The background hustled and bustled with patrons conversing while they ate or waited for their food inside the Leaky Cauldron. Friday nights were always quite busy, not to mention, rather loud. People celebrated the end of a work week, at least those who had weekends off, and chose to do so with a nice meal out, and a few drinks. More than a few customers ventured home those nights a bit tipsy and unable to drive, so it was a good thing most witches and wizards didn't drive or even own a car. They had no need to be behind the wheel after a few rounds of fire whiskey or whatever hard liquor caused them to become mindless stupor idiots.
People were lost in their own little world, unaware of the one man in the entire pub who had helped save the wizarding world. Without him, they might not be there. Although he did not defeat Lord Voldemort, he had courageously helped in the efforts by killing the snake Nagini and destroyed one of the last Horcruxes so Harry could defeat Voldemort. If only they had known how far over the edge this man had gone, what he had lost after gaining such a heroic title. What once belonged to the man no longer seemed fitting at this very point in time.
With the noises in the background dulling as business dwindled down for the night, the man sat there quietly, stubble formed on his lower chin, the almost jet black hair matching the mop of hair on top of his head, unkempt and messy from days without care. He no longer cared and his blue eyes displayed the emptiness, the sadness within. Grief did not explain what he had lost. Nothing could explain what he truly lost throughout the years, and the last few months. As his hand gripped tightly around the glass tumbler in his hand and raised to his lips, allowing the amber colored liquid to pass through his lips and course down his throat with a burning heat, it did not bring forth any comfort. It only ebbed away the aching feeling within.
Hannah Abbott, the owner of the Leaky Cauldron for at least a year now, spotted the man from behind the bar as she wiped it down with a rather wet bar cloth. People were messy, and she needed to sop up all the alcohol people spilled, and their messes from eating whatever food she offered at the pub that night. Having tied her long blonde hair up into a bun with her own wand, she began to wipe down the bar. While magic might be appropriate for cleaning, she waited until all customers left before waving her wand. The last thing she needed was for a chair to mysteriously fall out from under the arse of one of her patrons and lose good money due to careless magic. Best to wait until all customers left for the night before working on such fruitless tasks like cleaning her own pub.
Until everyone left, Hannah began cleaning the old fashioned way, starting with the bar. It always had the heaviest amount of filth, but as she wiped mindlessly at the hard wooden top, her green eyes fell upon a man sitting by himself, his hand clasped rather tightly around a glass tumbler as he drank what she assumed had to be fire whiskey. She had to admit, the man had a familiar look to his face behind the stubble and messy hair, not to mention his rather disastrous wardrobe. A blue wrinkled button down dress shirt, the top two buttons undone, no tie, and completely wrinkled with matching black dress pants to match. It almost appeared as if he had just attended a business meeting or a funeral and had lost every ray of hope left in the world but forgot to change his wardrobe in the process. He certainly did not fit in here at the moment.
While Hannah tried to keep to herself in regards to the personal matters of her loyal patrons, something about this man struck her in the very pit of her chest. He looked familiar, as if she had met him before, and having attended Hogwarts, it was unlikely she met anyone she didn't recognize around her own age. Then again, this man aged at least five to ten years by his own appearance. As her heart fluttered, Hannah inhaled deeply, trying to calm her nerves as she built up the courage to walk over to the man to try and offer a word of advice or even any help if he needed it.
Leaving the soaking wet cloth on top of the bar, Hannah wiped her hands on the white apron tied around her brown dress she wore for working at the pub and approached the man slowly. She did not want to startle him, and with all other patrons having left, the last one only a few seconds ago, the place became so quiet. One wrong move, even the slightest sound might send this man over the edge, and with no one else in the pub, she had no one to call for help other then the aid of her own magic.
Almost tip toeing over to the man, Hannah sat down across from him at the booth, her emerald green eyes studying him, searching for any sign of humanity within him, any normalcy, but he did not respond by her even sitting down. Instead, he stared down into his drink as if hoping to find something at the bottom. Unfortunately, Hannah had no news for him. He would only find the bottom of an empty glass, and no matter how many times she refilled it, it wouldn't take away whatever pain he felt. She had seen this before, customers sitting in the pub for hours as if they lost their entire life in a matter of a day. Some had, whether through divorce, death, or just lost everything back in the Second War, but that was no reason to sulk and try not to move on. Now, however, Hannah wanted to offer a bit of advice, or at least talk to this man to try and remove him from this mood.
"Are you alright, sir? You have been sitting here for quite some time, and everyone else has gone. We're about to close, and while you are more than welcome to stay in one of our rooms upstairs, I have to close up the pub." Her voice nearly echoed in the empty pub, despite how softly she had spoken. "I don't mean to put you out. Are you okay?"
The voice of an angel rang through the man's head, as if the voice cut through his grief and despair, awakening him suddenly from his drunken stupor. His dull blue eyes cast upwards, meeting those of the woman sitting across from him. To his surprise, Hannah Abbott sat before him, her long blonde hair atop of her head in a gathered mess. Her beauty pulled at his chest, but only momentarily before everything hit him once more. He had lost too much to worry about beautiful women. He had never been good with them at Hogwarts, and nothing would change that, especially with his current state.
A gasp escaped the young woman at the sight of the man before her. While the stubble and unkempt appearance was enough to fool anyone, she recognized that face a mile away. Having served with him in Dumbledore's Army, and having known the stories of the Second War, there was no way she could not recognize him. "Neville? Neville Longbottom? Are you okay? What's happened to you?" She asked, her tone of voice full of surprise. That's up until she realized what she read in the Daily Prophet last week and yesterday in the obituaries.
Alice and Frank Longbottom passed away last week in St. Mungo's, apparently due to natural causes. Hannah remembered that much. She could only imagine how awful it had to be, living in a mental institution, not knowing who you were, and that's when it hit her; how awful it had to be for Neville. Not once had he truly known his parents. Their minds were lost while he still needed to sleep in a crib. While she didn't know the exact details, she heard how he visited his parents a few times in St. Mungo's every year. To see one's parents dwindled down to nothing, to be a shell of their former selves, that had to be the hardest thing to experience in the world. The Longbottoms loved their son enough to give up their sanity by the way of torture, and while Neville had to feel loved, it had to be complete torture knowing that on some basic level, his parents were shells of their former selves due to himself.
Hannah's question forced a river of emotion to build within Neville once more. He began drinking to ebb the pain, to try and push it to the background, but so far he only wallowed in his memories, in what might have been. To try and form words to answer her was the most difficult thing he had ever done at the moment, and having destroyed a Horcrux and fought in the Second War, that said quite a bit. "My p-parents. T-They died." His voice shook, stuttering as he had once done during his time at Hogwarts due to nervousness, and that awful nosebleed and every word sounded funny that time. "And n-now…" His voice cracked, trailing off as his throat clasped tightly, unable to speak any further. Instead, his hand moved upwards once more, pressing the cool glass against his lips. Tipping the glass back, he poisoned himself once more with the alcoholic beverage.
Lowering his arm, Neville returned the glass to the table, his eyes cast back towards the now empty glass. If only he had known of Hannah's thoughts. Reaching the bottom of the glass brought no solace, no sense of relief. All that sat before him was just another empty glass, another dead end. Nothing. That's what his parents had been. Nothing. Former shells of themselves, and no thanks to himself. While he rarely spoke of his parents to anyone, deep down, Neville partially blamed himself for what happened to his parents. Of course, Bellatrix and her husband were to blame, but if he hadn't been born, if they weren't trying to protect him, they might be sane. He was proud of them, nonetheless, but it still hurt, pulled at his very core and sickened him to think of them being tortured to the brink of insanity, all to save their infant child.
"Gran." He uttered in a crackled whisper, his heart breaking as he formed the name of the woman he had lived with. A sob escaped the man as he remembered why he had come here tonight. While the loss of his parents only a week ago felt like fresh wounds in his chest, the loss of his grandmother tore at his lifeless soul. He had lost her too, only yesterday, and now he had no family left. The woman who was once so bright and full of life for her age, who egged him on to be the best he could be, who once thought he might not even be magical, had now left this world. She lived a long life, a good one at that, even showing up at Hogwarts to help her grandson, to help in the Battle of Hogwarts. All that strength and courage slipped away with her death. His parents and his grandmother were just more cold corpses filling up holes in the ground.
Only yesterday, Hannah read in the Daily Prophet about Neville's grandmother passing away too. Her heart went out to him for three losses within a week of time, but seeing him here like this, her heart ached and nearly fell into the pit of her stomach. To see a hero from the Second War so torn and broken, nearly demolished and staring down the glass of alcohol to drown his sorrows struck her down to her core. She needed to help him, especially after hearing that sob and his voice crack. Hannah's breath trembled as she nearly had to push back tears herself.
Reaching out, Hannah hesitantly placed her cool pale hand on top of his own warm hand, no doubt due to the alcohol coursing through his body. The hand she touched clasped around the glass cup, hoping he might let it go due to her reaching out to him. Her green eyes scanned him, waiting for him to look up at her. "I'm sorry for your loss. I-I'm really sorry. I can't imagine what you're going through right now. I know what it's like to lose parents, and trust me when I say that staring down at your glass and drinking yourself into oblivion won't help any." She said softly, squeezing his hand in a comforting gesture. Her thoughts focused on Neville and trying to comfort him at this point.
When Hannah rejoined Dumbledore's Army under the leadership of Neville, she looked up to him as an idol, and the two became quite close. On some level, she hoped he might show greater affections for her, but nothing happened. To this day, she always wondered what could have been, but those thoughts were pushed to the background once more. Now was not the time to bring up old what ifs and what could have beens.
Those empty blue eyes gazed up at Hannah once more, his hand suddenly feeling warmer from what little heat her cool hand managed to give off. Working in a place like this probably did very little for keeping her warm, but he shook the thought from his head. Instead, his mind drifted, remembering how Hannah had lost her own mother due to being murdered. While his parents had died of natural causes and may not have been all there mentally speaking, and his Gran lived a long healthy life, Hannah's mother had her life cut short. Perhaps wallowing in his grief was selfish, but he did not have the strength to fight back at the moment. He had already endured so much. He didn't deserve this.
"I'm sorry, Hannah. I forget about your mother, but it's just so hard. I know they're in a better place, but I have no family left. They're all gone, and I've already lost so much. I thought after the war it would be okay, but when does it stop? Does it ever stop?" He asked before abruptly pulling his hand away from Hannah's, both of his hands moving to his face as he let out a series of sobs. He felt incredibly ashamed to break down like this, a grown man crying in a pub in front of the owner. A war hero did not belong crying like this, but hadn't he deserved at least one moment to grieve? He had not properly grieved after the war, to relish in all he lost.
As soon as Neville sobbed, Hannah panicked. She had no idea what to do, so instead of sitting there trying to comfort him, she simply stood up and moved to his side of the booth. Instinct kicked in, her hand reaching out to grab his shirt and nearly pull him to his feet. "You just need to sleep it off. Everything will be better once you sleep off that alcohol and have a good night's rest." While that sounded like a brilliant idea, Hannah had no idea if Neville was up for it. Maybe he wanted to wallow in his grief, to sit there, and although closing up the pub had to be a priority, she wouldn't dare kick him out. She could close up and leave him there if that's what he wanted, no matter how awful that thought sounded.
At Hannah's abrupt touch, Neville quickly wiped his eyes and gazed towards her, his blue eyes watery with tears and red from crying. His cheeks were wet from where tears had fallen. He looked at Hannah apologetically as he carefully stood up from the booth. From all of the alcohol, his legs were unsteady, his equilibrium off balance. Luckily Hannah's grasp on his shirt was enough to steady him. All he had to do now was ascend the stairs towards the rooms.
"I'm sorry." Neville apologized, his face grim with grief and embarrassment. He could only imagine what people would think if they had seen Harry Potter crying in a public venue in front of a woman. That's when it hit him. Harry had lost just as much, if not more than him before the war officially started. He lost both of his parents without truly knowing them. At least Neville had the opportunity to meet his own, and had a grandmother to raise him instead of imbecile muggles who treated Harry like a neglectful Foster child. He lost several people during the war, and while comparing lives had very little to do with his emotions right now, perhaps it was at least a little something to help Neville suck it up, at least to reach the rooms upstairs.
"Please don't apologize. You're going through a traumatic stage in your life, and I'm just glad I can help." Hannah uttered quietly with a soft sympathetic smile. She continued to grip his shirt tightly, if only causing more wrinkles to the already untidy mess, not that he cared.
Neville staggered as he tried to walk towards the stairs, his head hazy and incoherent from the alcohol. Although he was still in control of his thoughts, he had very little control over his body movements and general direction, which seriously lacked at the moment. As he reached the base of the stairs, his foot slammed hard against the wood flooring, nearly causing his feet to fall out from under him. Hannah stabilized him once more, and he glanced at her appreciatively, as best as possible in his drunken state.
All the way up the stairs, Hannah guided Neville one step at a time like a guardian angel, guiding him through hale storm. Of all the things Neville cherished from his time at Hogwarts, it had to be the friends he made, the good times he had, and right now, he was ever so grateful to have a friend like Hannah who helped him through his darkest time in life.
As the two reached the main landing of the upstairs to the pub, Neville felt relieved. At least he had conquered the worst part of it all. Still, Hannah managed to gracefully guide him to an empty room. When she turned on the light, the brightness nearly blinded Neville, his eyes stinging and closing shut. His hand instinctively covered his eyes, although he realized Hannah needed the light on in order to guide him through the room without tripping over every piece of furniture. The last thing he needed was to pay her for broken furniture too.
"Oh sorry!" She exclaimed. "I'll turn the light off once you're settled in bed." Hannah explained as she led him to the bed, maneuvering him around all of the furniture. The room was nothing extravagant, just a few pieces of furniture to get people by for the night. Mainly a bed, a nightstand, a dresser, and a bathroom off to one side. It did not compare to Hannah's headquarters, but customers paid more for better rooms, and at the moment, Hannah's only concern was to get Neville into bed safe and sound.
Neville squinted in order to see everything in the room, his eyes burning from the harsh light. He managed to find the bed with Hannah's help, nearly collapsing on top of it. The pillow comforted Neville as he laid there, ebbing away a bit of the pain coursing through his head. It reminded him of his childhood, how after having a nightmare, he ran to his grandmother's room and crawled into her bed, if only to irritate the old woman, but it comforted him. He felt at ease, and on some level, even if she would never admit it, his grandmother enjoyed the closeness too.
Hannah sat down on the edge of the bed, her pale hands reaching out to slip his shoes off one by one, and placed them carefully on the floor. They were not in the best of shape, but she needed to treat them with great care because that's how any of her customers would be treated, and with Neville being an old friend, she had to treat him with extra care. Standing up, Hannah grabbed the hand woven blanket at the end of the bed, pulling it up over Neville until she reached his neck. After having done this, she placed a hand on his cheek gently and sat down on the edge of the bed once more.
As Hannah sat there, she began to sing a song, anything to try and comfort Neville. Her voice chimed like an angel in Neville's ears, comforting him with warmth and compassion, something he had not felt in quite some time. Neville listened to the words, unfamiliar, but they were logical in his situation.
"Well, everybody's hit the bottom. Everybody's been forgotten. When everybody's tired of being alone. Yeah, everybody's been abandoned. And left a little empty handed. So if you're out there barely hanging on. Just give it one more try to a lullaby. And turn this up on the radio. If you can hear me now. I'm reaching out. To let you know that you're not alone. And if you can't tell, I'm scared as hell. 'Cause I can't get you on the telephone. So just close your eyes. Oh, honey here comes a lullaby. Your very own lullaby."
The words were completely foreign to Neville, but it was the first song to pop into Hannah's head, and one that made sense. It did the trick though as Neville's eyes slowly drifted shut and sleep overcame him. For the first time in a week, Neville fell asleep peacefully and allowed sleep to wash over him. For the first time in a very long time, Neville was comforted by someone other than his family, and while such a thing was so foreign, he appreciated it nonetheless.
Light shone through the window in the morning, blaring Neville in the face. He groaned in disgust, the light nearly blinding him. His head throbbed with a hangover from all the alcohol he drank the night before. He needed aspirin, and now, but he had to get his lazy arse out of bed first, which proved to be such an effort with everything going on in his life right now. Hannah had not woken him up, probably due to opening the pub in the morning to check customers out and serve breakfast. Oddly enough, the Leaky Cauldron had quite a delicious breakfast menu, which surprised most people the first time they ate there due to it being a pub, but those who stayed the night needed to eat the most important meal of the day just like everyone else.
As Neville slowly opened his eyes, the light stung, causing pain to shoot through to his skull, only adding to the excruciating headache resting there. Instead of avoiding the inevitable, the disgruntled man pushed himself out of bed, his hands cradling his head from the sudden change in position. Blood rushed upward, causing his head to throb again, on top of the headache. This really was not a very good morning for him.
Trying to force himself out of the bed, that's when the door burst open. Luckily for Hannah, Neville wasn't naked. Perhaps knocking had been lost as a common courtesy. Still, as he forced his blood shot blue eyes to look at her, the bright smile on her face was enough to warm his very soul, to cause the headache to ebb away, if only minimally. The smell of bacon and eggs helped, and yet caused his stomach to churn, the threat of vomit on the verge. Regardless, his former school mate brought the tray of food over to the nightstand next to his bed and placed it down carefully.
"I brought you eggs, bacon, toast, and orange juice. I thought a good breakfast would perk you right up. You need to be in tip-top shape for the funeral later." Hannah had changed her approach from comfort to an all out positive attitude. Feeling sorry for him wasn't going to cut it, and so she decided to kick it up a notch, although not to the point of being inappropriate. Grieving people didn't need that kind of loony behavior around them.
When Hannah mentioned the funeral, Neville had nearly forgotten about it. What a shame for a grandson to nearly forget his own grandmother's funeral. Sadly, while wallowing in his grief and despair, Neville had forgotten. At least everything was planned a long time ago, according to his grandmother's wishes. She had a will and everything written out, instructions left with the right people to take care of the funeral. All Neville had to do was take the money out of her vault to pay, and he had done so right away. Even though he had nothing left to plan, any hope of getting there looking halfway decent felt impossible. He had no suit, he needed to shave desperately, and shower.
"Hannah, I don't have my suit here, I'm a wreck, and haven't written a speech." Being the only surviving family member, Neville had to give a speech at the service, one thing he hated above all others. Of course, he had no quarrel with giving his grandmother the best send off as possible, but he hated speeches in front of a bunch of people he didn't even know.
"The tailor sent over your suit this morning after I contacted them, just assuming you had a suit custom made. There is aspirin on the tray there, so try to eat something and take the aspirin. Get yourself cleaned up and I'll be back in to check on you." Hannah explained with such radiance to her voice that Neville felt envious of her energy. Right now he needed energy, and she sure had enough of it. That's not to say he didn't appreciate it. To have someone sympathetic towards him, to have her baby him would be far worse. The funeral later would be bad enough with people he knew attending and giving their condolences. Heck, he had seen half of them a week ago.
"Alright. I'll try to eat but no promises." His voice sounded empty and gravely, which meant he needed to drink something. The alcohol had dried him out, and at least the orange juice she brought benefited him in that respect.
Hannah nodded casually and smiled once more before exiting the room in that hopeless brown dress from the night before. Neville wondered if she had more than one but shook the thought from his mind. That was none of his business. Glancing at the tray of food, he stared at the food. It smelled delicious, but eating at the moment caused him to clutch his stomach. He might puke if he forced anything down at the moment. Taking aspirin on an empty stomach was a far worse idea though, so instead he snatched up a piece of the bacon and bit a huge piece off with his teeth. It crunched as he chewed, and at least the greasiness would help. He read that people who ate greasy food before drinking alcohol would absorb it less quickly. Maybe the same applied for hangovers? He had no clue as his stomach threatened to remove the bacon just as quickly. That's when he reached for the aspirin and orange juice, downing them in one swallow and deciding against anymore of the food for the time being. Maybe after he cleaned himself up.
Pushing himself off the bed with his hands, Neville slowly walked to the bathroom. His eyes spotted his tailored suit resting on a sad looking wooden chair off to one side of the room. Apparently Hannah had been in the room once before. How on earth he didn't hear her was beyond him. Ignoring the thought, he entered the bathroom and glanced at himself in the mirror. The stubble had grown since the previous day. A day or so more and he would have the shortcomings of a beard forming on his face. Not wanting to look like a Sasquatch, he needed to shave it off, but had no razor. He would ask for one after he showered.
Slowly stripping his body of the wrinkled clothes, Neville let them fall to the floor before he stepped into the shower and turned on the water. Scalding hot sounded best, so he turned it to as hot as he could tolerate and held his head under the heavy stream of water as if washing away all his sorrow. Sweat and dirt collected from a few days before rinsed off his body as he stood there, the palms of his hands pressed against the tile before him. He inhaled deeply, trying to control his emotions, which proved to be quite a challenge this past week or so.
Drowning in his grief for long enough, Neville cleaned up with a bit of soap and exited the shower, grabbing a towel and drying off before wrapping it around his waist. The last thing he wanted was to walk out into the main room completely naked for Hannah or someone else to see who might walk in at any moment due to people no longer knowing how to knock.
After the towel was wrapped around his waist, Neville sighed. He needed to brush his teeth badly, but he did not have a toothbrush. As soon as Hannah returned, he needed to ask her for one of those too. A part of him felt guilty for putting her through so much grief, but surely other customers were far worse and asked for more elaborate things than a toothbrush or a shaver. Exiting the bathroom, Neville entered the main room and sat down quietly on the bed, waiting for Hannah to return.
Shortly after Neville sat down on the bed, he heard a knock at the door - for once - and it creaked open. His eyes glanced once more towards the door to fall upon the blond beauty. He admired the way she took care of him, despite owing him nothing. For some odd reason, she had read his mind, or so Neville thought. The woman carried a shaver, toothbrush, toothpaste, a comb, and some shaving cream. Great minds think alike, apparently.
Walking over to the bed, Hannah sat down carefully and placed her hand over top of Neville's once more, not caring about him being in nothing but a towel. Owning the Leaky Cauldron, she had accidentally walked in on a few patrons doing more then walking around naked. They were naked alright, but with other people, and Hannah had to apologize and walk straight out. Honeymooners were the worst. Why they chose to stay at the Leaky Cauldron was beyond her.
"I thought you might need to freshen up a bit beyond a shower. I could shave your face for you if you like." Hannah offered, her tone of voice quiet and thoughtful.
Neville glanced down at her hand before turning to her face. "I'm sure you have far better things to do then shave my face." He countered, not sure why the thought of her helping him put him a bit on edge. To him, shaving his face seemed a bit intimate, and while Hannah was definitely attractive, now did not seem like the time for him to delve into a relationship or even attempt something. Besides, maybe she was just being nice anyways. Didn't make it any less uncomfortable, plus she had the whole pub to look after.
"I don't mind, and I have someone taking care of business. It's really no trouble, and I'm going with you to the funeral. She was a great woman, and I'd like to be supportive." She explained rather quickly before nearly hopping to her feet with the shaving cream and razor.
Opening the canister of shaving cream, Hannah made quick work by spraying some into her hand and rubbing it in her hands. It quickly lathered into a foam, the light scent of mint filling the air as she started to spread it on his face. Her pale feminine fingers trailed over the stubble, tickling Neville's face, but giving him a white beard in a sense. After covering his face though, Hannah walked to the bathroom to snatch up another towel and returned, resting it on his shoulder. She had wiped her hands clean of the shaving cream before picking up the razor and removing the cap. "Tilt your head back." She uttered quietly.
Neville did as requested by Hannah, and within a few short seconds, he felt the blade scraping against the stubble, removing it and returning his face to as much smoothness as possible. He hated looking scruffy, and yes, some girls did like that look, but he always kind of hated it. It just reminded him of the days before the Battle of Hogwarts, cooped up in the Room of Requirement with very little. He looked awful back then, taking a real beating from the Carrows. At least back then he wore his courage on his sleeve, quite unlike now. How awful and cowardly he must look in front of Hannah at the moment.
As Hannah stood there shaving his face ever so carefully, Neville had no idea what to do. His hands rested in his lap, being a perfect gentleman, but he felt awkward. "Why are you doing this? Why are you being so nice to me?" Neville asked abruptly and as soon as the words escaped his lips, he regretted them. It sounded awfully rude for someone who took time out of their own business to help him.
Instead of appearing offended, Hannah smiled brightly at him. "You've been through a lot, and besides, who has ever taken care of you? You took care of us at Hogwarts, so it's time someone returns the favor." Neville had given so much of his life for them back then, to protect them, to keep them safe, and Hannah always looked up to him and felt he deserved to be treated with respect. Then again, treating anyone with decent courtesy was how she behaved, but with Neville, he deserved it a bit more than others in her eyes.
Neville looked up at Hannah with pure amazement. He had never thought of himself in that light, and her compassion towards him touched his very core. Did he really deserve this much affection for doing what was right back during the battle and war? "I just don't know how I can repay you for your kindness." He nearly whispered, swallowing down hard, his Adam's apple bobbing down in the process.
"After all of this is over, dinner wouldn't be a bad idea." Hannah smiled as she finished shaving his face, wiping the razor on the towel and then wiping his face clean in case any shaving cream was left behind.
A dumbfounded look crossed Neville's face, his mouth nearly opening in awe. He had no idea that Hannah ever thought of him in such a nature. Maybe he didn't understand what she meant, but when a woman mentioned dinner with a man, Neville believed that to mean she had affections for that man. Hannah had crossed his mind over the past few years, mainly due to seeing her around at the Leaky Cauldron when he stopped by for a bite to eat, or their time in Dumbledore's Army together. Being so busy, those thoughts hadn't transformed into anything more than friendship, up until now.
"Alright. It's a date." He smiled faintly, returning his head to its normal position now that Hannah had finished shaving his face. He still needed to brush his teeth and get dressed, but if Hannah was attending the funeral with him, she had yet to prepare herself too. "Thank you again, and I should finish getting ready and let you have some time to prepare."
Hannah nodded, her long blond hair bobbing ever so slightly as she placed the razor on the bed. No sense in taking it with her. Once she used it on him, it became his. Without another word, she stepped out of the room with feather light footsteps and allowed Neville time to himself.
With Hannah out of the room, Neville stood from the bed and snatched up the toothbrush, toothpaste, and comb. He maneuvered to the bathroom quickly, putting extra care into brushing his teeth. Plaque covered his pearly whites from the lack of care the past couple of days, and it disgusted him. At least the mint from the toothpaste helped him feel more refreshed. Combing his hair proved to be the hardest task, forcing it through his nearly black mop of a mess proved to be difficult, even with the dampness still residing from his shower only a few minutes ago.
After freshening himself up, Neville dropped the towel around his waste to the floor, no longer needing it to shield his body. Hannah needed to dress up for the funeral, and since women typically took quite some time dolling themselves up, he had no worries of her barging in like she had in the morning. Instead, he walked to the freshly tailored new suit draped over that sad looking wooden chair in the corner of the main room. Neville felt his grandmother deserved her grandson to send her off in his best outfit imaginable, and since nothing in his wardrobe seemed appropriate for celebrating the life of the woman, he had a suit custom made.
Neville had chosen an all black suit with gray pin stripes, something different compared to the usual all black suit. At least this way he could wear it again, not that such an outfit associated with a painful memory needed to be worn again. It would linger in the back of his closet after this day, collecting dust and nothing else. Carefully pulling the suit out of its plastic encasing, he started with the dress shirt first. A classic white dress shirt, his hands unsteady with the buttons as he tried to imagine his speech at the funeral. No words could describe his grandmother and just what she meant to him. Trying to push the thoughts to the background for the moment, he slid on the pants and tucked in the shirt. Instead of fussing with the silver colored tie, Neville used his wand for that. In a matter of seconds, the tie hung around his neck accordingly, and he slipped on the suit jacket. Last came the freshly polished black shoes.
As Neville stepped in front of the mirror, a hint of pain hit his chest. He looked like his father from an old photograph, and he thought about how his own father should have been at the funeral today. Parents did not belong burying their children, and perhaps the loss of her son, Frank, is what truly caused his grandmother to die. His father should have been standing next to him at the funeral, but no. His parents were taken far too soon, and now his grandmother. A wave of emotion started to wash over Neville once more, but he inhaled deeply. Crying did not suit his purpose at the moment. He had so much to do still.
There was no sense in wallowing in his grief in the room, so Neville decided to search out Hannah. Exiting the room, the blonde beauty stood in the hallway, already waiting for him. Her long blonde hair framed her face perfectly, a few curls giving it an extra bob. A black dress curved and formed around her body in all the right places, but not in an inappropriate fashion. Black heels matched the dress, and the slightest tint of makeup covered her face. If Neville said his heart didn't flutter briefly in that moment, he would be lying.
At the sound of the door, Hannah turned and spotted Neville standing there in his brand new suit. A soft smile spread across her gorgeous features. "Don't you clean up well." She complimented before taking a few steps towards him, her heels tapping against the wooden floor beneath. "I think we should apparate just so we don't get soot all over our clothes." Hannah suggested, thinking about the Floo Network and how clothes always got dirty.
Neville simply nodded, at a complete loss for words. Hannah took his hand, and a sense of warmth and comfort washed through his body. In that very moment, he felt as if he could get through this, as if he could do anything. Not to mention, Hannah looked gorgeous, like an angel sent down from heaven to guide him, and no words could describe her beauty in this very moment.
Without another word exchanged between them, Neville closed his eyes, thinking of their location, and the two apparated directly to a vast outdoor scene. Hills covered in green grass, the sun billowing down upon them. The wind blew ever so slightly, nearly guiding Neville's gaze directly towards the white chairs lined up in a row. He had requested the funeral be outside on the grounds of his grandmother's home, and for the woman to be buried on the grounds. Witches and wizards were not as funny about where people could be buried compared to muggles. His grandmother would be buried next to his parents, like the happy family they should have been a long time ago.
"This is really beautiful, Neville." Hannah squeezed his hand gently, her eyes absorbing the sight of the beautiful white roses gathered around the seats and placed upon the coffin.
"I thought she deserved the best." Neville iterated before he began walking towards the chairs. At least Hannah and himself were the first two people there. If he showed up after everyone else, he would hate himself because this was his own grandmother.
After walking to the chairs, Neville sat down in the front row, trying to gather his own thoughts. Of course, Hannah sat next to him without uttering a single word. Perhaps she sensed his stress as he felt her hand press against his shoulder in a comforting gesture. In that moment, Neville closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, collecting his thoughts and what to say about his grandmother. He hated long speeches, but to sum up someone so glorious in such a small fragment of time seemed wrong.
Lost in his thoughts, Neville noticed the popping sounds in the distance. People were starting to arrive, so he opened his eyes, only to find the Minister of Magic, residing over the funeral, had arrived. Then, little by little, others arrived. His friends began to gather around to celebrate his grandmother, even a few people he did not recognize. His grandmother had a lot of friends, especially older people hardly capable of walking to their seats and needing to use a cane to aid them. Several people he did recognize like Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and a few others from Hogwarts, which he glanced at them and nodded briefly. They were his friends, and they sat near him, but he had seen them only a week ago, and their sympathies was not something he could endure just yet.
Once enough people sat down, the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, stood in front of everyone, right before the coffin. Neville became familiar with the speech, only due to hearing it the week before for his own parents. The man typically wore a dark purple outfit, but today he broke out the appropriate black apparel, although Neville recognized it from last week too. Perhaps the only reason Kingsley even showed up to do the funeral service was in respect to Neville and his service during the Battle of Hogwarts and the Second War in general.
"We are gathered here today to celebrate the life of a woman who conquered more than most. When most would simply give up and give into temptation, Augusta Longbottom pushed through. Living through both of the wars, and so much more, she was truly an incredible woman, but no one can quite describe her like her own grandson, Neville Longbottom." The man gave an introduction before gesturing towards Neville to take the floor and give his speech.
With slight hesitation, Neville stood from his chair and walked to the spot Kingsley stood, although he had taken a seat since his turn was now over. Neville inhaled deeply as he gathered his thoughts and then began his speech. "As most of you know, Augusta Longbottom was my grandmother and the most important woman to ever enter my life. After my parent's untimely demise during the First War, my grandmother took me in as her own child, raising me. While growing up with her wasn't the easiest at times, she did the best she could, especially with a son in St. Mungo's who lost his sanity to protect his own son. While Augusta often wanted me to live up to my father's expectations, I felt I often disappointed her. That was until the Battle of Hogwarts when she showed up to support me, and that very day I realized just how much I loved my grandmother and how for one instant she was never disappointed in me, just wanting me to live up to my full potential. She's the reason I'm the man you see before you, and I will always be grateful for the life she gave me." Neville said loud enough for everyone to hear, a single tear streaming down his cheek. Even in front of all of these people, he still grieved, and yet he partially felt free. Now his grandmother would be at peace and with the son she had technically lost years ago at the hands of the Lestranges.
Concluding his speech, Neville sat back down next to Hannah. As soon as he sat down, she clutched his hand in her own, once more, supplying him with comfort. Kingsley stood back up and maneuvered back to the spot Neville once stood. Addressing the crowd, Kingsley finished the ceremony by giving the typical speech and committing Augusta to the ground.
As soon as the ceremony ended, Neville stood with Hannah and began conversing with people who showed up for the funeral, including his friends. By the time everyone offered their condolences and left, Neville realized Hannah was still holding his hand. "Thank you." He uttered quietly, smiling at her faintly through all of his pain. Through this entire ordeal, it was her who held his hand, who guided him through such a traumatic experience. Hannah was his guardian angel, the light at the end of the tunnel. She guided him through the worst moment in his entire life, and little did he know, she would continue to guide him for the rest of his life.
Hannah's hand would be the same hand he held through dating, marriage, the birth of their children. Every important moment in his life, Hannah would be there, holding his hand, guiding him through more horrible traumatic events. Through the lullabies and eulogies, Hannah was there. In the end, it would be Hannah who held his hand into the afterlife. That hand would be the hand he held forever.