Author's note: Enjoy!
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the canon, world, and characters portrayed below and you can tell I'm not J.K. Rowling because #transrights
Content Warnings: Briefly mentions trauma/PTSD
Everybody Needs Colour
His ink-stained fingers stained the mug when he raised it to his lips, but he didn't notice. The filaments of the Mindful Marigolds were the absolute hardest parts to draw and he desperately wanted to get it right—even if the last five sketches had been for nothing. At least he was getting more done here than he'd managed at his office. He was always better with noise all around him, it made him feel less self-conscious—whether it had been in the Gryffindor Common Room or the Room of Requirement with the rest of the DA. His office at Hogwarts was simply too quiet, as were the greenhouses if the Lamentful Lilies weren't singing and if the birds and insects were tucked away for the night. That was why Neville came here, to the Leaky Cauldron.
"Fancy a refill?" Hannah asked.
Well, it was one of the reasons he came here.
Today Hannah had her hair braided close to her head in a crown braid. She was wearing one of those billowy button-ups she often wore under her apron, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her eyes were bright, even if it was late in the night and she'd been on her feet for hours. On weekdays, she was usually the only bartender around.
"Please," Neville said, pushing his empty glass in her direction. She smiled and topped up the blackberry ale he was drinking. She'd recommended it to him a few weeks ago, and he'd been obsessed with it since. Thankfully, it had stayed on tap.
"Those are looking nice," Hannah said, looking at the botanical illustrations in front of him.
"Oh, thank you," Neville said. "They're not… they're not quite what they should be, though."
"Such high standards, Professor Longbottom," Hannah said teasingly with a cluck of her tongue. She slid his mug back to him before grabbing the towel off her shoulder and going back to drying glasses. He raised it to her before taking a sip.
"They're for a book I'm behind on," Neville said. "A textbook, actually. I'm hoping to publish it for my students to use."
"They're lucky to have you," Hannah said. "Working so hard."
"And yet it's hardly working," Neville said as he crumpled up one of his sketches. Hannah grinned and that made him smile too. When they'd been in the DA together, and she'd been the only one who knew a single thing about healing, he'd tried hard to make her laugh. She'd needed it quite badly. She'd spent months in the Room of Requirement, stressed beyond measure as she faded bruises, stitched cuts, and stemmed the bleeding after their various run-ins with the Carrows and their enforcers. When the Battle of Hogwarts had ended, Hannah had packed her bags, gone home, and essentially vanished—putting as much space between herself and the war as she could manage. Neville understood; he'd missed her, but he'd understood. It had been years since he'd seen her again, the first time he'd come to the Leaky Cauldron looking for a loud place to study on one of his nights off from the castle. He'd tried to make her laugh some more since.
"You'll get it eventually," she said. "Merlin knows you've been haunting my bar and practising long enough."
"Should I haunt some other pub?" Neville asked.
"Absolutely not," Hannah said. "I want to be around when you finally crack it."
She winked and picked up a plastic bin full of dishes to bring to the back, leaving Neville to smile as he watched her go. That was the other thing: if he did haunt some other pub, who would he spend his nights off and liquid courage flirting with? It never went anywhere, he had a feeling that he still hit too close to home as far as the War was concerned. But it was still, well… nice to tease and entertain and imagine what might be. That was why he didn't spend his time at the Three Broomsticks, even if it was much closer.
"Excuse me, mister," a small voice at his side said.
He looked down at the curly-haired little girl standing there, holding a paintbox in her hands. It took Neville a second to respond as he wondered what in the world a small child was doing in the Leaky Cauldron in the middle of the night on a Tuesday—especially in those adorable star-covered pajamas.
"Yes?" he asked, finally.
"I brought you colours cause you only ever use black ink," she said, handing him her paintbox.
It took him another second to process that.
"How do you know that?" Neville asked.
"You're here a lot," the little girl said with a shrug. "Me too."
"I… right," he said. "Well, that's very kind, but you should keep your paints for yourself. I don't need colour on these drawings."
The child frowned.
"That sounds like a lie," she said. "Everyone needs colour. I'm sure they'd be prettier, you just haven't tried it yet. Can I show you?"
This took him even longer to process, but there was really only one answer.
"...sure," Neville said.
The little girl nodded and confidently pulled herself up on the barstool next to him. He slid his drawings her way and took a sip of his drink, curiously, as he watched her open up her paintbox and dip her brush in pink. The flower she was about to colour in was technically blue in their hemisphere, but Neville kept that to himself as he watched her paint atop his delicately drawn lines.
"See?" she said, looking at her picture. "It's pretty."
"Very pretty," Neville nodded. "Are you going to get the stem too?"
"The what?"
"This part," he said, pointing it out to her.
"I need green for that."
"I think you do," Neville agreed. She nodded and dipped her paintbrush in her small jar of green paint. That was when Hannah came back to the front of the house, carrying a tray of freshly cleaned glasses.
"Abigail!" she said, puting the tray down. "What are you doing down here?"
"I want a snack," the little girl told Hannah. Hannah's eyes widened.
"Oh Abby what—what did you do to the drawings?"
"It's alright, I let her," Neville said. "I won't be using them anyways and she wanted to show me her paints."
"I knew it was okay to talk to him Mama cause he was your friend," Abigail explained.
Mama? Oh. Oh. How was it that he hadn't known..?
Hannah took a deep breath.
"One quick snack and then you have to go back to bed," Hannah said.
Abigail nodded.
"Chips?" Abigail asked.
"Chips are not a very good snack for a little girl up so late," Hannah said, crossing her arms. "I'll bring you mushy peas, if you want."
Abigail pondered this before nodding.
"Yes please," she said. She turned back to her painting as Hannah disappeared to the kitchens once more, stopping along the way to pour out another round of shots for another clique of regulars that Neville recognized. He supposed that recognizing the regulars must make him a regular too. And what did it mean if the bartender's daughter recognized you? Was that the ultimate sign that you were a regular? It must be, especially if you hadn't even known the barkeeper had a daughter anyways.
Hannah came back with a small glass of butterbeer, a plate of mushy peas, and a slice of toasted bread.
"Butterbeer!" Abigail grinned when she saw it, exposing a gap in her teeth.
"Mmm hmm," Hannah said, almost resentfully. "Even if it's so past your bedtime and you don't deserve to be rewarded for sneaking about the pub."
But she smiled at Abigail and Abigail smiled back before digging into her midnight snack.
"Did you say thank you to Neville for letting you colour in his drawings?" Hannah asked, leaning forwards.
"Thank you Neville," Abigail said through a mouthful of food.
"It's nothing," Neville promised. He turned to Hannah. "We weren't really acquainted."
"Funny, seeing as I raised her in a bar, not a farm," Hannah frowned, eyebrows furrowing. She hesitated for a second when someone down the bar called her name, but then she left Abigail with Neville to go refill some drinks and chat up some of her patrons. They dropped some sickles in the tip jar when she made them laugh.
Abigail ate her mushy peas, unfussed and used to the hustle and bustle of the Leaky Cauldron, little legs kicking as they dangled. He'd probably guess that she was seven years old, from the way she was so obviously in-between growth spurts. She had just as many freckles as Hannah on her face.
"Can I have more butterbeer?" Abigail asked when Hannah circled back to them.
"Absolutely not," Hannah said. She waved her wand, and Abigail's dishes carried themselves over to the kitchen. "And you'll brush your teeth again when you get back upstairs, yeah?"
"I can't go back upstairs yet, I've got to finish these," Abigail said, gesturing towards Neville's other scrapped drawings.
"You can keep them," he offered. "Maybe you can colour them in later."
"But then how will you see them?" Abigail asked him, eyebrows furrowing.
"I'll be back," Neville promised. His eyes flitted to Hannah whose lips pinched down into a tight smile.
"He will," she told Abigail. "He's a regular. And an old… friend. You can say thank you and bring them upstairs with you."
"Alright," Abigail agreed—even if Neville suspected she much rather stay in the pub. "Thank you."
"It's my pleasure," Neville said.
"Do I need to walk you up?" Hannah asked.
"No, I can go," Abigail said. She eased herself down from the bar stool with ease.
"Good night, love," Hannah said.
"Good night, mama," Abigail said. Hannah blew her a kiss over the bar and Abigail hopped into the air to catch it and grinned. Then she turned to him. "Good night, Neville."
"Good night," he said. "It was lovely to meet you."
Abigail smiled and hugged her paintbox against her chest as she wove her way through the crowd, pushing past a set of doors labeled STAFF ONLY PAST THIS POINT. It must lead upstairs to a flat for the pub's owners.
Neville turned back to Hannah, who had also watched Abigail disappear. Then she met his eyes and bit her lip.
"My daughter," she said as if it needed explaining.
"Right," Neville said. "How old is she?"
"Eight," Hannah said. She cleared her throat and drummed her fingers on the bar, itching for something to do—but it hadn't been that busy of a night. "I... I had her not long after Hogwarts, when I was still trying to outrun it all."
"She's adorable," Neville said. "And very sweet."
"Thank you," Hannah said with a small smile. "She is."
"She was worried about my drawings being a bit drab if I kept going, making them all black and white," Neville said.
Hannah smiled. "That sounds about right. I promise, she doesn't usually wander like that—I try to keep her out of the pub, but when it's quiet and she hears familiar voices, she gets curious…"
"I wasn't judging at all," Neville promised. "I remember how well you took care of people. I'm sure you're an incredible mother."
Hannah blushed. She smoothed down a stray wisp of hair self-consciously.
"That's also… that's also why I'm more of a flirt than anything else," Hannah said. "Even when I do fancy someone, it's harder to take any steps when there's a little one upstairs that's my number one. Talk is cheap, and all that. It serves me better sometimes."
"I understand," Neville said. His own cheeks probably tinged red too. "Not that I dislike flirting with you endlessly, but you should also know that I don't mind coming in second."
Hannah blushed even further.
"I remember how well you took care of people too," Hannah said. "During that last year at Hogwarts and during the battle. You… you deserve to be put first."
"Not next to someone with such vastly superior artistic abilities and taste, I don't," Neville said.
Hannah grinned.
"Are you… are you sure?" Hannah asked.
"I am," Neville said.
She chewed her lip.
"Well, I've got two other bartenders coming in next Tuesday, so they could technically run the place without me," Hannah said. "Maybe if you came back and flirted with me this weekend, I could be convinced to find a babysitter too."
Neville swallowed. Tuesday… Tuesday he had a tutoring group, who he could ask to meet earlier in the afternoon instead, and he had a patrol which he might be able to pawn off onto another one of the professors—maybe Slughorn, if he convinced him it was for romance's sake…
"Well then, I think I might swing by on Saturday and try to flirt with you some more," Neville said. "I'll have to come up with some fresh material, perhaps bring flowers that aren't in paper form."
"I can't wait to see what you come up with," Hannah said. She winked at him before stepping away and pointing her wand to her throat. "Last call for drinks, people. If you need me to call the Knight Bus for you to ride home, let me know… We'll be closing it down in half an hour, last call for drinks…"
Neville looked down at the unfinished botanical sketches in front of him. Well, he hadn't gotten those done. But tonight hadn't been a total loss after all.
WC: 2254