This was written in response to the Hogwarts Online January 6th prompt, as well as Masquerade Doll's "Age is but a Number" challenge. It was inspired by Schermionie's poem, 'Four Fools Gold Wedding B a n d s'. Credit to Mew and Mor's Weird Pairings.
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It felt strange being back in the rooms he had shared with Hannah. They still seemed homely, and there was still the reassuring scent of the food from the pub below in the air. However, the rooms seemed smaller, which left Neville feeling disconcerted, although less constricting than they had before. Before he had filed for divorce – before Victoire, in other words.
They were sat at the table where hundreds of meals had been eaten and hundreds of days had been discussed. Only, now it was their divorce that was the topic of conversation.
"Why did you do it?" She was calm, which surprised Neville. It shouldn't have after so many years of marriage, and yet it did. Once he had known Hannah better than he knew himself. Time changed people, though. It changed a promising young student with innocent blue eyes into a woman that had made his heart race again, a woman with the power to turn his world upside down and inside out. Sensing that he was lost in thought, Hannah continued to speak. "What can she offer you that I couldn't?"
"It was never about you, Hannah. The last thing I wanted was to hurt you." Speaking earnestly, Neville reached to take her hand before catching sight of her ring thinking better of it – after all, their marriage was over. It wasn't his place any longer and he wasn't going to act as though he had the right to comfort Hannah.
"You did, though." Her voice was much too tired to be described as sad or angry, or any of the other emotions she had previously sought to vent by alternately screaming at him and crying. It was filled with ragged curiosity. "You betrayed me, and I don't know why."
Neville winced. Though Hannah lacked the energy to argue with him, his own conscience was very much active. She simply wanted the answers that would, in theory, allow her to begin to move on with her life.
"I hadn't planned on doing that. I'm sorry that I hurt you, Hannah. I'll always be sorry about that, but I can't be sorry about what I feel for Victoire." Neville wasn't vindictive enough to say it directly; that he loved Victoire Weasley.
"No, she's not the kind of girl that any man could be ashamed of." There was a bitter edge to Hannah's voice that he had never heard before. Quashing his impulse to defend Victoire against Hannah's acid remarks, he remained silent and folded his hands (naked, ring-less fingers) on his lap. "What kind of girl is she?"
"Don't – no good will come from me listing her good qualities or her faults. You know her – knew her, even. It's not as though Victoire's such a mystery." Wishing to avoid yet another fight, Neville took a deep breath and sighed.
"No, she isn't. A vain girl who spends her youth teasing boys and flirting with them will grow up and move onto grown men." The words started off aggressively, but as Hannah progressed, her fury gave way to tears. Cruelty wasn't in her nature, a Hufflepuff to the core. Loyal.
Hannah covered her face with her hands, elbows resting on the table between them. She was perfectly still, save for her shaking shoulders. Embarrassed, Neville looked away; he was the cause of her anguish.
"I'm sorry."
Neville knew that his apology was inadequate, but it was all that he could offer.
After several moments, Hannah uncovered her face. There was a pale patch of skin where her wedding ring had pressed into the skin beneath her eye. She looked dazed, like the girl who had been shaken by a war. Like the girl he had once loved, but not quite. They had drifted away from one another and changed irrevocably, so that even if they had been pushed back together, they would no longer fit.
"Me too; I shouldn't have said that." She offered Neville a thin smile. "Whatever she may be, Victoire's a fortunate young woman."
They both knew that the backhanded compliment was the closest Hannah would come to saying anything civil about Victoire or any other member of the Weasley family.
"You're a good person, Hannah. I miss you." Truthfully, Neville did miss Hannah's company. She had been his wife for twenty years, and a part of his life. However, their marriage had gone from being safe to oppressive. Until Victoire, he had all but forgotten what it felt like not just to love, but to be in love.
"Well, unfortunately for you, you can't have me back." The joke fell a little flat, but they both laughed anyway – Neville because he was grateful that a part of Hannah had learned to stop wanting him to return to her, and Hannah because it felt better than crying.
"No, I couldn't." He smiled kindly.
A silence more companionable than any that had stretched between them in recent years descended. Neville politely failed to notice as Hannah wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her cardigan.
"Would you like a cup of tea?" It was, he could tell, her duty as a host that compelled Hannah to speak rather than any real enthusiasm. Their relationship would never be a good one – not after what he had done to her – yet Neville liked to think that in time Hannah would cease to feel any animosity towards him. She had been his wife, after all. Technically, she still was.
"Thanks but no; I'd better get going." When she didn't argue, Neville stood and lifted his dress robes from the back of his chair.
"Back to Victoire?" She regarded him carefully with red-rimmed eyes, although Neville wasn't certain what she was looking for.
"Yes, back to Victoire." He nodded to Hannah a final time and moved towards the fireplace. The pot containing the floo powder was exactly where it had always been: left of the clock on the mantelpiece. "It was nice talking to you."
Hannah gave a wry smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Hmm."
Their latest meeting had gone better than he could have hoped, and so perhaps the divorce wouldn't be too messy. However, even if it was, he would have Victoire by his side. And that was worth anything – if it hadn't been, then he wouldn't have broken Hannah's heart, not even for the sake of his own.
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