Hello friends! Here is chapter four!

A huge thank you to Lady Ylla for her unwavering assistance, your ideas are always golden!

Flashbacks are in italics.

any and all mistakes that appear are my own.


Mending

chapter 4

Neville was sitting in the armchair next to his hospital bed writing a letter to his grandmother when he heard a knock on the door. Looking up, he was surprised to see Harry Potter standing in the doorway.

Harry looked much like he always did, a little on the short side, but the thinness of his youth had given way to leanness, thanks to years of physical activity that came with being an Auror.

"Harry!" Neville exclaimed. "I'm surprised to see you here!"

"I thought I would answer your letter in person," Harry said with a bit of a grin. "Mind if I come in?"

"Yeah, please do," Neville said, picking up his wand and conjuring another armchair out of thin air.

Once Harry was settled, he fixed Neville with a concerned look. "What's going on, Nev?"

"You read my letter," Neville answered, shifting uncomfortably.

"Yes, I did," said Harry. "And I'm honestly surprised that you asked my advice..."

"What the bloody hell do you mean, you're surprised?" Neville asked, disbelief coloring his voice.

"Seriously?" Harry scoffed. "I've taken my cues from you since the war. Do you not remember me asking your advice about Malfoy? Or what about the ministry? Hell, I wouldn't have even been able to forgive myself if it hadn't been for you!"

"What do you mean, taking cues from me? I didn't do anything-" Neville began, confused, before Harry cut him off.

"Yes, you did!" He insisted. "I talked to you about those things just as much as I talked to Ron or Hermione about them. You're the poster child for forgiveness." Harry rolled his eyes at Neville's blank stare and explained: "Why do you think me or Ron or Hermione or Ginny or any of us never accepted a position at Hogwarts? You know McGonagall has been owling me at least twice a year since the war ended to fill the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. She's asked all of us to at least come in for guest lectures and we all turn it down. The only one who has ever taken her up on the offer of a teaching position is you. And you did so knowing full well that you would be teaching the children of Death Eaters, or the children of old enemies, like Draco's son, Scorpius. And not once have you been unfair to them. You have had every reason to, but you treat every student just as you treat my children. You don't let old injustices or who the students parents might be get in the way of your teaching. You forgave everyone any past misdeeds the moment you accepted the job at Hogwarts."

Neville stared at Harry, trying to process what he had just told him. Neville had never thought of it the way Harry had put it. He mostly treated every student fairly because he himself knew what it felt like to be called out for his weaknesses in front of his peers. He didn't care that Snape turned out to be a good guy, he swore to himself that he would never treat a student the way Snape had treated him. But to say that Neville was so good at forgiving people that Harry himself looked to him for advice on the matter came as something of a shock to Neville. Well, he thought, I must not be all that good because just the sight of Pansy Parkinson still makes my blood boil...

"Then how come I can't forgive her?" Neville asked quietly.

"Maybe it's not her you need to forgive, Nev," Harry said, standing from his armchair.

Neville looked down at his hands.

"I'll give Ginny and the kids your love," Harry said, making his way to the door.

Neville nodded, absentmindedly, lost in the turmoil of his thoughts.


"Here you go, Longbottom," Pansy said, entering Neville's room the next morning holding a small stack of clothes.

"What is it?" Neville asked, eyeing the clothes with suspicion.

"Looks like… rugby shorts… a T-shirt… and some clean underwear," Pansy said, holding up each item as she unfolded it.

Neville narrowed his eyes at her. "Where did you get my clothes?"

"Hermione," Pansy answered. "From what I understand, Harry told Ginny he had been to see you and Ginny went to your rooms at Hogwarts to collect some of your clothes so you would have something more comfortable and less revealing to wear than a hospital gown."

Neville looked down. The hospital gown was on backwards , like a bathrobe, and open to reveal his scarred chest.

"Yeah, well," he tugged the gown closed. "You can just leave them on the table, Parkinson."

Pansy's eyebrows drew together in annoyance.

"You know you still can't stand or put any weight or pressure on that leg without assistance," she said, refolding and sitting the stack of clothes on his bedside table.

Neville glowered at her.

"Of course I can't," he sighed, frustrated.

"Would you like some help?" She offered carefully.

Neville nodded mutely, and didn't meet her eyes.

Sighing at the stubbornness of the man, Pansy grabbed the clothes and walked over to the bed. Folding the covers back to the foot of the bed, she picked up the rugby shorts.

"Scoot over to the edge of the bed, and let your legs hang over the side. We will start with the shorts," she informed him.

Neville did as was instructed, and Pansy knelt in front of him, helping him slide his bare legs into the shorts.

She tried not to notice how toned they were, how the muscles danced under the skin as he moved.

"What are you looking at?" Neville asked, causing Pansy to jump slightly.

"Your wound," she lied, tearing her gaze away from the scar on his right calf to the bandages around his left knee.

"Pretty sure you were looking at the wrong leg," Neville muttered.

"It's time to stand," she said loudly, her face flushed red. She had worked the shorts up to just over his knees, taking care not to touch his injury. "This is going to be difficult, especially since I know you are sore from yesterday's therapy session," she said, standing.

"I'm fine," Neville said in a strong voice.

"Of course you are," Pansy said distractedly-for Neville had just shrugged off his hospital gown and was sitting bare chested .

Pansy couldn't help it, her eyes raked a path up his muscled arms, across his broad shoulders, and down his toned chest.

She took in every scar: the eight inch one that roped across his left pectoral, the three thin ones across his right ribs, and the handful of small circular ones peppered across his defined abdomen that looked curiously like burns.

Neville noticed what she was looking at and brushed one hand across his chest, while the other reached for his T-shirt.

"Sorry," Pansy muttered, silently chiding herself for staring at a man's bare chest like a horny teenager instead of the impartial trained medical professional she was.

"Yeah," Neville said, keeping his eyes averted from hers, gripping the T-shirt in his fist.

Pansy helped him to his feet, and adjusted the rugby shorts around his hips. Keeping a steady grip on his arm as he shakily lowered himself back to the bed, she tried to break the awkward silence.

"I like scars," she blurted.

"What?" Neville's eyes narrowed as he glared at her.

"I like scars," Pansy repeated. "They tell stories,"

Neville looked at her, his expression unreadable. Pansy flushed, color rising to settle in her cheeks under his stare.

Finally, Neville spoke, his voice low; almost a whisper. "You were there when most of these stories were written."

Pansy felt the color drain from her face. Her eyes darted back down to the knitted scar across his chest. A memory she thought was locked tightly in a dark corner, tucked away forever, surfaced unbidden in her mind:

Pansy was seventeen again, standing in the hellish torture chamber that used to be her Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom .

She didn't want to be there. She wanted to run as far away from the dimly lit room as she could, not stopping until the smell of blood had left her nostrils and the sound of muffled screams no longer fell on her ears.

Neville Longbottom was bound to a chair again today, his arms held behind him with thick black ropes.

When would the stupid Gryffindor learn to just stay out of the way? She thought, watching the cords in his neck stand out as he held in another scream from the Cruciatus Curse that was being used on him.

"TELL US WHERE THE REST OF YOU ARE HIDING!" Alecto Carrow screamed.

"Never." Neville replied through gritted teeth, his voice much stronger than Pansy expected.

Amycus Carrow let out a snarl, and slashed his wand through the air violentl, causing a large gash to open up on Neville's chest, soaking his shirt with blood.

Pansy blinked. She couldn't believe she had forgotten how he had received that scar.

Hesitantly, she reached out a hand as if touch it.

"Don't," Neville whispered, grabbing her wrist.

"Neville, I'm sorry-" Pansy started, horrified. "It was a long time ago," he said, letting go of her wrist and jerking his T-shirt over his head, refusing to meet her eyes again.

Pansy backed away, curling her hands into fists held closely to her chest.

"I- I have a scar in the shape of a bullseye on my thigh," She prattled quickly, stumbling over her words in her haste to say something- anything- to relieve the tension that hung thick in the air. "I sat on a camp stove a few summers ago, and- and it burned right through my jeans. Ruined the- the whole holiday..." she trailed off into silence.

"Can we postpone the therapy for a bit?" Neville asked finally, scratching around the top of the bandage on his leg. "I'd like to rest for an hour or two,"

Pansy nodded, unclenching her hands and smoothing them down her robes.

Neville lay back on the pillows and threw an arm over his eyes.

Clearly, she was dismissed.

Pansy hurried from the room without a word. She didn't trust herself to speak. She sprinted down the hallway, not stopping until she reached a broom cupboard. Wrenching the door open, she threw herself inside, slamming the door behind her and flinging locking and silencing charms on it with her wand.

She lowered herself onto a box of Mrs. Skower's all purpos e magical mess remover , and cried.

She felt wretched. Of course she was there when he got most of those scars. She had stood idly by while the Carrows had used him as practice for their twisted Dark Arts class. Watched as they flung curse after curse at him, listened to his growls of rage, his moans as he tried to hold in the screams of pain. She had averted her eyes as he limped, bloody and broken from the room, only to end up in the same place again and again, always leaving with some new injury and renewed determination in his eyes.

No wonder the man couldn't forgive her.

She could barely begin to forgive herself.


Neville fought against the ropes that bound his wrists behind the chair he was forced to sit in. He could barely see out of his right eye (blood had been trickling into it for the last half hour) and he was sure one of his teeth were loose.

"C'mon, Longbottom," Amycus Carrow crooned in a disgusting singsong voice. "You're blood is that of the sacred 28! The Dark Lord doesn't want us to spill too much of it..."

Neville leveled his stare at the lump of a man and spat a mouthful of blood in his direction.

"You little bastard!" Amycus snarled, drawing his fist back.

"Now, now, brother," Alecto soothed, putting a hand on her brother s arm. "Let the children practice," She beckoned the group of sevent h year Slytherins over. In unison, Crabbe and Goyle raised their wands, their faces lit up in apparent pleasure.

"Crucio!" They bellowed at the same time.

Neville's whole body was on fire. His muscles were seized and he was losing feeling in his bound hands.

But he refused to scream.

Refused to make a sound.

Refuse d give them the satisfaction.

"Enough, boys," he heard Alecto say softly. "Save some for the rest of the class."

Crabbe and Goyle lowered their wands, and the agony subsided. Neville breathed through his nose, trying to dispel the pain.

And so it went. By twos and threes, sixth and seventh year Slytherins stepped forward and practiced the Cruciatus Curse on him. Most of the curses barely caused a painful twinge, but a few, like Crabbe and Goyle, had really wanted to hurt him.

"You're turn, Parkinson," Alecto said, waving a dark haired girl forward.

"I-I already went," Pansy mumbled.

"No she didn't," Amycus argued, looking slightly confused.

"Yeah.. .yeah I think she did..." Alecto said slowly, a pained look on her lumpy face; as if trying to think back even a few minutes caused her physical discomfort.

Neville barely listened to the sibling s argument. He was too busy trying to get a good look at Pansy Parkinson through the blood that continued to fall into his eyes. She stood half hidden at the back of the group of Slytherins, not making eye contact with anyone.

Neville sat upright in his hospital bed abruptly, hissing as the sudden movement sent a shock of pain through his leg.

He fell back into the pillows, panting slightly at the ache in his leg.

He should've realized that seeing Pansy Parkinson would dredge up all of his carefully hidden memories of the war. Just over forty eigh t hours in her presence and he was already having flashbacks he had spent literal years repressing.

But the influx of old memories wasn't what was tormenting him, disrupting his sleep and causing him to remember things he would rather stay forgotten. It was the dream that had woken him up.

Except it couldn't be a dream. It had to be a memory. A memory that had been so pushed down, shoved to the farthest recesses of his mind that he had actually forgotten all the details.

Pansy had been in that class, and she had lied right to the Carrows faces.

For him? Neville wasn't so naive to think that was true.

With a sig h he reached blindly towards his bedside table and picked up his watch. The hands showed it was 7:30 in the evening. He had slept for four hours without any interruptions.

And Pansy hadn't returned.


And there is chapter four! I hope you all enjoyed! Chapter five is in the works and will be posted as soon as possible!

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