebody be rude to me, then,” Harry grinned as Ginny hugged his waist, beaming at them, too, shooting a wink aimed only for Neville. “Or gotten a more satisfying early present myself.”

“Oh, Nev, what about your presents!”

“They’ll keep. He’s gonna be busy unwrapping this one for a while,” Michael told Luna, flashing Hannah that very him smile. 

“Okay, that’s it, we’re going,” Hannah blurted out, though she whispered into Neville’s ear, “but you don’t need to put me down as we do.”

“Do you wanna go to your place? I feel like--if we stay here, there is no bloody way we get privacy--”

“Let’s go immediately. Before somebody--Michael , Terry, maybe Shay or George--figures out how to make a snake joke--” Neville’s eyes went wide, and he nodded rapidly, starting them out of the room as Hannah kissed his cheek, then the soft hollow under the bend of his jaw, making his face shine again in a beaming smile.

“Hey, pumpkin? You need any help?”

“No.” He shifted her higher on his hips and said, more to her than to the room, the noise of joy from their friends so loud Hannah could feel it pressing on her skin and warming her like the sun. She caught the look in his eye, and her entire body rippled in anticipation of what was to come once they got back to her flat: she had jumped off the cliff, and this time, the water was waiting, welcoming her… “I got this.”

Chapter Text

July 30-31, 1999: Can I be close to you?

Hannah was giggling the whole time she grabbed her umbrella from the Grimmauld Place foyer while Neville quickly jammed himself into his raincoat; the way he was smiling so wide made every breath sound like he was laughing, too. 

He reached out his hand, beaming at her. “Shall we?”

The rain was still driving down, little pellets pounding on her umbrella, and she tugged him to join her under its safe shelter as she started down the steps. “I know Harry says to just Disapparate on the top step, but…I feel more solid with a bit more room to turn. Mind if we go to the street?”

“No, it’s fine, I can’t imagine any photographers are hanging out in this storm--or would care about me. Harry says he kinda hates me with how I can blend in and get ignored. When he’s got about a hundred notable features, then Ron and his freckles and hair, Hermione and her hair…”

They reached the sidewalk, and Hannah stopped, staring up at him. “Nevvie, I’d wait all night in a driving rain just for a glance at you.”

“I love it when you call me that--” He reached for her face and kissed her, so hard that she let the umbrella slip from her hand, throwing her arms around his neck to urge him closer. The rain came down in waves, drenching her hair and her hands and somehow sliding into her shoes. Each time they kissed, she nearly slipped off his lips, which made her press harder. She was getting wetter with each possible second, yet each time they kissed, she was sure she was being bathed in sunlight.

She drew back a bit. His eyelashes were laced with raindrops. “Should we--”

“Please. Not yet--” He ducked in for another kiss. And another. “Not yet--” The impervious charm on their coats was barely keeping up with the relentlessness of the rain, but she clutched harder at him. Sunshine--you’re pure sunshine--  

He pulled back, wiping at his rain-bleary eyes and grinning at her. “Alright, maybe we--”

She pushed in towards his mouth, just one more time. She could swear there was a rainbow cast by the bright light of his smile. “Not yet.”

///

Hannah hesitated on the landing of the fifth floor and cast another warming charm at her feet. They had managed--after four rounds--to cast enough drying spells to soak up the rain from their bodies and belongings, but her toes just refused to get the message. 

“There we go,” she murmured in relief, wiggling them in her leather flats. “Finally.” She stepped to the door that led to the corridor where Hannah and the managers’ flats were, unlocking it with that combination of alohomora and a blood enchantment, leading the way inside. Hannah glanced over her shoulder as he took a long step to return to her side, his hand skimming at her lower back. She hesitated. “Is this your first time here? I feel like we only ever spend time at the bar or in the parlor…”

“Yes--but also no. I was here for a few minutes back in April--after you passed out at your party, I carried you from the staff loo on up here and settled you on the couch before I headed home. I won’t lie, I was so relieved you didn’t throw up during the trek up here.” 

She winced. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He took her hands. “Justin teased me, said I just wanted the excuse to hold you.” He blushed a bit, grinning at her. “Pretty much.”

She threaded her fingers in with his, pulling him a bit closer. “I wanted any excuse to touch you, too.” Neville ducked his head down to kiss her, and they broke apart, grinning almost sheepishly as she tucked back her hair and he scratched at the back of his neck. Hannah unlocked her own flat, ushering him inside. She heard him let out a long exhale, the kind that inflates the cheeks and draws out a breath from somewhere beneath the stomach, as he walked in behind her. Hannah paused to slip off her shoes. He did the same, unlacing his trainers and then lining them up neatly beside hers, almost fussing with them to make sure they were unobtrusively placed. 

Neville straightened up, rubbing his hands against his thighs as he stared ahead at a photo on the wall, that one with the wrapper tucked in the corner; his face immediately brightened with a blush. He took in a breath; it came out in a ripple, like a skip in a record track.

Hannah turned around to look at Neville. “You’re nervous.”

“Yeah.” His hands tightened against her back, and when he swallowed, she could hear how dry his mouth was, tongue sticking to its roof as he began to speak. “It’s--kinda hitting me how much you matter to me and me you. ‘Cause--’cause we’re not just going to kiss.”

“We can. That’s all we have to do, Nev--”

“No, I--I want to. Do more. Do that. So much. I’m just--” He looked so uncomfortable, like his skin was growing too tight on his bones, and Hannah reached up to hold his face in her hands, and he sank into her palms, miserable, and rushed, “I’m just so nervous I’m going to suck at this. I have the coordination of a raw egg half the time, and what if I’m bad here, too? I heard you girls talking about once--I was just about to open the portrait all the way after a trip to Aberforth’s for food, but you all were talking about that and I didn’t want to bust in, and Lav and Padma were saying that when it’s bad it’s the worst and you were like ug, yeah, bad shags get in the bin. And then you all went into a lot of detail about all the ways boys can be utter rubbish at this, and I find ways to muck things up all the time! It’s like--I got an O in that N.E.W.T., Han! Top of the class! I mean--like, okay, what if I hurt you? I’m a lot bigger than you, I--”

“You won’t hurt me. Nev--”

“What if I’m so terrible that you’re like, staring at the ceiling and mentally making your grocery list?” 

“Well--I went to the market yesterday.”

“You know what I mean!”

“Neville.” Hannah drew up to kiss him, over and over until his shoulders lost that cemented slump, relaxing, his arms loosening around her waist. She put her forehead against his. “You’re not going to be bad. It may not be--you know. Bang-on brilliant yet, skyrockets and awe, but we’ll learn. We’re going to learn each other--and the lesson plans are awesome: we get to kiss a lot,” she said, grinning wide, and he grinned crookedly back, “we get to touch a lot, and we get to do it again and again and in different ways, and we get to do it together. Nevvie--I do have a lot of experience, but not all of it was good. And I don’t mean like--the sex wasn’t good, that it didn’t feel good, I mean it--like--” She squinted a bit. “There’s a big big difference between somebody wanting to have sex and somebody who wants to have sex with you. I know the difference enough that…I’ll take bad or boring of the latter over a good shag from the former any day. You don’t need to be perfect, at all. Or even coordinated, though I think I know how we should--anyway, just don’t worry about that. Just--want to be with me, and…that’s--that’s everything. We’ll figure the rest out as we go.”

She let a hand slip down to his shirt, her fingers slipping in between his buttons and tugging gently. “Besides. You learn best by practicing, right? Guess what. We’ll do it--and then we’ll rest and talk and kiss and then--do it again. And again and again, as many times as we want tonight. And tomorrow. And--”

“Wait--wait. You can--do it more than once? In a night?”

“Um. Yes?” Hannah squinted at him. “Nevvie, have you ever talked to your mates about all of this?”

“They have a habit of clamming up the moment I walk in the room. At Hogwarts, they’d go dead quiet and then cast silencing charms. Like I was their bloody mum or something, coming in with the laundry. Or worse, some childish first year who isn’t ready to hear about, you know, who’s fingering who behind the tapestry.” His nose wrinkled a bit. “I learned that one from Michael--actually, the Ravenclaw blokes didn’t censor themselves, that’s how I finally got a bit of a clue, from listening in on the conversations between Mike and Terry and Stephen and--and--um--” 

Hannah let out a sigh. “Anthony, who was talking about me. Yeah.”

Neville’s face was crimson as he dared to look back at her, his expression apologetic. “Yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “Nowadays, Michael teases me a bit--but nobody talks. Honestly, I don’t think Harry or Ron are physically capable of discussing things about, you know, intimacy without getting super awkward. Oh, my Uncle Algie gave me a talk a couple years ago. It was so uncomfortable. And I read this book--well. Just--you know. Not practical advice. Lots of tortured metaphors about bees and pollen and incorrect descriptions of floral anatomy. That really threw me out of the text.” 

Hannah pressed her lips together to not giggle, but he did, tickling her side and kissing her. “I can see you, you know. Trying not to laugh.”

“I think--maybe accuracy wasn’t the point?”

“Okay, Luna.”

She swatted at him before tugging him in for another kiss. “So clearly? You have a lot to learn, so I need to be--very instructive. Okay. Good to know.”

“You’re going to be bossy? Do you even know how to be bossy when you’re not in Prefect Hannah mode?”

“I…feel very strongly about using coasters?” She dissolved into giggles with him, wrapping her arms back around his neck. “You seem more relaxed…”

“Yeah.” He held her against him, taking in a deep breath before kissing her. “This helps. You help.” He touched his nose to hers. "What do you need? Do you want to put on music?"

"I'm--actually? Just excited. Not scared. Not even at all. I know what's coming--I think that helps. I know. So I just get to be--ready. So ready." She tilted her head to the side. "Why'd you suggest that?"

He shrugged. "You always have music on. I mean, Professor Sprout even had certain records waiting for you in the greenhouse, for when you'd volunteer or do your homework at the benches. Greenhouse 1 was always full of music. It's why I loved when I could join you all in there," he admitted, cheeks rosing. "Music just...relaxes you or...like it helps you work. Think? It's like--you love music, but your brain loves it, too." 

"It is like that," she smiled. "Professor Sprout noticed it in second year, and she was always wonderful, turning on music when I came down to do homework. I didn't know you noticed--that my, you know, brain loves it." 

"I mean, I guessed it was more than just really loving music, being a musician's daughter--I'm really glad was right!" He smiled at her, taking her hand and giving it a swing. "I'm always trying to learn you." Neville sniffed. "Do I smell--well, several herbs, but--lavender and mint, maybe basil?"

“Here, I'll give you a tour of my kitchen and rooftop gardens, and oh, I can give you your birthday present...so...down the hall, over here...this is my kitchen with my little indoor herb garden--”

“Oh, your mint is misbehaving,” Neville frowned, letting go of Hannah and walking up to the windowsill where she had the pots with her herbs. 

“I know. I’m overdue to clip it and dry it,” Hannah said, pointing up to the bundles of herbs she had dangling down from a string above her windows. “But I also wanted to get a bunch of the leaves so Cressida could use it in a mint jelly? Just--between that trip to France and all, I’ve gotten so behind.”

“I’d actually repot it, to be honest. Looks like the roots are starting to get invasive…mint is just this side of a weed, I swear, you have to be kinda firm with it.” He squatted just slightly to get the herbs at eye level. “Actually, Hannie, I’d repot all of these. They are all growing so well, it’s time to upgrade a bit, maybe reorganize the groupings. Definitely replenish the soil.”

“They’re still in the third-half rule.”

“Oh, sure, absolutely, but they’re aching for more space--look at your thyme, it wants to grow out as much as up. Take that out of this little guy and give it--like, a bigger pot, maybe with some new roommates, it’s going to totally take off. We can get this done--maybe even this week, if we don’t make the move to arrest Rookwood already, that’d make work insane and gobble up my time, but for sure we can get this done by the end of next.”

He turned to look up at the hanging dried herbs, his mouth opening a bit; he looked like a little boy, awed at Christmas decorations. His fingers brushed over the orange wedges and chanterelle mushrooms she had one one end, then bundles of the fresh herbs from her windowsill, in various sages of drying; then his mouth drooped wider as he took in the second line with calendula, feverfew, bergamot, lemon balm, chamomile, and hollyhock. “You grow all this?”

“Out on the rooftop, yeah. Mum always had these dried in our kitchen to make basic home potions--actually, she had more, but I’ve only been here for a year so this is a good start.”

“You grow all this. All of this is just a start.” Neville turned to her, a little dazed. “You’re my dream girl.” Hannah ducked her head, tucking back a bit of hair as she blushed. He stepped in and lifted her chin with a finger. “I knew you loved growing things, but…my dream girl.”

He kissed her; she could taste the hint of rosemary on his tongue, and she felt a little shiver of anticipation. She wrapped her arms around his neck again and bounced up; he caught her and lifted her all the way; little noises kept creeping out from the back of his throat, too content to be groans, too hungry to be sighs. 

“We--don’t need to tour the rooftop just yet. My present can wait. I’m--ready,” Neville whispered before kissing her again. “Quite ready” He bounced her slightly so that she was more on the side of his hip, and she felt a bit dizzy that he moved her so effortlessly because how strong was he, exactly, these arms of his--

In her bedroom, dark with the exception of a bit of light from Diagon Alley glowing in the slight open slit between her curtain panels, he carefully lowered her back to her feet. His nose immediately twitched; he turned around, looking, his mouth opening a bit as he pointed at a rosemary plant on one of Hannah’s two bedside tables. “You have a herb in your bedroom--I mean, it’s brilliant, I love rosemary, just I’d expect it in the kitchen with the others--”

She hesitated, mouth open and cheeks ramping up towards red. “I--well, you--you--”

Neville blinked.

“You smell like rosemary,” Hannah mumbled. “Your breath. I--I moved my rosemary plant in here because I--I wanted--I smell it, and I think of you.”

He took in a long breath and sighed it out. And again. Then he lifted his hands up to unfasten the top button on his shirt. “I--bought a second gardenia to keep in my room. And think of you.”

Hannah gulped in a breath, her whole body wobbling as she watched him unbutton his shirt. He was thinking of her. In his room. 

In his bed. 

She reached for the hem of her henley and pulled off the top, folding her arms behind her to unfasten her bra. She only hesitated a moment before sliding it down her arms and tossing it to the floor, too. His fingers slipped right off his buttons, and he fumbled his next attempt as his eyes ricocheted between her face and her breasts. He had to swallow, blink hard, and seemingly screw his attention to its tightest to finish unfastening his shirt, pulling both it and then his undershirt off and adding them to her pile. In the dim light, she could barely make out the meadow of hair that covered his chest and stomach; her hands flexed in anticipation.

Next her denim skirt. Next his jeans. Their wands, hidden in magically extended pockets, clunked against the wooden floor. With awkward tugs, next his socks.

Shuffling up to him, so close that their toes touched, her fingers found the waistband of his boxer briefs as he slid a thumb under the elastic band of her knickers; they pulled the others’ pants down in a halting unison, shifting their legs and feet to help the clothes slide down. They were so close, Hannah could feel the awkward poke of him, hard against her stomach.

Neville leaned down to kiss her. “What happens now?” 

Hannah reached for his hands. “Everything.”

///

A body, shuddering in breath, as another body descended, finding the small space where they slotted together and transformed two bodies into a single shared thing. His head, folding forward and resting on the shelf of her shoulder, his exhale hot against her neck as he panted, trying to steady his breath and failing. Holding her so close, her chest started to bead with sweat formed by the heat pouring out of his skin. That rose of a mouth unable to hold in a beg: oh please, oh please. Staring so long, getting so lost in those sweet green eyes: she could see every time her eyes met his and something between them sparked like a match strike, even just slightly, from when he made that silly joke about Sirius Black the Flowering Shrub to this very moment where she felt him expanding inside of her, bumping on the places that lit her up like a marquee that spelled only his name in dazzling lights. 

This was why she knew their first time should be like this, with him sitting at the head of her bed and her bracing his hips with her knees (You’re straddling! Angelina had hooted--oh, if she only knew). This way, he didn’t need to worry about how he’d move and muck it up. This way, she could set a pace that should last longer than a half-minute of awkward thrusts, how it too often seemed to be. This way, she wasn’t staring up at his collarbone, making him contort down to kiss her, or he wasn’t lying flat on his back, stretched so far away from her lips that the moon could fit between them. 

Moving slowly, rocking up onto her knees and then the languid slide down, settling back into her hips. And again. His hands, spreading wide across the plane of her back, squeezing her hip. His head lolled back, and he looked up at the ceiling, still breathing in those unending gulps. Then he slumped forward again, his mouth finding the bend of her neck; his teeth skimmed over her skin, far too gentle for a bite but more than a touch. She held tighter to the plane of his shoulders as she moved. Up, down. And again. 

“I’ve--”

Up, down. “Nevvie?”

“I’ve--” He lifted his head up, and his forehead slipped in to rest against hers, kissing her tight and hard. “I’ve been dreaming about this--you and me. I can’t believe--I can’t believe it’s real… I promise, I will make you so happy, Hannie--”

“I’ve fallen so hard for you.” Hannah slowed to a stop and shook her head. “I know, I know , we’re not supposed to say that word yet, we need to give ourselves time, and so I promise I won’t say it until we--you know, are safely transitioned into our new phase or whatever everyone said, but--I can say, at least, I have fallen and I never want to stop.”

His hands crept under her thighs, lifting her and moving her like a piston, holding all of her weight like she were as slight as a petal resting in his palms. She was slightly dizzy from this personal, private carousel ride, clutching harder to his soft sides, anchoring herself in their kisses. When that brilliant buzzing feeling began to cascade around her body, she ground her teeth together tight, barely staying upright--yet she kept moving, kept letting him rock her like an eager ocean. Until the moment he whipped his arms around her, holding her so tight that stars sparked in her eyes as he opened his mouth and yelled silently into her neck. 

He gasped in a breath, and let it out in a heavy rush, almost too loud, “I’m yours.”

They collapsed down on the bed, wound together like ribbons, knotted together like promises. 

“I’m yours, I’m absolutely and always yours,” Neville exhaled into her ear, exhausted and sloppy as he kissed her. “My Hannah Leigh. Best friend. My dream girl.”

“I’m yours. Best friend.” She stared at the shine of his eyes. “My most favorite star.”

///

Neville rubbed his eyes. “How long was I asleep?”

“Twenty, thirty minutes maybe?” He kissed her twice. Hannah offered him a mug. “Rosemary tea?”

“How’d you guess this is what I drink?” he asked, lifting himself into a sit before accepting the tea. 

“Well…I wondered at first if maybe it was your toothpaste or perhaps some gum that was rosemary scented--but your Gran has gout, right? She said got the treatments for it from my mum, years ago. Rosemary tea has great anti-inflammatory properties. And because it’s non-caffeinated, you can drink it all day, which would explain why you smell of rosemary at night, even.”

“And it's great to dunk rosemary-thyme shortbread in,” Neville added cheerfully, taking a sip. “When I go to Gran’s for our weekly dinner, I’ll have Quimp--he’s Uncle Algie’s elf, but he does the cooking for us all--make up an extra batch of biscuits for me to bring back for you.”

“I make a rosemary-lemon verbena biscuit. I can make it for you tomorrow…if you are able to stay a bit in the morning,” Hannah added, a bit shy, as she tucked her hair behind her ears.

The mug drifted down from his mouth. “I can stay as long as you want me to.”

Hannah reached for her own mug of tea, her face flushing. “You can stay as long as you want.”

“Don’t say that, I might never leave,” he teased, bumping his knee against hers.

Hannah felt almost dizzy from how hot her face became, as she found herself saying, “But that's what I was hoping when I put together your birthday present. That--you’d want to come all the time.”

Neville took a long sip of his tea and then stretched to set it down. “Okay, I think it’s time for presents that aren’t Hannah-shaped.” He paused, kissing her neck. “At least--for a few minutes.”

After she slipped on her robe and he pulled on his knickers and undershirt, she led him to the large window in her living room that she used to climb onto the rooftop. “That’s my little garden,” she said, gesturing to the two raised beds. “It’s mostly herbs and food--I have this big dream of redoing the courtyard to Diagon Alley and turning it into a real kitchen garden for the Leaky so we can grow our own vegetables and stuff? But until then, at least I grow my own tomatoes and peppers and--”

“Courgettes!” Neville exclaimed, squatting down. “And aubergines--are those melons?” 

“And a pumpkin,” Hannah said proudly, pointing at it. “I wanted to grow one for Halloween and make a jack o'lantern. And I was hoping you’d want to help me make a second bed so I can grow my own garlic and shallots and beets.”

“I’d love to,” Neville beamed, standing up and kissing her. He looked around and pointed at the small greenhouse down at the other end of the rooftop, down by the window entrance he and Hannah had used the August before. “What’s in there?”

“I dunno. You’ll have to decide.”

Neville turned to her. “Huh?”

“You’ll have to decide what goes in it. Because it’s yours.” Hannah gestured at the greenhouse. “Happy birthday, Nevvie.”

He blinked. “You--you got me a greenhouse?” He shook his head. “No--no, birthday gifts are like--gardening gloves--”

“If you have no imagination, that is.”

“--not greenhouses. Hannah…I…” His face rippled, gentle as water. “Hannah.”

“This way, you don’t have to trek all the way out to Holyhead and rent that space at the nursery there. You can just…come here. Anytime you want, I’ll add you to the blood enchantments so you can just let yourself in. And you can come here anytime you want. Before breakfast, after dinner--” Her cheeks pinked. “After a nap…”

“That kind of nap?” he asked, immediately turning red as he put his hands on her hips.

Hannah stretched up on her toes and kissed the underside of his jaw. “That kind.” She took his hand in hers. “Do--you like it?”

“Like it ? Hannah Leigh.” He cradled her face in those perfect palms of his; she could feel every callous, tough but still so gentle. “I love it. I love it. I love--”

When he kissed her, he laid those unsaid words right on her tongue, the sweetest thing she had ever tasted.

///

Hannah had decided that Neville’s chest was the most perfect pillow: just the right height for her head, the hair blanketing his skin so silky against her cheek. Her whole body was still rubbery and spent; she could barely muster anything more than doodling stars and hearts with the tip of her finger into the canvas of his body as she let out long, lazy exhales. It was so late at night, but she couldn’t bear to sleep. It seemed that neither could he. He had let out little murmurs here and there, continuously brushing his fingers over her shoulders, the valley of her spine. The quiet between them, the duet of their breathing--his noises, her sighs--stretched on like a song. 

“Hannah Leigh? There’s something you need to know. Before you get even--more serious with me. Before you…like, think that you want to stick it out until we feel like we can say--that. That you want to love me.”

“I already know I will love you.” I do love you. She moved her head so she could see his face better. “Still. This sounds kinda ominous, Nevvie.” 

He grinned a bit, threading his fingers in her hair and combing them through. “Makes me sound mysterious and dark, huh?”

“You have your own secret field, I think you’re already there on the former.” She leaned in to kiss the apple of his cheek. “Oh, yes, you’re quite the bad boy. Which is very sexy, of course.”

“I don’t think anyone has ever found me--” He stuttered slightly. “--sexy.”

“I dunno, Nev, some of those mandrakes seemed quite excited at the sight of your arms.” 

“Oh my g--” Neville buried his face in the pillow, almost honking with a laugh before tickling her in revenge. “You! You’re just--” His face melted as he drifted in to kiss her. “--perfect, and…” Neville gave himself a bit of a shake. “What was I saying.”

“Something…I need to know--because, what, you have some deep secret that’s going to make me not want to be with you?” Hannah gasped slightly. “Are you secretly a flowering shrub?”

“Yes. That’s it. Now you know my deepest secret and why I’m so good with plants. I’m the first ever Floranimagus.”

“I knew it!” Hannah dissolved into giggles, and he held on for only a moment more before laughing into her neck. 

Neville’s laughs slowed, and he tucked his hand again in her hair, fingers skimming the back of her head. “Hannie, we need to talk about my job.”

“Okay?”

He took a deep breath. “Harry and Ron came to me first, about joining the aurors, and--I think that, along with Harry asking me to kill the snake, were…they were the biggest honors of my life. To be trusted like that.”

“It was the smartest thing Harry ever did, turn to you. Both times, but--that first, especially.”

“That’s really kind of you to say.” Neville toyed a bit with her hair, wrapping a piece around his fingers. “I asked Harry once why he didn’t go to Ginny, about the snake. And he said--”

Neville stopped. Swallowing seemed hard suddenly, and his Adam’s apple bobbed violently. 

“He said that it just hit him when he was with me, he knew I would, I could, take his place. He was about to die, and--he knew I’d step in for him. Join Hermione and Ron to finish what he started.”

Hannah’s mouth opened, and she pushed on his chest to look at him square on. “Neville.”

His eyes met hers and then looked away. “I haven’t told anybody that. And I don’t think he has, either. I think I’d know if Hermione or Ron knew. Sometimes--they give me odd looks about…things? That’s when I know they know something. And they don’t with this, when snake stuff comes up. So. Now you know, too.”

Hannah inched forward, close enough to kiss him. “It’s not a surprise, though. It’s--a lot, to realize just how--Harry should have died, and what that would have meant for you--what it did mean for you. Nevvie…” She put her hand on his cheek. “When you stood up to Voldemort, you were--that was you, doing what Harry had hoped. Stepping into his place. Without him ever having to ask it.” The realization of it made her dizzy, and Hannah kissed him again, finding her balance as their mouths met, finding that sweet hint of rosemary on his tongue, as a new understanding slid into place: That Harry Potter had marked Neville as his equal. 

And Neville didn’t want anyone to know.

When they finally pulled apart, he took a breath. “This means so much to me, to do a good job with the aurors. To follow my parents, my father, in this work and live up to the legacy they left. I mean, that--that in itself makes it so important for me to give it my all. Because in a way, it lets me get to know them. Because I’m walking in their footsteps, really experiencing it--I’m learning a part of their life this way--not through Gran, not through Mum’s teen diaries or Dad’s writings. I mean, I’ve already found old files of theirs; that alone…”

Hannah kissed him. “It must be worth the whole world.”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “But I swear, it means so much for non-selfish reasons more--”

“Nev, that’s not selfish.”

“It feels a bit, when the larger reason is--this job matters. So bloody much, I don’t even fully know how to say, and I have to be my best at it. Not for Harry--well, not just for Harry--but for our country. And just…it’s what’s right, you know? It matters. I think…” Neville trailed off, his eyes sliding to the side. She reached up and stroked her fingers through his hair, echoing what he had done for her, giving him his time to sort through his words. He finally drew in a breath. “I think the most important thing I’ll ever do in my life was figuring out how to best protect the D.A. while we ramped up our activity in the spring, but this, what I do as an auror…it makes sure that what we all fought for that year doesn’t just stay in the Hogwarts walls. All of the pain that all of you had to bear, it wasn’t for nothing. But--a lot of the pure spellwork--”

“The theory-based stuff?”

“--yeah, that doesn’t come naturally to me the way it does to Harry. If it takes him a week, it takes me two, or a month. If it takes him six months, it takes me eight, nine. If not a full year. So I have to work extra.”

Neville took a breath in through his nose. “When I make mistakes, if I don’t work as hard as I bloody can to keep pace with Harry, people get hurt or die. I can’t take it easy, not for a second. It matters so much, Hannah Leigh. So…I structure my entire day around it. My entire life. ‘Cause…okay, this is going to sound so naive, but I literally have dreams where Rookwood and the Lestranges and the werewolves and the worst of the threats we’re trying to tamp out, they all agree to surrender and it’s done . And Harry turns to me and is like, It’s finally over. I got it from here. Every time I have it, when I wake up, I can almost feel the shape of my hope in my hands,” Neville said wistfully, trailing a tendril of her hair down to its end. 

“And it’s like--maybe that dream comes true, if we keep the fight up at this level, so I can’t stop.” Affection tugged at his lips. “Sometimes? In my dream, Harry gives me a plant when he sends me on my way. My dream totally clocks Harry for who he is, it’s always something super obvious, like a fanged geranium or another Mimbulus. Even dream-me knows Harry wouldn’t ta-da a plume jasmine.”

“Not that you’d complain over another geranium or Mimbulus.” 

“Are you kidding? Fanged geraniums are so fun! And can you even imagine, if I could get multiple Mimbuluses that all bloom at wonderful random intervals?” Neville sighed happily, his cheeks growing more round, giving his face a boyish cast. “Dream Harry is a bit unimaginative, but he isn’t wrong . There’s no such thing as a bad plant gift. Just--some that are less intriguing, some that are more…challenging. They’re all good.”

I love you. 

No. No: they needed to wait. 

Why?!  

Because…she was moving them way too fast if she did. Right? Neville was patient. Because her friends were smarter on things like this. Because something so new didn’t need the pressure of love and always and two bodies becoming one life, not all in one night. That’s not how it worked (...why?).

Because maybe this would all go away. (Yes, that nasty voice in her head hissed. That makes sense. Don’t say anything because none of this will last.) He said she was his dream girl, maybe this all was a dream…in the morning light, his confidence would shake and he’d retreat and she’d be left alone.

Hannah swallowed all of that down, shoving it deep into her suddenly roiling belly. She could wait; she could believe. I can believe that I deserve good things. I think I can. At least for right now.

Even in the dark of her room, she could tell how light his eyes were. She ran her thumb under his right eye, leaning in to kiss the bone that protected its soft self. I can believe I deserve you. She could. 

“Okay,” she said, soft and certain. “So. What do I need to do, to know, to support you doing this thing that matters as much as your own heart to you?”

“Matters as much as your heart. Your heart--oh, Hannah, your heart means more to me than my own. It has for--a while now,” Neville whispered, holding her a bit closer; when she flushed, he kissed her, letting his tongue trace a long line against hers. He drew in a deep breath through his nose. “Three or four days a week, I wake up really early, like before six. That way I have time to have at least two cups of tea to wake up, water the three plants that require twice-day watering and care, have breakfast. I get really cranky if I can’t have my breakfast tea and some food in the morning, you should just know that, period.” He paused, studying her. “You are a coffee drinker.”

“Yeah, Mum got me into it. I’m not cranky without coffee, just quieter. Coffee only really makes a difference when I’m so tired I can barely function, otherwise it’s just--” She gave him a crooked smile. “The ritual of it. The reminder of her.”

He kissed her again. “Yeah.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “I’m jealous you just naturally are awake, though. I think naturally, I’d get up later, but--I like to get to work by seven at the latest so I can get in as much training and practice time as I can before the workday starts at nine.”

“I thought you did an hour of extra training at the end of the day.” What she didn’t add: I start checking the clock around 18:00, waiting for you to arrive.

“I do. Usually with Michael, sometimes Seamus or Laurel or Alicia. Sometimes Katie, just on pure combat. But. That’s on top of what I do on my own in the morning, in the training hall. And…anytime Harry beats me badly--let alone Michael or Dawlish or, well, anybody --I’ll put in more time for a while until I shore up my weak area, so that’s--always a wildcard. Then again, if we have crises or are building up to an arrest or an offense move, that’ll mean more time.”

“Of course.” She took in a breath. “What can I do? To help?” Her eyes went wide. “Wait, w-w-wait, if you’re staying over here, to get back to take care of your plants…you’d have to wake up earlier. I-I mean, hopefully you’re spending the night here a lot--”

“Hannie, hopefully I’m spending the night over here always.” He blushed, ducking his head. “I mean. If you wan--”

“I want you to,” Hannah blurted in a near-shout, pressing her fingers to her lips in apology as he beamed at her, leaning in to kiss her knuckles, each one on her hand as she continued, “Maybe…you could…bring the morning-watering plants here? So you don’t need to wake up any earlier than six to get back over to Gryff-mauld Place, and on days where you--aren’t here, I’m so happy to add your plants to my daily care list. And--I just have a deep feeling that nobody at Grimmauld right now enjoys plant care like I do. Hermione will care for them brilliantly, yeah, but she won’t love it like I do.” Neville was making his way from her knuckles to her palm, turning her hand around so he could begin pressing his lips to the soft skin that pillowed below her thumb. “And--you can bring any of your plants that need more fussy tending over here, any time. We can be a team.”

He didn’t reply; he just kissed her hand, more urgently, but silently. He didn’t meet her eyes. He slowed to a stop, pulling her hand in a loose fist to rest against his chest, almost fumbling a bit as he ran his thumb over her fingers; his head sank lower. 

“Nevvie?”

Finally, he whispered, “I’m being so selfish. Han--you--you won’t--I feel like I keep pulling you in deeper, making plans and talking of you and me being like--like--this serious this fast, and it’s not fair, it’s not fair to let you start binding yourself to me when--” 

Hannah frowned, marshaling a protest on the front of her tongue, when Neville lifted his head and said to her, so soft it felt like feathers: “I don’t want to have children while I’m an auror. I don’t want to make them targets for the ones who want to destroy what we all stand for, I don’t want to deal with…I don’t think I can handle the heartbreak of saying goodbye to them every day and knowing I might not come home at night. Or worse: what happened to my parents? That some evil wanker decides to do it to me, too, and my kids have to--” 

He choked slightly. “It makes me want to throw up every time I picture…I just picture…” He seemed a bit like he was about to gag, and Hannah’s hands moved immediately to take his face, coming in close, breathing long and slow as if a reminder that he could do the same--and he did, slowing his breath to match hers. “I think of--not just my parents but Harry’s parents, putting us to bed at night, so sure their kids were safe, and…” He trailed off; his tongue darted out to wet his lips as his eyes closed. “I just can’t, Hannah Leigh. Not to my children. I will do everything to keep you safe, but I don't think I can be spread out to protect kids, too. Not while I’m an auror. And--I might be an auror for the rest of my life, so…” 

He closed his eyes, wincing. “Do--do you want me to leave?”

Hannah whispered, “Come here,” and Neville hesitated before shifting up to bring his face level with hers, though his eyes were fixed, rooted, determinedly down and away from hers. “Do you want to be a father?”

“I do.” Neville’s eyes finally lifted to hers. “But I don't think I can, not when there's still so much darkness around. And--Hannie…that darkness comes for the people who insist on the light. Harry had to kind of--before you,” he added hastily, “it was actually during when I was dating Lisa and she started having nightmares about the Battle, nightmares that the war wasn’t over, and I said to him, you know, Maybe I should just stay single ‘cause this is too much to ask of someone, and--”

Hannah’s mouth slid open. “That’s--why you said what you said at the hearing. About how--people get together.” 

Neville’s lips twitched. “Yeah. I--was kinda trying…to work out just how much of a sacrifice it would be, to be with me. Ginny gets it , but then again, how many people are Ginny . Me…how was I gonna find somebody who…will get all this and understand why I just--can't. Because of this.”

“You find somebody who everybody jokes about having a ‘battle’ mode. Because somehow, she can push all of her own nonsense aside when it matters. And--this matters, Nev. Nevvie,” she added, putting her hand on his cheek. “Nevvie. You do not need to be alone. You…” 

She hesitated for a moment, eyes moving from his. “If Susan’s father wasn’t the Wizengamot parliamentarian, he wouldn’t have seen the draft policy regarding punishing Muggleborn blood status. If he didn’t see the policy, he wouldn’t have told Susan that she had forty-eight hours to get Justin to safety before it came into effect. If Susan didn’t tell Jussie, he doesn’t get out. And if Justin’s not Jus--refusing to go before ringing as many of the other Muggleborns we knew to get them to go with him--two dozen Muggleborns don’t escape, too. But. But if all of that doesn’t somehow perfectly come into place…Justin would have died in Azkaban. He might not have taken his own life like Mandy, but he’s the first to say he wouldn’t have survived, in any way, more than a few months at most.”

Hannah stared at him until his eyes skipped up to meet hers. “Your fight is my fight. Your fight is what keeps my best friend alive. And it’s literal life and death, Nevvie. Justin’s life. And Justin is an avatar for Hermione and Dean and Meg and Ananda and the Creeveys and Colin Baird and--so many. Your fight--god, Nev, what Harry and you and Ron and Mikey and everyone in the aurors are doing--you’re the heroes who say that Justin and all of the rest matter, and you’ll literally die for it. This all matters.” A deep breath in and then out, her nostrils flaring with how hard she breathed. “If what you need, to fight as hard and as long as you can, is to not worry about your children--your children as targets--then…that’s what it means to be with you. For me to fight, too.”

She gazed at him, nodding at first before she said, “It’s that simple to me.”

“But that means you won’t be a mother, Hannah. If I am an auror for--the next forty years. Let alone my whole life.”

“But it means that Justin lives. And everyone like Justin lives. And this country doesn’t go back, and no one has to be afraid that who they are is a death sentence. That’s real magic, Neville. The magic of getting to just be yourself. And I’m in. I’m in.” She kissed his cheek. “So: you’re not leaving, not unless I come with you.”

Neville was opening his mouth to speak, but Hannah sat up instead, suddenly curling in on herself. She fiddled with the hem of the top sheet. “You think you’re asking something so big from me, but…” She hesitated, glancing down at her body. “Nevvie? What if--I look the way I did fifth year?”

He startled, as if the change in topic hit him like a punch, leaving him reeling. “Wait, what?”

“What if I gain all of the weight back. What if--wh-what-what if I’m not pretty anymore, what if--I--”

He scrambled to a sit, too. “Hannah?” He blinked at her, scrubbing at his eyes, desperate to bring her into focus. “I just said that--what I’m asking of you, to be with me--and you’re--what?” He waved his hands. “Wait, wait wait wait wait, that you won’t be pretty?”

“Because I’ll be fa-f--heavy,” she compromised, her voice, barely above a whisper. “You’re a hero, you’re so special, people will expect you to be with a pretty girl, and--”

“Han, please, wait, I--I feel like you’re throwing bricks at my head, I need to catch up! I--” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Hannah Leigh Abbott, you could be thirty goddamn stones and you’d be beautiful. I’d--worry about your health since that’s a lot for any body to carry, let alone for your height, but as long as you’re still you, I’m going to--I mean, I thought you were so pretty during fifth year, Hannah. During D.A. meetings, when you’d get so excited when you did something right, you’d laugh and your plaits would bounce a bit and your smile…it was like this pure burst of sunshine during a time that was quite difficult for me. And your peony cheeks--this was before I realized you had two different blushes, the roses and the ranunculus, all I saw was the big beautiful peony bloom when your whole cheek is pink. I just saw you, and you were--you were beautiful, Hannah Leigh. Far too pretty for a loser like me.” 

Neville shrugged. “I mean: What if you are twice that heavy. What if you get sick and lose all of your hair and can’t leave your bed to use the loo. What if you are in a wheelchair, like Kirkwood Proudfoot? What if you get spattergroit and never lose the spots? Or look like Moody? Or lose your sight? Or get a shriveled arm like Dumbledore? Or—“ Neville took in a quiet breath that seemed to expand his whole body. “Or you’re like my parents? You’re not leaving me, auror baggage and no kids and everything? Well, guess what, Han, I’m not letting go of your shriveled hand. Huh? How about that? As long as you’re you on the inside, as long as you have that smile and that heart, nothing makes me not see you for beautiful you.” 

“My head is a mess, Nevvie, it’s a lot to ask you to deal with--”

He put his arms around her, moving her so that she laid on her back; he spread over her like the sky. “That’s part of being with someone, learning what they carry, figuring out how to share it. I come with a lot of baggage with my job, Hannie, and we haven’t even begun on my Gran yet…talk about a lot to ask someone to take on, that baggage comes with the scariest hat in all of Brittania, magic or Muggle. She'll likely wear it to our first dinner together.”

She giggled. Hannah reached for his face. “We’ll set your baggage down beside my broken brain and parent-related baggage, and maybe between the two, we’ll have a matched set. We can travel the emotionally-damaged world together.”

Neville giggled, kissing her left palm. “Get our tragedy passports stamped all around the globe.”

“We can enjoy ourselves, but we have to stop and stare out a window and brood at least twice a day.”

“Oh, at least. And sighing a lot to demonstrate our great mental pain,” Neville said, giggling harder. He moved in to kiss her, a contented hum growling in the back of his throat in a kind of purr. “You make everything feel okay, Hannah Leigh. Everything about me that’s felt so uncomfortable or embarrassing, you make it all suddenly feel right. And I swear, I’m going to work as hard as I can to make you feel the same way, that I can make you feel as safe in yourself. Though you--you have the most powerful and amazing magic I’ve ever known, just in the way you breathe.” He kissed the hollow of her throat. “You have utterly enchanted me, without ever lifting your wand.”

He had started to creep down her body, laddering kisses as he made his way past her breasts, but she grabbed at his shoulders. 

“No--do it first with your fingers. Please.” Her whole body shivered under her skin as her memory roared to life, all of the things she had pretended suddenly right here, real. “Mouth next. I want your hands first. I love your hands, Nevvie.”

“See, you can be bossy,” he teased, emerging from the covers and kissing at her neck as she blushed and giggled and held her breath as she felt his wrist begin sliding down her stomach. He tucked his lips into her neck, and she could feel him grinning each time she couldn’t manage to bite her own noise back, unable to silence the sounds that seemed to erupt from a part of her that she barely understood. 

Hannah clenched her eyes so tightly that stars formed in the backs of her eyelids--whole constellations, starbursts and comets. Entire universes and galaxies. All of them, everything she could see, promising now and forever with this boy who was more solid than the earth, more true than the constant rise of the sun; an unbroken future, an always: us.

Chapter Text

July 30, 2023: You ought to give me wedding rings.

“Okay…are you ready?” 

Gus looked ready to burst, a rocket of a boy building up heat as he vibrated with excitement. “Yes!”  

“But we’re not going to race, though,” Hannah said, watching Gus closely until he nodded, but her gaze shifted over to Leo whose eyes were anxiously darting back between his mother and his younger brother. She brushed her finger along his forehead, sweeping his bangs back before kissing the top of his head. “And you’re going to wait for me to open the door. That way, you can both tell Daddy happy birthday at the same time.”

Leo looked relieved, and Gus slumped slightly but nodded nonetheless. He sprung back up, wriggling so much that he seemed liable to make his pajamas vibrate right off his body. “I’m still ready!” Last year, one of their student baby-sitters, a seventh-year Ravenclaw, had called the boys the black cat and the golden retriever. Not that Hannah was comparing her four-year-old to their two dogs, but… exactly.  

“How about you give the doggies a treat so they stay down here and don’t blast past us to get to Daddy first? Leo and I will start upstairs since I can be so slow,” she said, picking up Neville’s mug of tea and heading out of the kitchen, the preparations for breakfast momentarily paused to rouse and retrieve the man of honor. As Gus led the golden retrievers to the beds by the massive fireplace in the main living room of the Gryffindor Head of House’s quarters, Hannah took Leo’s hand and guided the way to one of the staircases that spiraled up the small tower astride the larger House. They had lived on the basement level, eye-even with the grass, for their first stretch of time in the castle. Moving up here had been almost disorienting; instead of watching the flowers muscle their way out of the soil, she was higher than even the tallest tree in the Battle Memorial Garden could stretch; they lived above the living things now. 

 Leo climbed the stairs with deliberation, his blonde hair a frizzy mess--Neville’s thickness, her texture, giving their eldest son the appearance of having a mad pile of bleached straw on the dome of his head. This past year, he had edged just over the line between still-their-baby to actual-big-boy, a pinch more grown with every moment. His anxiety hovered around him like a fog, but the way he wanted to find his way out…Hannah didn’t know how someone so small could still be so strong. That must be the lion in him, she figured--his father in him. His name was more right than they could have ever known.

Gus suddenly motored up the stairs, overtaking them in his rush up the steps. He was humming softly like a muted train whistle as he bounded up the next staircase, rounding out of sight. 

“Mummy,” Leo said, looking up at her in nervousness. 

“I said no racing, but I didn’t say no running.” She lifted Leo’s hand and kissed his fingers. “Gus-Gus won’t go in without you, that’s not fair play, innit?”

Leo looked relieved, but he did begin moving quicker, tugging Hannah in his wake. By the time they made it up to the primary bedroom suite that spanned the whole top floor of the tower, Gus was indeed waiting, bouncing from one foot to the other. Hannah held a finger to her lips, raising her eyebrows at the boys in a silent signal, and then she pushed the door open just a fraction, enough to spy Neville sitting up in bed with How to Read a Tree: Clues & Patterns from Roots to Leaves perched in his lap. He glanced up and saw her, eyes popping wide, and then tossed the book to the side as he hastily scrambled to lie down, yanking the covers up to his shoulders and feigning sleep. He even tossed in a rather dramatic snore, making Hannah grin as she turned and nodded to the boys and pushed the door open.

“Happy birthday, happy birthday!” Gus bellowed, leaping onto the bed and smothering Neville with a blanket of an embrace. Leo broke into a wide smile, coming in from his mother’s half of the bed and snuggling up into Neville’s side, arms knotting fiercely around his father. 

“What! Lads! What a treat, this is the best way to wake up any day--but especially on a birthday,” Neville said, pulling himself into a sit while he gathered the two boys in his arms, pulling them in for a better hug. 

“Mummy has your tea,” Leo told him as Neville released them, and Hannah lifted the mug in reply, making her way to the bed. 

Gus yanked at one of the short sleeves of Neville’s pajama shirt. “We are gonna have a pancake cake for you, but Mummy said we should do it in the kitchen? Because that way everybody could eat? And then maybe nobody would spill? I think she meant me spilling.”

“I think she also meant me,” Neville admitted.

“You spill a lot,” Leo said, his head on Neville’s shoulder. 

“And it’s totally okay, that’s why we have cleaning charms,” Hannah said, offering Neville his tea. “Just--it’s not a bad thing to try to set us up for success and not getting syrup all over the duvet. At least not this year.”

“Spill free in 2023, that’s my motto,” Neville declared, and Hannah giggled, leaning over Gus to kiss him.   

“Are you excited? That it’s your birthday?” Gus asked. 

“I’m so excited! I had a lie-in,” he said, glancing at the clock with its hands at quarter-past seven, “I am getting pancakes…and we’re gonna do all my favorite things with all my favorite people today. It’s perfect, Gus-Gus.”

“When do we hafta go to Gran’s?” Leo asked.

“For lunch, so…it depends on if we think we can Floo or not, if we all can say--”

“AU-GUS-TA LONG-BOT-TOM’S HOUSE,” Gus bellowed, enunciating almost comically.

“A’gussuh Longbottomz‘ouse,” Leo said, more into Neville’s arm.

“Ahh- gus-tahh ,” Hannah corrected, eyeing Neville. “Just like Gus’s big name, yeah, but with an ahhh at the end. If you don’t think you can say it, honey, we can just take the Knight Bus.”

“I don’t like the Knight Bus, it’s too bouncy,” Leo said, burrowing into his father. 

Neville glanced at Hannah; she smoothed her hands over Gus’ hair and whispered just barely audibly, Gus woke him up too early, it’s a slow start.

He nodded back before using his wand to levitate the tea mug in the air to put his arm back around the older boy. “How about…after breakfast, you and me can take the dogs on a walk to the greenhouses and practice a few times until you got it? You and me?” He put his forehead against Leo’s. “I got you. Two lion men, right?” 

“Two lions,” Leo said with a crooked smile, burying his grinning face back into his father’s body.

“I wanna go to the greenhouses wif’ta dogs,” Gus said, nudging both of his parents. 

“But I need some company to go over to my office and make sure Mister Hagrid’s potion is coming along because we don’t want his allergies to stop him from having strawberries at the party,” Hannah told him. “And you’re so good at stirring, yeah?”

“I am! And! And then we’ll go to Gran’s and then we’ll go see James and Al and Lily an’ Hugo an’ Rosie an’ an’ ‘Melia an’ Ed an’ Angus an’ Cait an’--”

“Everybody ,” Neville said, nipping short the lengthy chain of names of all the D.A.'s progeny. He grinned a bit. “And their parents, and all of Ginny and Ron’s family too, likely. And we’ll give Uncle Harry his birthday gift, right?”

“Mummy said that you can’t have your presents until lunch, that we hafta do presents with Gran or else Gran will be right sore an’ Mummy’s scared of Gran,” Leo said.

“I am not scared of Gran.” Hannah shifted on her feet. “I am--appropriately cautious. After years of experience.”

“Smart Mummy,” Neville said, raising his eyebrows as he reached for his tea. 

“Have you--have you--have you gotten a birthday present that’s like your most favorite that you’ve ever gotten, Daddy? Do you have a favorite?” Gus asked, pressing against his father. His small stature made him look even more than two years younger than Leo, and when Hannah sat on the bed, and he came to nestle against her, for a moment, she had a flashback to his toddler years, just barely in the past. 

She resisted the urge to put her hand on her stomach, urgently searching for the first signs of stirring; this constant nostalgia for her boys’ babyhood, that felt like a sign that things were healthy, that the little one within was priming her because this one would make it all the way and make it five on the bed. Please.

“My most favorite present ever? That’s easy. ” Neville took a sip and then levitated the tea safely above him again. So he could reach over Gus and tuck a bit of Hannah’s hair behind her ear. “On my nineteenth birthday, Mummy gave me a kiss.”

“Well, it was more a prelude to a kiss,” Hannah said, beaming at him. She took his hand and pressed her lips into the cradle of his leathered palm; she could almost feel the story of every flower he had ever nurtured in the soil of his skin. “You gave me two kisses, the best kisses I had ever had in my life.”

“Kisses aren’t good presents,” Gus frowned, sticking out his tongue.

“She also gave me a little greenhouse.”

“That’s a good present,” Leo said. 

“Thank you,” Hannah grinned.

Neville slid his fingers in with Hannah’s. “You are my favorite present, always. Always, always. Always what I want and need. My garden girl.”

Hannah sniffled, pulling their hands to rest against her heart; funny how it thumped in a two-beat pattern, just like his name. Every moment, her body drummed out the rhythm of his name. “I love you, Nevvie.”

“I love you, my Hannah Leigh.” He leaned over Gus to kiss her.

“Ew, don’t get kiss juice on me,” Gus whined, shrinking below his parents.

Hannah pulled back and stared down at the boy. “What!”

“Where did you get that from?” Neville said, scuffing out a disbelieving laugh.

“Topher. Topher said that his daddy gets kiss juice all over his mummy ‘an ‘an that’s how babies are made ‘cause then Heidi was born.”

Neville’s eyebrows shot up, and Hannah blinked a few times. She gave her head a shake and held up her hand. Not today, she whispered, and he laughed, pulling her back in for another kiss. 

“Mummy gave Daddy a birf-day kiss an’ they got married an’ Daddy took th’ sword an’ killed a dragon an’ an’ lotsa werewolfs an’ Mummy became a healer to make all the big kids be not sick an’ then you had us.” Gus’ eyes moved in a wild circle as he considered that. “I guess maybe kiss juice is okay because it meant us.”

“Can you kill dragons if you don’t have kisses?” Leo asked, tugging on Hannah’s nightgown. 

“It wasn’t a dragon, it was a snake- dragon,” she said, and Neville beamed at her, giggling into his tea. “Wait, no, we need to teach them the right term lest Hermione or Charlie Weasley lecture them: it was a wyvern.”

“Snake-dragon,” Neville whispered, and the boys giggled, their eyes going wide.

“Tell the snake-dragon story,” Leo urged Neville, though he tugged on Hannah’s nightie in his eagerness. "Tell the story with the sword!"

"Yeah! The sword story!" Gus added, clapping his hands.

“I'll tell it at lunch, Gran will love to hear it again, I'm sure,” Neville said. “And yes, you can kill a dragon without kisses, but--” His fingers rounded the rise of Hannah’s knee, squeezing lightly. “They really help.”

Hannah stared at him, and it took her a moment to draw out of his eyes, the lovely stretch of spring in there, in him, that she loved so bloody much. “My loves, how about you two go get the doggies aaaaand…wait for me and Daddy to come downstairs, yeah?”

“Are you gonna give Daddy more kisses?” Gus said, a skeptical wrinkle carving above his nose.

“Yes.” She kissed the top of his head. “But not too many, I promise, I am ready for birthday pancakes, too. And we have to sing Daddy his song!”

“And do candles so Daddy can make'a wish,” Leo added, starting his scramble off the bed, though he paused to hurl himself into Neville for another hug, and his little arms squeezed Neville with all of their might, holding fast to his father like a desperate hope. “I am very happy you get to be older and with me.”

Neville’s eyes closed. “I am very happy to get to be with you, Leo.” And Hannah could hear, almost perfectly, the rest of his name: Franklin. Leo Franklin. Who was here and whole, the way Frank Longbottoms deserved to be.

The boys tumbled off the bed and out of the room, and Neville started to lean back against the pillows, but he suddenly grinned and reached for Hannah, pulling her with him, laughing as she squealed, her head somehow, perfectly, finding the nook just under his chin and tucking there. Neville used his wand to move the blanket so that she was under it with him, and for a moment, as she closed her eyes, she could swear they were back in her old bedroom at the Leaky, ignoring the morning as they held each other. That very first time they shared her bed.

Somewhere, deep in the heart of the early morning that was still too dark to be called day, they had finally exhausted themselves enough to droop into sleep. When Hannah finally woke, her head resting on the thicket of hair covering the left side of his chest, her hand wound up between the curls covering the right side like moss on a forest floor. It took her a moment to realize that he was stroking her hair, too, fingers combing up the back of her neck and into the tangled length of loose hair, slowly stroking it back into a smooth silk. It was the most soothing feeling Hannah had ever experienced, Neville’s hands gently caring for her. His perfect hands, leading up to those strong arms, joining with his shield of a body, his sword of a heart.

She moved her head just enough to see his face, and as he saw her, he looked surprised before his face flooded with awe. 

“What?” she whispered.

He somehow smiled wider. “You’re still here. I…I…I mean: You’re my dream girl, my birthday wish…who I’d think about at night,” he added, his voice suddenly tight, and she could feel a sudden stiffness against her upper thigh as he turned a sudden shade of scarlet. “I-I didn’t think…I didn’t think this could last. This. You.” He paused for a moment, weighing words that were on the tip of his tongue, and he then nodded just slightly as he decided to say, “I--had this stupid thought at one point during the Battle, when we were being overrun by the giants and the acromantulas and the werewolves, I had ducked behind some rubble heap to wipe my hands dry so I could better grip my wand, and I thought: Oh, I don’t want to die. I--” 

His voice caught, and then he gave her a smile so bashful and sweet and full of longing, she was sure her heart could never beat fully again, not unless it was only for Neville Longbottom: “I haven’t kissed Hannah Abbott yet.” 

“You…” she exhaled, and he began to blush.

“So,” he whispered, fingers threading back into her hair. “So. You can get why--why I kept waiting for you to disappear. The second I saw a line of sunlight between the curtains…”

“As if I could be anywhere else but here, ever again,” Hannah whispered back, and in the back of her head, all she could hear were church bells and the echo of vows one day to come. It was too soon to say those words--but-- “Always.”

In a bed in a tower in Hogwarts, high above the gardens he loved filled with flowers that reminded him of her, above the things that hurt that she made whole, Neville Longbottom held Hannah Longbottom the same way he did over two decades before. Though this time, he slipped his hand down to cradle her stomach, closing his eyes as if his touch could tell the truth of the future growing there, too; maybe he was remembering what the Seer said once, that there was a promise of more to come, that Leo and Gus were only the start.

That night, on his nineteenth birthday: it was only the start. Always was still waiting. 

“Happy birthday, my lion man,” Hannah told him.

“If it’s with you, sparrow?” Neville rested his forehead against hers, the weight of him the easiest thing in the world that Hannah could ever carry. “How could it be anything else?”