A/n- This could possibly lead to a few more connected drabbles, not really sure though. Written for The Dueling Club with the prompt NevilleHannah.

Disclaimer- Nothing you recognize is mine.

Hurt

Looking at her hurt, the way she moved, almost as if she was dancing to a rhythm only she could hear. The way her hair bounced up and down, trying to keep up with her. Her eyes, glittering, to him they'd always shone brighter than the sun.

And her smile, it could end wars and melt hearts. Looking at her and knowing she wasn't his anymore, hurt, a lot more than he could've ever imagined.

Hannah Abbot had owned him, she had been his heart and soul, and for a little while, she had been his.

Neville sat on a bar stool at The Three Broomsticks and watched as its new owner swiftly and efficiently make the pub her own. It was the same as it had ever been, but it felt different. It had a different energy, her energy. Somehow, it felt a lot more like home than his quarters at Hogwarts ever could.

"Hey," a soft voice pulled him out of his reverie; it was a voice he knew, a voice he'd once woken up to. "Another butterbeer?"

He nodded, though he wanted something stronger, he knew he couldn't possibly drink. For one, he was surrounded by young impressionable teenagers, most of whom were his students, moreover, alcohol made him say things.

Things she no longer wanted to hear.

Things he really wanted to say, things like 'I still love you,' 'Come back to me,' 'I didn't mean to break us apart like this when I left, I just needed to get my head on straight,'.

But he knew he could never tell her this, she didn't want to hear it now, and he hadn't been ready to say them when she had been.

Now, she had moved on, and even though he hadn't, he didn't want to hurt her any more than he already had. She had a new business, one she had always wanted. She had a new life, one that no longer had space for him and most of all; she had a new love, a love that wasn't him.

So, he'd just do this, for as long as he could, just sit here, in her bar, watch her bloom and sip butterbeers.

He would look at her, and hurt.