Being young and apparently naïve, I used to think that, with a war on, there would be no such thing as boredom. This was not the case. The main problem was that while there was a war on, I wasn't of age and I was a sixth-year. No matter what I did as an act of rebellion or loyalty, I would probably just get a detention out of it. It was a pathetic state to be in, when I considered what was happening to other people; I was worrying about going too far with the Carrows while every week seemed to bring another rumor about how near of a miss my ex-boyfriend, best friend and prat of a brother had with the Death Eaters. When there were Muggles being murdered and Muggle-borns being thrown into Azkaban by the dozens, I felt ridiculous to have my own problems, but being trapped and treated as a petulant child was its own punishment.
The only thing that was guaranteed to make me smile was another act of rebellion. The holdouts from Dumbledore's Army, forbidden from meeting again, had made a kind of game out of our adverts. After double Muggle Studies one day, I smirked my way past "Dumbledore's Army: Catch us if you can." On the day that Neville got beaten for speaking in defense of Muggle-borns, someone—Seamus from the look of the handwriting—charred "Hermione for Headmistress" into Amycus' door. "Potter for President" had never grown old, but that one was a special hex-you gesture to the purebloods running the place and it brightened our moods until retribution and a new door were in place.
As the year went on, though, it was harder and harder to sneak out unnoticed to commit these acts of loyal vandalism. We didn't have Harry's Invisibility Cloak and one wrong move had revealed that Mrs. Norris was quite good at noticing Disillusioned students running amok.
And then people started disappearing. One of the Ravenclaw third-years had been discovered as having a forged family tree and while she wasn't thrown in Azkaban like her parents, she was expelled without question. Luna never came back after Christmas. Some of the paintings whispered rumors to us about who was going to be targeted next and it was no surprise that Neville, our de facto fearless leader, was high on the list. This didn't have much of an effect on him, but it did have a significant effect on how many people turned up for DA meetings.
The year dragged on and in spite of the rumors, Neville stayed put. Maybe they thought he was more of an example that way or maybe they balked at throwing a pureblood in with the Mudbloods, but he wasn't spirited away in the middle of the night and we all felt safer for it.
Other than the constant fear, school was pretty normal. When I wasn't worrying about the well-being of my friends or checking the Daily Prophet for Harry-related headlines, I was throwing myself into schoolwork in a way that would have made Hermione proud. When I wasn't listening for the next Pottercast, I was revising for Potions exams. It was an idiotic thing to do, trying to have something normal when there was a war out there, but it was better than hiding in my dormitory and hoping that they wouldn't come for me next.
On the first Saturday in February, though, a new number turned up on my trick Galleon. It was the first time in a month that it had happened and that small thing had the same effect as a Cheering Charm. It was dangerous to look suspiciously happy, but I whistled on my way to breakfast and grinned at Neville when Snape wasn't looking. The only thing that put a damper on my mood was that it was a week away. With that on my schedule, I barely remembered the next week.
Saturday morning was when I should have finished my homework, but I was too distracted to do anything really productive. When quarter to noon rolled around, I packed up my books and headed for the library as an alibi. I cowered appropriately when Alecto Carrow looked at me the wrong way. I asked Professor McGonagall a question for Monday's lesson. And finally, having to run a bit to get to the right corridor, I reached the seventh floor.
I need somewhere to practice where the Carrows won't find me. I need somewhere to practice where the Carrows won't find me. I need somewhere to practice where the Carrows won't find me.
I turned from Barnabas the Barmy to find a familiar door set into the wall. After my usual look-round to make sure no one was spying on me, I seized the handle and opened the door.
It was not what I expected. DA meetings were usually stocked with spellbooks and Dark Detectors. I had never seen a Defense Against the Dark Arts revision that included a picnic basket.
"Surprise," Neville said cheerfully. "Close the door before someone gets a whiff."
Since there was fried chicken at stake, I closed the door very quickly. "What is this?"
"Valentine's Day," he explained. "Thought it was the DA, did you?"
"Well, yeah," I deadpanned. "That was the point."
"That's tonight," he corrected. "Six o'clock until curfew, the usual."
"And this is…" I gestured to the small meadow that had somehow appeared in the Room of Requirement. "Valentine's Day?"
"Valentine's Day," Neville confirmed with a smile. "It does come around every February 14 or did you forget?"
I had forgotten. I'd read the numbers, but hadn't put it together. And here I was, ready to hex someone and Neville was…what? Romancing me?
As if he'd read my mind, Neville stepped back and explained, "It's not like that. Honest."
I actually laughed, maybe for the first time since Fred had brightened our Christmas by turning Mum's hair green for an afternoon. "Sorry. It's just the last thing I expected."
"'Course it is," Neville said. He sat on the picnic blanket and gestured to the spot opposite him. "Harry's off Merlin-knows-where and I don't think any of us have really been keeping track of the holidays."
I didn't believe him. I believed that he kept counting the days that he was still alive and able to take a stand against the new regime. He probably wondered if he'd make it to Easter holidays and I had weeks like that, but Neville was making git-baiting a hobby and it showed in the cuts and bruises that he earned. I sat down and he conjured two plates out of thin air.
"Thank you," I said.
Neville smiled crookedly and removed the leftover chicken from last night from the basket. The basket must have been bigger on the inside, since he produced everything from mashed potatoes to a treacle tart out of the thing. In spite of myself, I was impressed.
"But why?" I asked.
"Like I said, Harry's off Merlin-knows-where," he said.
"And?"
"And we're friends," Neville insisted. "Valentine's Day doesn't have to be about snogging someone or getting flowers for a girl. It's a day when you're supposed to remember everyone you love. Like Harry or Luna…"
"Or the rest of the DA," I added. "And like our friends."
He raised a butterbeer to me before popping the top off. "Like our friends," he confirmed. "You've been a good one to me."
"I have?" I shook my head. "You took most of the blame for the sword-heist."
He shrugged. "You helped me escape when Alecto had me cornered."
Not to be outdone, I folded my arms and stared at him pointedly. "You didn't laugh at me when I sent Harry a singing Valentine."
"You didn't laugh at me when I asked you to the Yule Ball," he said.
I hadn't, but I'd felt sorry for myself for a while and that didn't do anything for my sense of guilt right now. "I went with you because you never treated me like someone's kid sister," I said.
I had finally one-upped him. He saluted me with a fork and grinned. "You're a rare thing, Ginny Weasley, and sometime you'll know how important that is to all of us."
Forgetting the amount of food on my plate, I scooted around the picnic basket and gave him a hard, grateful hug. "You're a rare thing, Neville Longbottom," I echoed. "And you know when to make that count."