Two₪ Business

"Neville, don't forget that you said you'd go into Hogsmeade today."

Neville glanced up from the newspaper to see who was addressing him. He had thought he was alone in the office and hadn't heard anyone else come in. But there Hannah Abbot was, already flicking through a pile of things on her desk across the cramped room.

"Hm?"

Hannah sighed heavily. "Hogsmeade, remember? You said you would go talk to Madam Rosmerta about renting out the Three Broomsticks?"

"Oh, yes. That. Listen, I was thinking…Maybe we could do it at the Hog's Head. I'm sure Aberforth would give us a discount."

"The Three Broomsticks is larger, and we're going to need all the space we can get. And, frankly, the Hog's Head is a bit dingy. I don't want it to be there, no matter how big of a discount he would give us."

It had been like this for weeks now. Neville was the one who had started the volunteer group; who had asked his grandmother for a bit of money to rent a small space in Diagon Alley to conduct business. Neville was the one who had gone out and rounded up volunteers for the cause. However, Hannah seemed to be under the delusion that this was all her idea, because she had quite taken to bossing Neville around. She had even given herself her own desk in the office without even consulting him. It was bothersome, to say the least.

"Fine, fine," Neville grumbled. "I'm going to go up to Hogwarts, though, to talk to McGonagall. I was thinking that maybe we could get students to attend."

"Actually, I quite like that idea!" Hannah exclaimed, a smile spreading across her weary face. "I don't know why I didn't think of that. Good job, Neville."

"Thanks," he dully replied. In truth, the only reason he had even agreed to do this whole thing was so that he could invite the school to come in hopes that he would finally get to see Luna again. If that hadn't been an option, Neville wouldn't have even considered. It took a lot of planning that took away from actual volunteer time, and he wasn't sure it would even have that good of results.

Silence filled the office, and Neville smiled in contentment. He hadn't slept well the night before—memories of the war were haunting his dreams again—and he needed some peace and quiet. He hadn't been counting on Hannah coming in early and ruining that, so he was pleased that she had busied herself enough to stay quiet for once.

It wasn't that Neville didn't like Hannah—he did. She was a lovely person—strong, brave, and compassionate. It was just that she never shut up. She could go on about the weather for longer than most people could carry out a normal conversation.

Neville took a sip of tea and settled back in his chair. Picking up the paper, he was prepared to resume his reading on Gurdyroot plants when Hannah—loudly—cleared her throat. Sighing, Neville placed the paper back on his desk and expectantly turned his attention to his blonde companion.

"Yes, Hannah?"

"Well, I was just hoping that you could do that sooner rather than later. I still need to make up the advertisement and then Ernie has to bring it around to several different newspapers to have it run. We have to do this quickly, since it is so short notice."

"Yes, yes, alright," Neville begrudgingly agreed. He pushed himself from his desk, brushing the crumbs of that morning's breakfast onto the floor. "While you're at it, have him run another advertisement for the agency. We could always use more volunteers…and people for us to help."

"Alright, sure."

"Okay, I'll see you later, Hannah."

"Yup. See you—wait!"

Neville did his best not to sound agitated when he turned back around and said, "What, Hannah?"

"Don't forget the information. Here." The blonde pulled out a scrap of paper and quickly jotted down what Neville would need to know. "That is what we are aiming to get. If it isn't available, just get as close to this as possible."

"Alright, sure." The boy quickly glanced over the paper and stuck it in his robe pocket. With a short wave at Hannah, he stepped out the door and onto Diagon Alley. It was already looking better than it had two weeks ago when Neville had run into Hannah, Ernie, and the other volunteers. It was then, when he had seen so many others trying to help, that he had thought of making a volunteer group to help with rebuilding the wizarding world. The very next day, he had gone out and rented a space.

And there it was—Longbottom & Associates Nonprofit Relief Organization. It was a lengthy and uncreative name, but Neville was looking for informative, not creative. Besides, it wasn't the name of something that made it work, it was the people, and Neville was determined to build a good reputation for his agency with the work they did.

Which he supposed this event that Hannah was planning would do.

It was just irritating that she hadn't even consulted him about it.

How was he supposed to be a leader if no one would let him? Luna had told him that he was a leader; that he was a hero. Right now, though, he just felt like an errand boy.

Neville looked back at his office with a sigh. He just needed to remember that even leaders and heroes yielded to the wants of others. He stuck his hand in his pocket and curled his fingers around the list. This was him yielding.

Neville arrived, coughing and spluttering, in the old fireplace of the Hog's Head. Although it was early, some of the shifty-looking regulars were already there. Old Aberforth was behind the counter, wiping some goblets with a ratty cloth. He didn't seem to notice Neville's appearance in his pub until the younger approached him.

"Oh, 'ello Neville," the old man greeted in his gravelly voice. He put down the goblet and rag and studied Neville with his glittering blue eyes. "What are yeh doin' here so early?"

"I just thought I'd drop in to say hello. I have some business over at the Three Broomstick's to take care of."

Aberforth cocked an eyebrow. "What kind of business?"

"Well Hannah Abbott—you remember her, right?—she is organizing a dance through my volunteer group and she asked me to go set it up with Madam Rosmerta." Neville paused to consider Aberforth's face. He didn't seem upset, but Neville felt the need to add, "I suggested asking you if we could rent out the Hog's Head, but she wanted to go with Rosmerta's place."

Aberforth shrugged and picked up a new goblet to scrub. "That's expected," he said. "I wouldn't want to have a dance here, either."

Neville cast a look around the pub. He could understand why Hannah wouldn't want to have a dance here, but he didn't really have a problem with it. Maybe it was just because of the connection he had formed with Aberforth the year before, but he sort of…liked it there.

"Well, it's a Halloween dance, so I see no problem with it," Neville replied with a smile; Aberforth just rolled his eyes.

"You should be going on your way, shouldn't you?"

"Yeah, I suppose so. It was nice to see you again."

"You, too."

Neville held his hand up in good-bye and walked out the door. It was a chilly day in Hogsmeade. Neville buried his hands in his pockets as he pushed against the wind.

As he looked around the familiar town, he found it hard to believe he hadn't been here since the final battle. The town was better off than he had expected, considering its proximity to Hogwarts. Zonko's was still boarded up, he noticed with a heavy heart, but most stores were still opened, or at least reopened. Neville had to wonder if the village really hadn't gotten hit too bad, or if people had been working exceptionally hard—and fast—at fixing it back up.

Neville pulled open the door to the empty Three Broomsticks and was greeted by a cheerful jingling of bells over head. A moment later, Madam Rosmerta appeared from a back room. Looking at the way her blonde curls fell over her forehead, Neville was reminded of the crush he had had on her his third and fourth years. Although a good deal older than him—and even his parents—she was still quite attractive.

"Oh, Neville!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here so early? I'm sure it's not for a drink." She gave him a reproachful look.

"No, no, of course not!" Neville cried out. "I'm only eighteen—much too young to be wasting my life away drinking!" If this were four years ago, he would have been embarrassed to bring up his age, as if she weren't already aware of their age difference.

"Exactly," the barmaid agreed. "So what can I do you for then?"

"Well, I was sent here on some business, actually." Neville stuck his hand in his robe pocket and procured the bit of paper Hannah had scratched the information on. Unfolding it, he spread it out before the older woman.

"What's this?"

"Hann—my volunteer group, Longbottom & Associates Nonprofit Relief Organization, is hosting a Masquerade Ball. Or at least sh—we—are trying to."

Madam Rosmerta knit her brows together as she scanned over the paper. "And you want to rent out my pub?"

"Well, yes. As Hannah—Abbott, do you remember her?"

"Abbott. Oh, yes! Poor girl; she's the one who's mother was murdered two years ago." Madam Rosmerta shook her head. "Shame. Her mother was a lovely woman."

"Er—right." Neville cleared his throat. All of a sudden, he felt terrible; he had forgotten about that. He had barely talked to Hannah throughout school, especially before seventh year. And there had been so much going on that that little fact had…well, it had slipped his mind. "Well, anyway, Hannah is the one who has been working on getting this ball together, and she was hoping we could rent out the pub on Halloween for a Masquerade Ball."

"Well, of course you can!" Madam Rosmerta exclaimed.

"I know it is short notice but it's—wait. You said yes?" Neville spluttered. He had been ready with a long explanation as to why the barmaid should let them; he hadn't been prepared for her to yield so readily.

"Of course I said yes! Did you really think I wouldn't agree?"

"Well, it's such short notice. I mean, it's only sixteen days away…"

"As long as you can get it ready in that amount of time, I'm fine with it."

"Oh…Well, alright then." Neville cleared his throat and, grabbing the paper back, looked over what else Hannah had written for him. "Let's see, the Ball would be from seven until midnight. We'd probably need to come by around three to get it all set up. Is that alright?"

"Sounds good to me."

"And would you prefer it if we cleaned up right away or waited until the morning?"

"Well, you can see how busy I've been lately," the barmaid jokingly said, looking around her empty pub. "So whenever you want is fine. I do actually start getting people by the late afternoon, so as long as everything is cleared out by then…"

"Great!" Neville cheered. "Now about the cost…"

"Oh, don't worry about that."

Now Neville had known that Madam Rosmerta was a nice lady, but this was on the verge of ridiculous. She wasn't requiring any information, and now she was allowing them to do it for free? It was unheard of.

"Madam Rosmerta, I could never—"

"It's for a good cause, isn't it?"

"Well—yes. The proceeds are going towards the reconstruction of villages and...well anyone else who comes to us for help."

"Then don't worry about it. Just consider it my donation."

"Madam—"

"Neville," she said shortly, brushing a loose curl from her green eyes. "I still feel terrible about what I did during the war."

"You were under the Imperius Curse. You didn't—"

"Even so," she interrupted, holding her hand up to silence the young man. "I still feel terrible. So, whatever I can do to help…well, I'll do it."

"Are you sure? What if we gave you five percent?"

"Certainly not!"

"Three?"

"Mr. Longbottom, I told you I am not interested in the money. I just want to help."

"One percent? I feel like we're cheating you otherwise. And I won't leave until you agree to come payment."

Madam Rosmerta sighed. "Fine. One percent."

Neville grinned. "Great! Well, it's been a pleasure doing business with you. I just have some business up at the castle, but I will be seeing you soon." He held out his hand for her.

"Yes, I'll be seeing you again soon." She smiled slightly as she gave his hand a firm shake. She definitely seemed much younger than she was.

Neville glanced inside the window as he passed by. She had a sad expression on her face as she set about wiping off her goblets. Neville frowned, wondering what was going through her mind and whether she had lost someone in the war, as everyone else seemed to have.

"Mr. Longbottom! This is a surprise!"

Neville turned and smiled at his old Herbology professor. She was leading a class of first-years to the greenhouses. "Hello, Professor. How are you?"

The woman bustled over to Neville. She didn't appear to have changed much, though he wouldn't have thought she would have. It had only been a few months since he had last seen her. She still had fly-away gray hair and a kind face; she was still a bit pudgy and she hadn't grown any.

"I'm doing just fine," she beamed. "We're all just doing the best we can. How have you been?" She looked at him knowingly, as if she already knew what he had been up to.

"Oh, I've been alright. Just very busy, is all."

"Luna tells us that you have started a volunteer group? To help the people affected by the war?"

"Oh, uh…Yes, I have. Hannah Abbott is in it as well, actually."

"Is she now!" Professor Sprout exclaimed. Neville had never seen a brighter smile. "I always knew she'd make something of herself! She just needed some self-confidence is all!" Neville knew she was referring to the time Hannah had freaked out during a Herbology exam and called herself stupid.

"Yes, er, she is doing well. She is actually the reason I am here."

Professor Sprout cocked an eyebrow curiously.

"I have some business with the Headmistress. Hopefully it will all go well and you will know what it is about soon."

"Well, the best of luck to you, Mr. Longbottom," she said sincerely.

"Thank you, Professor." He was about to turn and carry on his way, but paused. "Professor? Do you happen to know the password to the Headmistress's office?"

"Oh, yes. It's," she paused, looking around to see if any of her students were listening in. Then, getting up on her tip-toes—which was still not enough; Neville had to bend—she whispered, "Aethonan."

"Aethonan?" Neville whispered back. "What is that?"

"A type of winged horse found in Ireland and Britain," the plump professor answered.

"Oh, alright. Thank you, Professor."

"Of course, dear."

As Neville walked away, he could hear one of the first years ask about him. Professor Sprout proudly replied, "That's Neville Longbottom. He's one of the heroes of our school—best student I have ever taught." And all of the first years made awed noises and looked back at him.

Smiling to himself, he began to ascend the stairs to the Entrance Hall when he caught sight of something that hadn't been there before. Getting closer, he realized that it was the monument Luna had mentioned to him.

It was a fantastic piece, made entirely of bronze. The base was a big block with at least fifty names etched into it. The image on top kept changing forms, though, to show an image of all of those who had died defending the castle. Neville placed his finger besides one name and looked up—the statue had stopped changing forms, remaining instead o the image of the person whose name he had chosen. Taking a deep breath, Neville moved his finger to Remus Lupin's name. His heart felt heavy as he looked at the statue take the form of his favorite Defense Against the Dark Art's teacher. He knew that if he kept looking he would end up crying, but he couldn't stop himself. The memorial held a strange fascination to him. He passed his finger over each name and looked at the statue change to that person. He was surprised to see Vincent Crabbe, someone who Neville had assumed had died fighting against them, but he was a student at Hogwarts after all. He supposed they just felt it necessary to include him.

Finally, Neville's finger landed on the last name in the alphabetical list. He felt himself gasp; a lump formed in his throat. Fred Weasley. For several moments, he couldn't bring himself to look up, afraid of what he might see. But finally, he forced his head up and beheld the statue. He was surprised by the likeness to the original it held—a sturdy fellow, relatively tall, well built. He was caught in a smile so real you could almost see the twinkle in his bronze eye. At his feet, there was a Beater's bat and a bunch of different items he had been known to use, some of his own invention.

At this thought, Neville pulled his finger away, unable to look anymore. He still couldn't believe that Fred was dead. Fred, a guy he had known, been friendly with even. His friend's older brother. A well-liked guy. Funny. Young. Fred.

Neville shook his head and stepped away from the memorial. He swallowed hard, hoping the lump in his throat would just go away. He didn't want to cry, but the tears were already forming in his brown eyes. He stubbornly wiped them away on his sleeve, determined to look put together when he addressed McGonagall.

The castle was looking good. Luna and the rest of the students had done a fine job at fixing it up. Though, when he looked closely, Neville could still see the difference between the new and the old. And, when he shut his eyes, he could see everything that used to be there and wasn't anymore. When he shut his eyes, he could see images of different things that had happened there; he could see the faces of those who fought there.

It was amazing how different it all seemed now. Maybe it was just because he was coming back as a visitor, but Neville suspected there was more to it than that. It was because so much had changed here—so many lives had been affected or even destroyed.

As Neville walked through the familiar corridors, he realized that the difference wasn't just on the surface. It wasn't in the destruction still not fully repaired. It wasn't even about the students, although they did seem more subdued than Neville was used to. The change was in the school itself—in its bones. It held what happened there like a memory, and no matter how many generations past, it would still be there, telling its stories of the horrors it had faced to anyone who would listen.

Neville arrived at the stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's Tower without much delay. The students were all in class, so there were no crowds for him to fight against, or people to distract him. He could have wandered around for hours, losing himself in his memories there, but he knew he had business to attend to. So, with minimal detours, he had gotten himself there.

Neville stared at the gargoyle for several minutes, the password already lost to him. He had never had the best memory, and the word seemed so obscure to him that it just didn't stick.

"I know it starts with an 'a,'" he told the gargoyle, but the stone was not impressed.

"It was some sort of animal."

Apparently, the gargoyle wanted the specific word. These little bits of information about it didn't do anything for it.

But that didn't stop Neville from trying.

"Four legs….Centaur! No, no; that doesn't start with an 'a.' It was a horse! Yes, some type of horse!"

"Longbottom! What are you doing here?"

That sharp tone had never sounded so good to Neville's ears. He turned sheepishly towards his old Transfiguration professor waved.

"Hello, Professor. How are you?"

"I'm well, thank you," she briskly replied. "Now is there a reason you are harassing this gargoyle or is it merely for your amusement?"

"Oh—er…I was looking for you, actually."

McGonagall arched an eyebrow inquisitively. "Well, what about?"

"Well, my volunteer group is hosting—"

Professor McGonagall raised a hand to silence him. "This sounds like something I want to be sitting for. You may come up." She swept past him to stand before the stone gargoyle. "Aethonan."

"That was it!" Neville exclaimed, mentally slapping himself for allowing it to slip out of his mind.

The professor just shook her head; some things never changed. "Are you coming up or not?"

"Right!" Neville followed her through the archway and onto the spiral staircase. He was wondering why they were just standing there when it started to move, leading them up to the office. He had forgotten about that little trick. By the time they got to the top, Neville felt quite dizzy.

"This way," the tight-lipped woman said, ushering her old student into the circular office. Neville had only been in it once before when he, Ginny, and Luna had tried to steal the Sword of Gryffindor. It had changed since then. Somehow it seemed more…simple and light. McGonagall didn't keep many things hanging around. Though he did see a few things that had been there the year before…He wondered if they belonged to Dumbledore.

Neville waited for the Headmistress to take a seat behind the desk before sinking into the chair before her.

"Biscuit?" the woman offered, holding a tin out.

"Yes, please. Thank you." Neville timidly took a shortbread from the tin and proceeded to nibble on it. His old Transfiguration professor had always managed to scare him.

"So, what was this about a volunteer group?"

"Oh, I formed a nonprofit organization to help people rebuild their lives. It's just a small little thing, but we are really trying to help make a difference."

Neville was surprised to see a smile spread across his old teacher's face. "Very good, Mr. Longbottom. I think you have been a real hero during this whole thing. Your parents would be proud."

Neville felt the backs of his ears turn pink as he mumbled a quick, "Thanks." He had never been very good at taking compliments, especially when his parents were mentioned.

"Now, what were you planning on doing?"

"Well Hannah—"

"Abbott?"

"Yes. She and Ernie Macmillian are both in it with me."

"Really?" She looked both shocked and proud. "Well, I must say I am pleased to see that so many continue to fight, even after all of the battles are done. It's…refreshing."

"Oh, well…Thank you!" Neville said, taken-aback. He would never get used to getting compliments from her.

"I apologize; I interrupted you. You were saying?"

"Right. Well, Hannah had this idea to host a Masquerade Ball to raise money so we had funds to work with. I was just talking to Madam Rosmerta, and we've rented out the Three Broomstick's to hold it in. And I was wondering if you'd let the students come?"

"Hm…"

She was considering it; that was a good sign.

"When is it?"

"Halloween—a Friday. And since there is no class on Saturdays, that should be no problem. And I know it is short notice, but—"

"They wouldn't have anything to wear to this."

"I didn't think of that. But, I bet I could persuade Madam Malkin to come by next Saturday with some things for them to look at and buy, if they're interested. Or they could send for stuff from home…"

The professor considered him for a few minutes in silence. "You seem very eager for this to happen. Why?"

He should have been expecting this question, yet he hadn't. And he didn't think his real answer—that he just wanted to see Luna—would really win him anything. So, quickly, he racked his brain for another excuse.

"Well, when we had the Yule Ball, the people who are sevenths years now were only third years then. That means they never had the opportunity to go—unless they had been invited by an upperclassman…like Ginny. Plus, I think it would be fun for them to go to. And, well there are a lot of students here, and that means a lot more guaranteed money to help out."

The woman stared at him for a few moments more; Neville hoped that she approved of his reasons. He thought they were pretty valid. Much more than his real one, in any case. Well, not so much his real one—the things he said were true, too, and he did care about them. But the idea of seeing Luna was what had really excited him.

"Alright, Longbottom. You win."

"Really?" Neville felt a grin breaking out on his face.

"Why do you always seem so surprised when I give in to these requests? I'm really not as terrible as you all think I am." She peered over her spectacles at her old pupil, a twinkle in her eye and a smile on her face.

Neville couldn't help but laugh. "Not terrible, professor. Just scary."

"Yes, well." The Headmistress cleared her throat and looked away. "What are the particulars of this event? You said it is on Halloween?"

"Yes, at seven o'clock p.m. to midnight. It is a Masquerade Ball, so masks are required. We will be selling at the door, but we could also bring some by with Madam Malkin. It's a sickle for entry, though more donations are always appreciated."

McGonagall nodded along as she wrote the details down. "Of course, teachers will be escorting them down to the grounds."

"Naturally."

"And we can only allow third through seventh years, since they are the only one allowed out of the village."

"That is quite sensible; I hadn't thought of that…"

McGonagall smiled kindly at him, as if she found this typical for him. Neville felt himself blush, but he couldn't get angry about that. He had always been a bit absent-minded.

"It was very good of you to think of inviting the school. I'm sure they'll be quite pleased. Things have been a bit…dismal lately, I'm sure you can imagine."

"Yes, of course," Neville agreed.

"I will announce this tonight at supper."

"Alright, thank you, Professor."

"You are quite welcome, Longbottom." She held out her hand; Neville took it and gave an awkward shake.

"G'bye, Professor."

"Yes, good-bye, Longbottom."

Neville turned and headed back towards the door. As he was about to exit, he paused and turned back around. "I, uh, saw the memorial out front. It's very…" He swallowed hard. "Very nice."

McGonagall had gotten a bit misty eyed herself at the mention of the memorial. She cleared her throat and nodded. "Yes, I think so as well."

The eighteen-year-old pressed his lips together and nodded. Then, with a stiff wave, he left.

Neville remained busy until he settled in at home for the night. He was exhausted from the day, though really all he had done was talk to people. So much had gotten done at the office though that he just felt drained. Hannah had made up the advertisements for the ball and the volunteer agency and, as Ernie ran them around to different newspapers to have them run. As he did that, Neville and Hannah went out to different villages to post advertisements. Neville didn't get home until after supper.

Now it was well past dark, and he lay awake, thinking about the ball. Now that he knew Hogwarts students could come, it didn't seem so bad. He could see Luna—and Ginny, too. It had been far too long since he had spoken to Ginny. They had exchanged a few letters over the summer, but once school started that came to an end. Neville hadn't realized how much he missed her, but it suddenly came to him as a dull ache.

He missed everyone.

Luna, Ginny, Seamus, Dean, Parvati, Padma, Hermione, Ron, Harry...That was just naming a few. He missed being at school and the DA. He had formed a bond there, and now…well, now the only people he interacted with on a regular basis were Hannah, Ernie, and his gran.

With a sigh, Neville lifted himself from his bed and shuffled over to his desk. As usual, he had left his parchment out. So, grabbing a small piece from the top of the pile, he sat down and prepared himself to write a short letter.

October 15, 1997

Dear Luna,

I'm sure you heard about the Masquerade Ball by now. McGonagall, I'm sure, has gone over the particulars. But there is one thing I am sure you haven't heard yet:

You're my hidden date.

So make sure you have a mask and a gown by Halloween, because I'll be looking for you there.

Your Friend,

Neville

Neville sealed the letter before he could rethink it. Earlier that day, he had yielded to the wants of others. Now, it was his turn to get what he wanted. He wasn't going to let his nerves stop him this time—Luna was going to be his date.

a/n This chapter was a long time coming. Sorry. Finally, though, I got this up. And it only took me two days to write :) I am very proud of myself for that. In any case, I hope you liked it. I am currently working on the next chapter of Pro List, if anyone is interested, and also a Seamus Finnigan fanfiction which, once I finish the first chapter, I will be posting. Check them out if you are interested :) All three of this stories will sort of iterconnect, too, just so you know. I like doing that :)

Right! So, reviews are always appreciated.

xoxx