A/N: Oh hai, it's me again. Anyone miss me? No, okay. I've felt really badly lately about neglecting poor Neville, so I decided to try to work on his story. I've left it untouched for so long and I just wanted him to know I hadn't forgotten him. I had hoped it would be longer, but that's neither here nor there. I hope you like it. I had to end it there because a. I'm exhausted and b. SUSPENSE! :)

As he walked out onto the sidewalks, Neville's brown eyes didn't bother with watching anything but his worn trainers making their way across the pavement. He had spent the last year adjusting to life in the muggle world and he had come to find that, though he thought he seemed rather ordinary, there was something about him that rubbed muggles the wrong way.

If he had taken time to reflect on it, he probably would've noticed that they had no inclination that he was an extraordinary person with exceptional bravery and cunning magical abilities, but rather that his scars were a bit off-putting.

Regardless, he avoided their gaze as much as possible as he made his way through the crowded streets.

Upon reaching the little shop he worked at, he entered and said a brief 'good morning' to the girl working at the front before heading to the back.

As she usually did, the girl returned his greeting with a smile before returning to her customers.

The morning was as typical as most mornings. Neville sought refuge in the flora that he nursed in the greenhouse at the back of the store and most of the women who worked up front left him be, only bothering him when there was a question about this flower or that plant.

He enjoyed work. Not, perhaps, as much as he had at Hogwarts, but enough to get him by. Since Hannah had died, he had taken as many strides as possible to get him away from the world that was once all he knew. He couldn't stand seeing McGonagall's empathy. He had grown up knowing her as a stern woman, one who set much store by the rules, and to see her look at him with pity just made staying there unbearable. Not to mention that many of his students had known his story and took great pains to asking him about his life.

It was strange, really, that Hannah's death could chase him from the wizarding world. Especially considering that he hadn't really loved her. He had cared deeply about her and had tried to make her happy, but in the end, he had to admit that he didn't - and couldn't - love her.

When he did think about her death, all he could think about was how unmoved by it he had felt. It wasn't as if her death had affected him in a life altering manner. Yes, he had felt saddened by her passing, but mostly, he was just numb to everything. War did that to people, he supposed.

But the fact that she died had not actually been what had moved him to remove himself from his world. No, truthfully, he had used it as an excuse. He had partially needed to get away from the sad, pittying eyes of those he worked around, but mostly he needed to escape from the memories.

Not a day had went by while he was a professor that the memories hadn't caught up with him. Even when he was sleeping by Hannah, all he thought about was her. Sometimes, late at night when he had made love to Hannah, he had imagined it was her. In the darkness of their rooms, it was just that much easier. In his mind, he had constructed the perfect setting to their love affair. The of them had stayed in the room of requirement after a late D.A. meeting and, after much chatting, they had ended up on one of the cushions, clinging to one another. After that, one thing progressed into another until they were both naked and sweaty...

There was nothing that crushed him more than waking from the dream to realize that it was Hannah who called his name, Hannah who clung to his side and Hannah who slept next to him.

Yes, the memories were to blame for his resignation. They were just too poignant for him to stand being so close to everything that reminded him of her and everything reminded him of her.

Ultimately, he had removed himself from the wizarding world to keep the little things he did feel from suffocating him. The pain was just too unbearable for him, the knowledge that she was forever out of his reach... It was just too much.

So he threw himself into his work and tried his best to work as amiably as possible with the few muggle women in the florist. He tended to the flowers and they made small talk with the customers. It was the perfect arrangement... They stayed up front and he stayed back there.

"Neville," the girl from the front greeted as she stuck her head into his domain.

He looked up from the orchid he had been replotting. "Yes?"

She hesitated for a moment. "There's someone here to see you."

The words surprised him. Who would possibly be here to see him? "Thanks, Nina. I'll be out in just a minute."

With a nod in understanding, Nina turned and left the little room and made her way back to the cash register where she belonged.

While Neville moved the flower from one pot to the other, he pondered who could possibly be waiting to see him. The only person who actually knew where he was Harry and Harry had promised, had understood why he had chosen to do what he had done.

Maybe Harry needed something? He couldn't think of a single thing he might need, but Neville knew if someone was here, it was because Harry had felt it important that they know where he was.

Washing his hands dilligently, he dried them before strolling out into the store front.

The instant he looked up from the floor, he saw the long, curly hair and felt yet another pang in his chest.

Even with all his running, his past had caught up to him.

Regardless of whether you review or not, I hope you liked it! Have a nice day!

XO - Mella