Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: When Neville suddenly finds himself grieving a fiancé and the only source of comfort for her mourning father he is stuck desperately trying to make amends for his mistakes. Eventually he learns that in life and love, you have to expect the unexpected.
A/N: This story is inspired by Moonlight Mile, an amazing movie that I recommend to everyone. I've never seen a story with so much heart, emotion and humour. This is merely my attempt to capture that in HP terms. Reviews are deeply appreciated
CHAPTER ONE
GOING THROUGH THE MOTIONS
Don't come to pieces in my hand
White stars reflecting dust and sand
That perfume makes me think of grief
Shake the faith shake the belief
Who's there to say that we're living this moment
Feels like I'm in a play
The sets and the props of this, your apartment
Seem to be fading away, fading away
Fading Away by Church
He was awakened by the sound of the cuckoo clock's flapping wings as it fluttered about the room and cheerily announced the time as nine o'clock. Neville sat straight up in bed and looked around the bright yellow room in alarm, his mind still befuddled from sleep and disturbing dreams. He tried to remember what it was about the dreams that had left his heart racing and his mouth dry, but the harder he tried to recall them the more the details seemed to slip through his clumsy fingers.
There was a knock at the door and he found himself clutching the twisted sheets and pulling them up to his chest the way a small child would. The door creaked open and a frazzled looking older man with white hair stuck his head through the opening.
"Oh good, you're up," he said, opening the door up wider. "I was afraid you might have slept through the clock."
"Oh," Neville said, as realization of exactly where he was sunk in. He tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes. Until a few moments ago he hadn't thought it was possible for his mouth to get even drier. But now he felt as if he had a mouth full of cotton balls. "No," he said, shaking his head slightly. "I mean, yes." He licked his lips in a desperate attempt to get some moisture so he could talk properly. "I mean, I'm up."
The man gave him a small smile and seemed to hesitate in the doorway a moment before opening the door completely and stepping into the room. Neville's hands tensed as he sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him expectantly. "Big day," the man said, studying Neville's face closely.
"Yeah," Neville said, unable to hold the searching gaze as he looked down at the bed sheets in his hands.
"You'll get through," the man said patting Neville's foot. Neville knew the gesture was meant to be comforting, but all it really succeeded in doing was make his stomach drop with dread. "You'd better get ready though," the older man said as he pushed himself up off the bed. "They're expecting us at the church in an hour. We don't want to let our girl down, do we?"
Neville felt a chill work it's way down his spine. All he really felt like doing was throwing the covers up over his head and hoping that somehow this would all pass him by. Instead he nodded and threw the covers off him, getting slowly to his feet. "I'll be ready," he said, still avoiding the other man's eyes as he begun feeling under the bed for his dress shoes.
"Right, very good," the man said, looking about the room as he shifted on his feet. Neville glanced his way as he straightened up victorious in the search for shoes. He set the box of shoes on the bed and began pulling them out as the man moved to a small dresser against the wall and began picking up various knick knacks spread out across it's top. Neville watched as he picked up a seashell and put it to his ear before smiling sadly.
"Ben--" Neville began, noting that he was still in his pyjamas.
"I remember this," Ben said, lowering the seashell and weighing it in his hands. "She was about seven or so. She'd come running down the beach, the sun all caught in her hair and thrust this at us as if she'd found some great treasure." He laughed and shook his head. "Her mother had told her that if she listened hard enough she could hear all of life's secrets."
Neville shared Ben's small smile as he got to his feet and carefully took down the dress robes that hung on the wardrobe door.
"She walked around for three weeks," Ben said, his voice sounding suspiciously uneven. "Three weeks with this to her ear, just trying to hear. Trying to listen."
"Ben," Neville said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You should get ready. Unless you plan on going in your pyjamas."
"No, of course not," Ben said, handing the shell to Neville. "That wouldn't be proper, now would it?" He began making his way to the door, but paused a moment and turned back to Neville. "She'd laugh, wouldn't she? If I were to wear my pyjamas."
Neville laughed. The sound seemed so at home in the bright room that he barely felt the tinge of guilt in his stomach. "She'd think it was hilarious. I'm just not sure about everyone else."
Ben nodded before stepping out into the hallway and shutting the door behind him with a small click. Neville looked down at the large seashell in his hands and lifted it up to his ear.
He listened for a long time, but no matter how hard he tried he only heard the dull roar of an ocean a million miles away.
xxxxxxxxxx
"Is he…is he wearing flannel pyjamas under his coat?"
"Blimey, I think he is."
"Have you ever seen anything so disrespectful in your life?"
"Well they've always been a bit loony, haven't they?"
"Hey, isn't that what they called her at school? Loony Lovegood?"
"School? That's what they called her last week."
Neville tried to block out the whispers around him as he stood in his corner of the room, but no matter how hard he tried to busy his mind they kept breaking through. He gave up trying to ignore them and instead did his best to remain unseen by the majority of the room's occupants by half hiding behind a potted plant in the corner.
"I heard he was disowned over her."
"Oh, how romantic."
"How tragic, you mean. His grandmum didn't approve and when she died last year he didn't get a penny. Now look at him."
"Where is he, anyway?"
Neville pressed himself harder against the wall.
"I'm not sure. Did you see him at the church though? When they closed the casket?"
"Heartbreaking, I know."
"You know the paper said they were childhood friends of Harry Potter."
"Potter, really?"
"I swear on my grandmum's grave."
"How appropriate."
Neville reached out through thin green leaves to grab a passing drink and downed it in one gulp. He coughed and sputtered for a moment as the burning sensation in his throat and chest made it painfully obvious that whatever he'd just swallowed wasn't merely water.
"Neville?"
He looked up and saw a familiar face framed in red hair making it's way towards him. "Oh, Neville," the woman said, reaching out and pulling him into a bear hug. "I'm so sorry."
Unable to breathe, let alone talk for a moment he found himself feeling very uncomfortable in the sudden spotlight as scattering of people around them grew quiet and watched. After what seemed an eternity she broke the hug and stepped back, smoothing out his dress robes.
"Thank you, Mrs. Wea-- Molly," he hastily corrected. He wasn't entirely sure what he was thanking her for.
"You've lost so much weight," she said with a disapproving clicking of her tongue. "I've prepared a few meals for you and Ben. They should last you at least a week or so." She paused. "You are staying here aren't you? Just for a little while?"
"I hadn't really thought about it," Neville admitted.
"You should," Molly said matter-of-factly. "Ben needs you. He shouldn't be alone at a time like this. Not after losing his only--" She sniffed and began digging through her purse for a tissue. "The loss of a child is a horrible thing, Neville."
Neville suspected she would know. She'd lost two.
"Well, it's not as if losing a fiancé is any easier, mum," a red eyed Ginny Weasley said, suddenly appearing at her mum's elbow. "I'm so sorry, Neville."
"Thank you, Ginny," Neville said, felling irritated that he'd be thanking her for her apology. After all it wasn't her fault. It wasn't anyone's fault.
Except maybe his.
"No, no, I didn't mean that," Molly said quickly, reaching out and putting a hand on Neville's arm. "I'm sorry if it sounded like--"
"It's alright," Neville said, trying to give her what was a comforting smile, but felt more like a grimace. "Really."
There was an awkward moment of silence during which Molly sniffed again.
"Why is Mr. Lovegood wearing pyjamas?" Ginny asked at length.
"He thought it would've made her laugh," Neville said with a small shrug.
Ginny gave a low laugh while Molly simply looked appalled. Once again silence descended upon them and Neville found himself desperately trying to think of something to say.
"How's Harry doing?"
"Well," Ginny said quickly, before pausing a moment as Molly got a drink from a passing tray. "Well, same as always. How are your parents?"
Neville felt as if his body suddenly go numb at the realization that he hadn't told his parents that Luna was dead. He wondered if he could get past actually telling them. It wasn't as if they had known her to begin with, was it? He rubbed wearily at his forehead, knowing that even if he thought it, he'd never be able to hold it back. He told his parents everything, even if, or maybe because, they didn't seem to be able to process all of it. And even if news about Luna's death failed to move them in anyway he would have told them about her life and the extraordinary person she'd been.
He opened his mouth to answer Ginny's question but was cut off as Molly spit out her drink.
"Mum!" Ginny said, looking embarrassed as she glanced around the room.
"What is this?" Molly asked, her voice shaking slightly. She sniffed her cup and looked at Neville. "Is this vodka?"
"I'm not sure," Neville said, though that would certainly explain the burning sensation he'd experienced earlier.
Molly muttered something about the choice of drinks being completely inappropriate and stormed off to the kitchen. Presumably to lecture the hired help about what not to serve at a funeral.
"So how are you holding up?" Ginny asked, lowering her voice. "I mean, really holding up."
He wasn't sure what she wanted him to say. He wasn't falling apart if that's what she meant. Which he felt horrible about. Wasn't everything supposed to stop when you lost someone that close to you? Was he some sort of unfeeling monster? It'd been three days and life had gone on. The only difference was that her name was on the tip of everyone's tongue, Ben was acting more unusual than usual and everyone seemed to be looking to him for some emotional outburst declaring his love for the girl he'd lost.
"Numb," he settled on, finally. "Really numb."
"Enjoy it while it lasts," Ginny said sadly before stepping forward and giving Neville an awkward hug. "I should go find mum and get her out of here before she starts ordering everyone about. If you need anything you know you can owl me. Or just come over. You're close enough to the Burrow now, aren't you?"
He wanted to tell her that it wasn't as if he'd never lost anyone before. Just last year he'd lost his grandmum. He didn't remember feeling numb then. In fact the feelings of massive guilt, regret and sadness that he'd let her down after everything she'd done for him had overwhelmed him completely.
Instead he thanked her and looked around the room of guests suddenly weary of being the grieving fiancé. He wished he could come and drink the vodka, eat the cheese and leave the sadness behind when the day was over.
It seemed like a lie that she was gone in this house with her pictures on the wall and her belongings everywhere. He kept expecting her to walk down the stairs or turn the corner or sneak up from behind and put her hands over his eyes. She still lived and breathed here.
How could she be dead?