"We did it, Mum." Neville smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes as he glances around the room. "Voldemort's dead. Harry killed him; for good, this time. We won."
He absently scratches at his forehead, where a large gash had been just hours before, and listens to the chaotic din from the rest of the hospital. He looks over at his father.
"We won, Dad." The figure doesn't stir-hasn't stirred since Neville entered the ward.
"We won." His mother presses a gum wrapper into his palm and lays her head on his shoulder.
"We won," he whispers.
And this time, he almost believes it.