Written for RavenclawDoctorSilveo's 1991 Challenge (Hannah Abbott, scared)

Someone to Blame

It was the most terrifying moment of their lives. The moment that – after so much planning, so much thought – they realised that it was actually beyond their control. Everything happened for a reason, all decisions were made for a reason. They didn't have to like those reasons, but they were still reasons.

Just cruel reasons with terrifying consequences.

Hannah swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat, fighting back tears as she served a witch in her mid-twenties, asking for some Butterbeers. However, one escaped, and it didn't escape the witch's notice.

"Are you okay, Miss?" she asked, looking concernedly at Hannah.

Hannah quickly wiped away the tear and made pretence to wipe down the bench she had just cleaned two minutes ago. "I'm fine," she said, not even convincing herself.

"You don't look fine," the witch observed.

"Just a hard week," Hannah answered, and she left the bench so the witch wouldn't hassle her again.

She arrived at work the next day, hoping for it to be better. But it was worse. The day following was even worse than that one, and by the fourth, she found herself curled up on the floor in the back room, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Someone must have called Neville, because the next thing she knew he was on the floor beside her, a gentle hand running along her back. He didn't say anything – he understood – and she appreciated that he was there.

After some time, he helped her to her feet. Tear tracks marked her face, but she didn't care. He was here now, and she needed him. He felt her pain, her loss, her everything. He understood why, when so many other people didn't. He had seen her fake smiles at night, her promises that she was okay; he had known that it had all been rubbish, that she had attempted a brave face. He was there for her when it counted, and that was just one of many reasons why she had fallen so deeply in love with him.

He sat her down in a broken chair he found out the back. He crouched down so that he was at her level, hands on her knees, not breaking eye contact. "I understand," was all he said, placing a kiss on her sweaty forehead. "I understand."

She knew he did, but it didn't take away the pain; it never did. He would never fully understand what was missing, what they had lost without truly losing anything.

"Let's go home." He pulled her to her feet, he wrapped his arms tightly around her, and then he Disapparated with her. They landed in their little home just outside of London – a three bedroom cottage that felt too empty with just the two of them.

"Sit down." It was a command she was willing to listen to. He disappeared for a moment, and then returned with a glass of water. "I knew you weren't okay." He sat beside her with an arm around her shoulder.

"I thought I was," she lied, sniffing to hide her cracking voice. "I-I th-thought I was." Her lips trembled beyond her control. "Why?" It just didn't seem fair that it had happened to two very good people. They had done nothing wrong, ever. They had done only good. Perhaps she was being punished for that time she had called Neville fat. He didn't even know that – they had both been twelve, and he hadn't been present at the time.

"Why us?" Neville nodded. "I know."

"It's not fair." She sniffed again, but this time tears fell from her eyes, and she couldn't stop them. He wiped them away with his thumb.

"No, it's not."

Maybe it was just the shock – they had only received the news less than a week ago. Her heart had been set on it, she had planned it all. There was nothing more heartbreaking than to find out all those plans, all those hopes, those dreams, were for nothing.

"You still have me."

She wanted it to be enough, but it just wasn't. Maybe in a year it would be, but right now he wasn't enough. But she wanted him to be.

She gave his hand a squeeze, smiling at him. He smiled back; that warm, friendly, comforting smile. He had to suffer, too, when it wasn't even his fault.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible, even to him who was sitting right beside her. "I'm sorry."

He gave her a quizzical look. "For what?" From the sound of his voice it was obvious that he really didn't understand what she was apologising for.

Bless him.

"It's my fault."

And then Neville wrenched his hand away from hers; he stared at her with shock. "Your fault?"

Hannah nodded. After all, the problem lied with her, not him.

"It is not your fault." He was almost angry with her, but she knew he didn't mean it. Tears rolled down her cheeks again.

"I'm sorry," was all she could manage again, and she fell into his arms – those comforting, warm, gentle, loving arms.

"No… I won't let you tell me it's your fault," he said fiercely. "Don't let me ever hear you say that again. Ever." He was determined.

"But –"

"No." He gripped her tightly, holding onto her as if she would float away if he didn't. "What happened is no one's fault – not yours, not mine. It is what it is."

More tears filled her eyes, and a heart-wrenching sob escaped her lips. "Then why do I feel like it's my fault?" she wanted to know.

Neville had no answer for that. His response was to grip her even tighter, make sure she didn't disappear.

"It's just the shock," he said. "Just the shock." She felt his lips in her hair. "It's not your fault."

She fell asleep in his arms, his gentleness being the thing to calm her. When he realised, he picked her up and he carried her to their bedroom. As he watched her he sadly thought of how she looked like a child, peaceful in sleep, and a tear of his own rolled down his cheek.

Without a word, he pressed his lips to her forehead, his hand running through her golden hair. He watched her for a moment longer, and then he whispered to her, his voice as soft as ever, "It's not your fault."

There was no one to blame for what had happened to them; no one could control it. Still, as he watched her, eyes falling on her tear-streaked face, he knew that she was not going to wake up tomorrow and feel better. It was going to be a long, slow road ahead of them.

And as he sat there, fingers in her hair, he knew that this would not be the last time he would be there, telling her it was not her fault.

This was only the beginning.

I didn't specifically mention what had actually happened, but I hope you can all work it out. This little piece of head-canon is actually inspired by Rochelle (slightlysmall). I recommend you go and read her NevilleHannah fics. She is wonderful.

What did you think?