Once, lying on their stomachs in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room, Neville told Harry about trees older than anything, trees that remembered all of history. They moved and spoke, but slowly, feeling the power of their weight and words on the flow of time.
Neville's cheeks flushed and his eyes glittered from the heat and the flame. Between his words were lost memories. He toyed with the fibers in the rug as Harry rolled onto his back and complained about Transfiguration.
At the end of it all, Harry thought about the trees who remembered everything that Neville couldn't. He thought about their branches reaching up strong to the sun, even when the sun couldn't be seen. He whispered his secrets and ghosts into a knot of one tree, one that bore deep scars and new buds.
Satisfied, he slung his jacket over his shoulder and walked back into the world, into the beginning of everything else.
Neville's cheeks flushed and his eyes glittered from the heat and the flame. Between his words were lost memories. He toyed with the fibers in the rug as Harry rolled onto his back and complained about Transfiguration.
At the end of it all, Harry thought about the trees who remembered everything that Neville couldn't. He thought about their branches reaching up strong to the sun, even when the sun couldn't be seen. He whispered his secrets and ghosts into a knot of one tree, one that bore deep scars and new buds.
Satisfied, he slung his jacket over his shoulder and walked back into the world, into the beginning of everything else.