Chapter 48: So Close

Neville stood on the edge of the marquee, watching all the party lights twinkling like fireflies. With the darkness that had been consolidating its grip all this past summer, the late season's heat appeared even more stifling.

He should just enjoy the party, he told himself. He frankly considered himself lucky to have made it here, much less been invited. And besides… who knew when he would ever get to feel normal enough to simply enjoy a wedding reception?

Chatter from the Ministry had been disconcerting in recent months, so he had been forced to turn to contacts in the Order of the Phoenix as a reliable source of information. Mad-Eye Moody and others like Arthur Weasley and Kingsley were pretty convinced that Voldemort's forces were watching the Orkney Islands and Longbottom Manor in particular quite closely. It was well understood, too, according to intelligence, that the Death Eaters were itching to attack the manse the moment Neville turned 17 on July 30th, 1997. For that was the date when the Trace that detected when underage wizards performed magic outside of their studies no longer applied. Anxiety was compounded all the more when Neville received an invitation to Bill and Fleur's wedding, scheduled a mere two days after his birthday.

Bill tried to hold me to bringing Hermione as my plus one, Ron had written in a letter to his best mate. But Fleur is begging him to send you an invitation.

It was certainly a wise decision to already have Hermione sequestered away at the Burrow, Neville reasoned: as a Muggle-born and especially as one of his close friends, she would be a target for the new regime that seemed insurgent, even ascendant. Surely Ron would want his girlfriend to be safely out of northwest London where her parents lived and with him in Devonshire as quickly as possible.

Well aware of the danger he was in, Neville wasn't sure if he would be even alive to see August, if the Death Eaters' designs proved true. Even if he did, how was he supposed to go to a wedding? Unlike Hampstead suburbs or even Surrey, Orkney Islands wasn't exactly a hop, skip and a jump to Devon. Longbottom Manor and the Burrow, in fact, were literally on opposite ends of the United Kingdom. Some quick calculations Neville did with his Gran concluded that to even just drive to Devon would take more than 14 hours, including getting to the Scottish mainland in the first place. Neville figured he wouldn't even get 14 minutes past his front door before the Death Eaters grabbed him.

Honestly, he would have probably been doing Bill, Fleur and the rest of the Weasleys a favor by politely sending his regrets. But in re-reading Ron's letter, his best mate had stressed how Fleur really wanted him there. Hell, it was clear Hermione really wanted him there, from how Ron had conveyed, rather cryptically, how "she wants to go over a few things."

And so, for much of the month of July, in the weeks leading up to his birthday, Neville and his Gran had plotted how to get him off the Island and cross an entire country without him being seen. The Order had sent a clandestine message offering to give Neville an Auror escort by broomstick, but Neville had refused. He hadn't been on a broomstick since his first year, and even if he was comfortable flying, a broomstick cross-country would only reduce the trip to Devonshire by half. That was still 7 hours in which the Death Eaters could attack him out in the open air.

Neville and Gran had racked their brains. One way or another, Neville had to get out of the Manor and off the Island, the sooner before the 30th, the better. Even if he skipped out on the wedding, Neville was still resolved to go off on his mission – and despite having close to no details of what his mission involved, Gran seemed resigned to the knowledge that she couldn't stop her grandson.

Except Neville knew this: if he were to forgo the wedding and just disappear off on his own, Ron and Hermione would never forgive him. So to a wedding, he would go.

He and Gran had racked their brains. Flying by any means (broom, threstral) was too exposed, and thus out of the question. Muggle transportation was slightly less exposed, but that was only on the assumption that the Death Eaters wouldn't want to make a scene in front of Muggles by firing Killing Curses at Neville's Gran's car like they were Tomahawk missiles. Considering the kind of radicals Bellatrix Lestrange and Snape were, Neville somehow doubted they would care about dead Muggles as collateral damage. The Ministry was now imposing restrictions on the Floo network. Devonshire was way too out of range for Neville to Apparate.

That had left only one thing: a Portkey. Gran had enchanted an old shoe of Neville's grandfather and in the dead of night on the 28th, had led Neville out into the back garden. Neville had gazed at the woman who had raised him from infancy and wondered whether he would ever see her again. They had hugged, just before Granddad's shoe had glowed blue and Neville clasped it with his hand.

Unlike when traveling to the World Cup three years before, this time, Neville didn't let go. After several dizzying moments, he had landed flat on his back in the Weasleys' front garden, knocking the wind out of him. A spillage of light had come from the front door within moments, and then a horde of redheads had surrounded him; Hermione had let out a cry of relief as she threw her arms around him.

Neville spotted his best mate now, sporting a pretty red cocktail dress and waltzing slowly in the arms of her lover. Ron and Hermione had eyes only for each other, and appeared to still be going strong as a couple after more than nine months. Neville wished them well, and their happiness was such that he wondered all over again whether he should go back on his word and forbid them from coming.

He wouldn't be surprised if Hermione had over-prepared in order to dissuade him from any such notion.

All through sixth year, Neville had confided in his friends only the bare minimum of his private lessons with Dumbledore. Trust the best in their year to get to the truth anyway. Up in Ron's room, Hermione had proceeded to show him how she had made off with all the books on Horcruxes not only in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library, but also in Dumbledore's office. Every method for how to destroy a Horcrux was in those pages, which included basilisk fangs/venom. While they hadn't any fangs, Hermione had also absconded with another artifact from the abducted Headmaster's office on a hunch: critically, they now had the Sword of Gryffindor.

"Hello, Neville."

Neville blinked, his thoughts abandoning him as he took in the reception around him with new focus, so that he could see Luna gliding towards him, looking resplendent in a canary yellow dress, her blonde hair in plaits down her back. Oh, Merlin… here was another reason that he might have done well to skip out on the wedding. The goodbye that day last spring by the Black Lake had been excruciating enough.

All the same…. he was ever so glad to see her.

Drifting quite close to him, her silvery eyes studying him with deep concern, she murmured, "Oh. I've interrupted a deep thought, haven't I? I can see it growing smaller in your eyes."

"No, of…. of course not," he smiled at her tightly, attempting to put on his best face for her. "How are you, Lu?"

"Not very well," she replied with her signature, unparalleled honesty. "I got bitten by a garden gnome a few moments ago."

Neville was about to apologize on behalf of Mrs. Weasley's garden when a gentleman with Luna's matching hair color sidled up to her. "Gnome saliva is remarkably beneficial," he almost reassured her, pressing a kiss to Luna's hair, before extending a hand. "Xenophilius Lovegood; we live just over the hill."

"I remember, sir, and pleasure to meet you," Neville smiled good-naturedly. "We stopped by to collect Luna before the World Cup."

"Aye," Xenophilius replied absently, before tugging Neville closer to him by the boy's forearm, so he could hiss in his ear: "I trust you know, Mr. Longbottom, that we at the Quibbler, unlike those…. Toadies at the Daily Prophet have fully supported Dumbledore in his tenure as Headmaster and in his…. abduction and possible death, support you just as fully."

Neville didn't want to consider whether or not his mentor was still alive or had been murdered at the hands of his Death Eater captors. The Order had so far been able to glean no intelligence of the Headmaster's whereabouts; if Dumbledore was alive and being imprisoned, the Death Eaters weren't saying where. Neville was also detecting the knowing, sympathetic, interested looks from Ron and Hermione, who had paused in their tender slow-dance to watch him chat with Luna.

"Come, Daddy – Neville doesn't want to talk to you right now. He's just too polite to say so," Luna smiled, voice still holding that dreamy quality as she shooed her father away. Xenophilius stumbled off while giving his daughter a bemused look, leaving her and Neville alone to stare almost longingly at each other. Luna's smile now brightened with a quality that might have been shyness.

"Dance with me?" she murmured.

Neville flushed. "Oh, well, I…."

"Oi! Ruddy dance with her!" Ron half-shouted from across the floor, causing Hermione to scoldingly whack him on the chest.

Pursing his lips nervously, Neville guided Luna by the hand out on the floor, just as he had learned for the Yule Ball back in fourth year and gentlemanly took her by her slim waist. He thought he heard her breath hitch at the moment his fingers brushed her hip. Slowly, the pair began a charged waltz, the ballad slow and mournful:

A life goes by, romantic dreams must die, so I bid my goodbye and never knew…. So close, was waiting, waiting here with you and now forever I know…. all that I wanted. To hold you so close…..!

Something sultry, and again bittersweet came over the pair as they soon became lost in the dance and in each other. Rapidly searching for something to say, Neville spotted a familiar figure on the edge of the floor, one who seemed to be studying them with scrutiny.

"Fleur invited Viktor, then?"

"Hmm?" Luna turned her head disinterestedly to follow his gaze. "Oh…. yes. I suppose she did."

Neville wanted to ask her straight out whether there was any truth to the rumors that she had once kissed the Quidditch star, but he didn't have the nerve. So instead, he went with something almost as good, but more rhetorical: "You went to him with the Yule Ball, yeah?"

"Mmm-hmm," Luna was staring down at his chest, clearly conscientious about where to place her feet as she let him lead. "I sill write to him, now and again. Viktor."

He felt an irrational twinge of jealousy course through him, enough that he momentarily forgot who she was referring to. "Krum?"

"How many Viktors do we know?" she posed dryly.

Neville snapped his jaw shut, feeling impotent. It was a wonder he was managing not to literally step on the woman's toes, for how he was getting lost in her silver orbs, her lovely, round, smooth face. And those lips…. Pink and plump and he would give up a lot just to know what they tasted like…

He was both surprised and thrilled when Luna sleepily yet quite deliberately rested her head on his chest, directly over the steady beat of his heart. Here she stayed, safe and at home in his embrace. The Gryffindor and Ravenclaw continued their dance in silence. She didn't ask him to take her with him, wherever he was going. No words were spoken, nor did they need to be: they had said enough in their goodbyes by the Black Lake. It only made seeing each other again, and at a wedding reception of all things, that much harder. Maybe it would have been better to part at the beginning of last summer and leave it at what words they had exchanged. After all, Neville tried to tell himself again: he had said what he'd needed to say. They both had.

Or had they? The music swept over them again.

So close to reaching this famous happy ending! Almost believing this was not pretend! Now you're beside me and look how far we've come…. So close…. We are…. So close….

Neither seemed to notice when they swayed to a halt, staring longingly into each other's eyes. In his periphery, Neville could see Hermione lasering in on them, one hand to her mouth; she was practically strangling Ron with anticipation and excitement as her boyfriend gawked stupidly. Neville could give a damn if anyone was staring. With a shaking hand, he caressed Luna's face and watched as her eyelashes – the same shade as her hair – fluttered shut as she turned her face into his palm.

"Luna….. I….."

"Yes?" her voice was like sweet honey.

He swallowed the lump in this throat. "Luna, I…."

A sudden WHOOSHing sound interrupted the festivities, ruined the intimate moment, as cries of shock went up. Turning about where she remained at rest in his arms, Luna glanced back to where a silvery ball of light was taking shape. "Is…. everything all right?"

Neville shook his head dumbly, as the newly arrived Patronus spoke in Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice: "Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead: they are coming…"

Screams now split the air. Neville watched as Fleur Weasley drifted into her new husband. He glanced back down to Luna, who was biting her lip.

At the sound of whistling wind, Neville did the hardest thing he had ever had to do and nudged her away from him. "Go. Find your father!"

"Wait, wait!" And he was horrified to learn that Luna could, in fact, be moved to near tears. "Neville!"

"Go, NOW!" he almost bellowed it at her. He watched as Luna stood rooted to the spot, swayed with indecision for a moment, as though she was going to launch herself at him. But then she turned tail and ran, vanishing into the rapidly congealing crowds, all in seek of an exit.

Black plumes of darkness suddenly careened into the marquee tent, bursting tables into flames before the plumes took human form and curses began to fly. Neville ducked and weaved, vaulted over people in the panicking, close to stampeding crowd until he just about crashed into Ron and Hermione; he got a hand around Hermione's wrist before all three were being squeezed into darkness.

They emerged onto a busy Muggle street, diving out of the way of an oncoming double decker bus. Still in their party clothes, they looked out of place but nonetheless did their best to melt into the crowd.

"Where are we?" Ron wondered aloud.

"Chauntsbury Avenue. I used to come to the theatre here with Mum and Dad when I was a little girl!" Hermione explained brusquely, leading the boys with her clear sense of direction. "Quick, turn up here!"

The trio ducked into an alleyway, where Hermione began to rummage through her beaded bag that apparently had deep enough pockets to carry everything they would need. The clever witch dealt out changes of clothes for all of them.

"You're amazing, you are," Ron looked awed.

Hermione smile at him was almost smoldering, certainly loving, even as she turned pink. "Always the tone of surprise…."

"We'll have to find a place to stay," Ron shrugged out of his suit jacket. "Any ideas?"

"We can't go back to the Burrow."

"Obviously," Hermione grunted at Neville's postulation.

"And I can't take you back to the Manor – it's too far away by anything except Portkey and we don't have one of those…"

"…. And He's probably still watching your place…" Hermione pointed out.

Neville caught the moment that a light bulb went off in Ron's head. "I have an idea! Hermione: remember how you said you sent your parents into the country for safekeeping?"

"I'm not letting you sleep in my room, Ron…." Hermione stated, knowing where this line of inquiry was going.

"Not yet, anyway," Neville murmured under his breath so Ron wouldn't have to.

Hermione heard him anyway, and with a squeak of offended outrage, stamped on his foot. Neville was surprised at how Ron actually glowered at him, seemingly for lack of tact.

"Harry Potter told me at the wedding how he needed to do the same thing to save his Muggle relatives and their worthless skins, see?"

"But I thought Harry was living with his mother now?" Neville asked.

"Yeah, they were bunking with McGonagall, right, but see, Harry still knows how to get into his aunt and uncle's place. Plus: he told me the address!" Ron grinned smugly. "What are the chances Death Eaters are watching a Muggle neighborhood, particularly the one of a Hogwarts student who isn't even a resident any longer?"

Hermione gasped, gripping Ron by his forearms and squeezing him. "Ronald, you're a genius!"

Surrey wasn't out of Apparation range, and the streets of Little Whinging were dark when they got there. Advancing up Privet Drive, Neville, Ron and Hermione found Number Four, and Ron dug around for a key under the mat. The Trio was admitted easily.

Frowning prettily, Hermione carefully cast spells about to detect booby traps. She finally lowered her wand, expression grim.

"We're alone."