Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise, and blah and blah. You know how it goes.

A/N - Written primarily for the Romanticized situation Competition, but I've thrown lots of others in there too, because that just how I roll :P I can't even claim the plot for this, because it was part of the prompt. So, credit for most of the plot goes to Skihale/Anna.

Written for -

The Fault In Our Stars Competition - The world isn't a wish granting factory.

Hunger Games Competition - Primrose Everdeen - Neville

Disney Character - Winnie The Pooh - Neville. Also used the prompt - Sunrise.

The Wand Wood Competition - Cherry - Neville

Birthday Competition - June - Zodiac - Emotion/Intensity

The Variety of Prompts Challenge - Harry Potter Related Words - Wand

Word Count Without A/N - 1416

Never Forget You

Neville didn't keep up with the dead in battle. Too many to count, so many pointless deaths, people, children, wiped out for the sake of it. Children who could have grown up to be magical wonders, or healers, or the next Minister. All gone in a flash of light. Walking the aisles in the Great Hall, he knew the vision of so many people lay, unmoving on the floor surrounded by family and friends grieving for their loved ones, would haunt him for many years to come.

An unwelcome feeling of foreboding overcame him as he saw face after familiar face, but none of those from the bridge. None of those that he, personally, had killed. The very thought made him feel dirty. He was a murderer, even if he hadn't turned his wand on them. There was no bodies to mourn over, no one Neville could apologise to.

It took three days for Neville to bring himself to leave the castle. His gran had traveled to Johannesburg to visit a niece, to relax, and recover from the toll of war. Neville wanted to stay at Hogwarts and help rebuild, but he was exhausted. It was Harry who eventually convinced him to leave, to go home and sleep while he didn't have to worry about looking after his Gran.

A glass of whiskey in hand, he stared morosely into the fire, unwilling and unable to go to bed. The nightmares, the blood, the tears, the murder, the death, all of it kept him from closing his eyes.

A creak from the hallway, muffled footsteps on carpet should have had Neville gripping tightly to his wand. They should have had him standing ready to face the uninvited intruder, ready to defend his life and his home. They didn't.

He knew who it was.

The uninvited, but not completely unwelcome visitor sank into the chair closest to the fire, and from the corner of his eye, Neville could see the filthiness of the robes he wore, tattered and ripped, burnt and bloodstained. The man's eyes followed Neville as he took another drink.

"Any of that going spare?"

The gruff voice sent shivers down Neville's spine, but he met the gaze of his guest. The intensity of his eyes made Neville feel slightly uncomfortable for reasons he didn't know, but he summoned a second glass, filled it generously and handed it over.

Ewan Scabior should have terrified Neville. Neville should have screamed, or stunned, or at least bound the man as soon as he entered.

Neville was tired. Tired of fighting, and war, and being scared. He could see that Scabior, as terrifying as the man had once been to Neville, was tired as well.

In that moment, Neville didn't care that the two had just fought on opposing sides of a horrifying battle. He didn't care that the man could kill him easily, with just a flick of his wand.

He was company, and he was real, and at this moment, he was comfort. Neville closed his eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep.

xxxx

Neville blinked slowly into awareness, his sleep befuddled mind taking its time as he took in his surroundings. He was still in front of the fire, and as he turned his head, he saw Scabior still sitting in the same place, watching him through tired eyes.

Neville checked his wand was still in his sleeve, it was, and sat up a little.

"What are you doing here?" he asked quietly.

"I had nowhere else to go," Scabior admitted, bowing his head slightly. "I don't want... I don't want to fight anymore. I just want... peace and quiet."

"You don't think you deserve Azkaban?" Neville asked, yet there was nothing accusatory in his tone. Just curiosity.

"Probably. I don't... I didn't care who won, you know. Not in the end. It all got pointless, and I didn't even know what I was fighting for anymore. I don't know what I was fighting for to begin with, except, maybe, my life."

"Is that why you didn't curse me, or take me to the Carrows?" Neville asked, his mind going back to a few weeks before Harry's return to Hogwarts.

Flashback

Neville checked around himself to make sure noone was watching, before he quickly undid the chains holding the first year to the wall. Anger boiled in his veins at the thought of what the Monsters had done to the poor child, all in the name of 'punishment'. Neville didn't know what the boy had done, he didn't really care. All he cared about was saving him from the barbaric torture that would surely become him if he was left there.

A sound behind him had Neville turning quickly, his eyes meeting those of, who he would later learn was, Ewan Scabior.

Neville readied himself for what was sure to be a fight, placing himself in front of the shaking first year.

"Hurry up, they'll be here in a minute," Scabior whispered.

Neville eyed the man suspiciously for a few seconds, before he turned tail quickly, pulling the young boy with him as he headed back to the room of requirement. His task completed successfully, he forgot about the man as he celebrated getting one over on the Carrows.

It was only when he saw Scabior on the bridge that he realised he had never thanked him.

End Flashback

"I guess so. Or maybe I was impressed that you were still fighting back against them. I don't know. I don't know much of anything anymore."

Neville watched Scabior for a moment, wondering what to do. Should he turn the man over to the Ministry, forget all about him again, go on with his life like this had never happened? Or should he allow the man to stay, to lie low until he could get away somewhere abroad, somewhere safe, where he could find his peace?

"You can stay here. For a little while, until you can escape the country unnoticed," he said, his decision surprising even him a little. He told himself that this was his way of thanking the man for the life of the little boy. "The Ministry won't come here. You'll be safe."

"Why?" Scabior croaked, and Neville watched emotions flash quickly in the grey eyes.

"Because... Because. When I know the answer to that question, I'll let you know."

xxxx

The following days saw the two men fall into an uneasy companionship, a routine established that could so easily be broken. Both knew they were playing with fire, all it would take was a spark and it would all go up in flames.

The spark came in the form of a brush of skin, a hand lingering for a second too long as a glass was handed from one to the other.

Eye contact.

Blue met Grey.

Simultaneous.

Lips mashing on lips.

Clothes thrown.

Fast, hard, healing.

The relationship changed, and the routine was broken. No longer were their uneasy silences, instead, moans of pleasure and pain filled the rooms they occupied, each seeking a comfort only the other could give. They both knew it couldn't last. The day of their parting was quickly coming, faster than a Snitch being chased by a seeker.

xxxx

Neville stood awkwardly in the kitchen as he watched Scabior pull up the hood on the midnight black cloak Neville had supplied him with.

"I wish things could be different," he said quietly, wincing at the harsh laugh his companion gave.

"The world isn't a wish granting factory," Scabior snapped out, his voice gruff. He waited a few seconds before sighing. "I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that. I really am grateful for everything."

"I know," Neville replied, his voice little more than a whisper. He was finding goodbye harder than he should have.

"I'll write, when I'm settled."

"You won't. You don't need too. Just... Look after yourself, alright?"

"I will. It'll be fine. I'll be long gone before sunrise."

Neville nodded, not sure what was left to say. There wasn't anything left. He pressed his lips against Scabior's one last time and stepped back. He stopped when the other man caught his hand.

"Will you remember me, Neville?"

"I'll never forget you, Ewan. I promise you that."