Author's Note: A belated happy holidays to everyone! Thank you so much to all who have stuck with this story, even as it looked like I might have left it behind. There are several aspects of this fic that are insanely personal to me, and while at times they have been the biggest propellers to its creation, they've also been the anchors that drag me down. I'm not going to make any promises about when I'll post next, because I honestly don't know, but please trust that I do not intend to leave this fic unfinished—I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I did.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Once I got back into it, it was a joy to write.


"This is really good," Neville said before licking a bit of pie filling off of his fork.

Hannah smiled, "I'll let my grandmother know you said that. She'll like to hear it from someone we're not related to."

They were sitting on the floor at the foot of her bed. The footboard, it turned out, was surprisingly comfortable to lean on, plus it worked well for the pie to rest on the floor between them. Short of transfiguring anything, the bed was the only other place they could've sat next to each other like this and neither one of them had even suggested that as an option. Hannah tried not to focus on that too much, but it persistently popped up in her head. For her, the thought of sitting on the bed with Neville just reminded her of the fact that he had slept in it before. It evoked the way her pillow had smelled the following night—of sandalwood, amber, and something intoxicatingly sweet and earthy that she couldn't quite identify before the scent faded away, but had quite enjoyed while it was there. She pushed it from her thoughts for the millionth time, though, warding off the warmth that those memories brought to her cheeks.

She looked over at Neville again. His eyes were already on hers, and he held her gaze for just a moment before looking away with what she thought, or maybe just hoped, was a smile. The question reared its ugly head: Why doesn't he want to sit on the bed? The immediate idea that presented itself in Hannah's mind was that his reasoning must be similar to hers. Maybe the bed, with all of its connotations, felt like an admission of something. Sitting on a bed with someone who you didn't feel something for was nothing, but to do it with someone who you might be interested in? That was an entirely different world. Of course, Hannah reminded herself, he had seen her sobbing only an hour before, and she hadn't done anything to clean herself up since. Her makeup still sat on her face, smudged and starting to feel more caked on than ever. Why would he feel uncomfortable sitting on a bed with her looking like that?

"Hannah?" Neville asked.

Her attention snapped back to the present, to reality. A furious blush broke out on her chest and neck as she realized that she'd been staring at him the whole time while she thought, even if she hadn't quite been seeing anything, her focus wandering elsewhere and taking up too much of her brain's functionality.

"Yes?" Hannah said. She speared another bite of pie with her fork, just for an excuse to look away from Neville's face. It felt much too much like her thoughts had broken out with that blush, painting her secrets on her skin.

But he didn't say anything, the silence going on for so long that Hannah finally did look at him. He was staring back with a frown on his face, his lips pressed thin. "I don't want to push," he said. "But, are you alright? Before…" He didn't finish his sentence. He didn't have to.

Hannah was thankful that she had that forkful of pie, eating it gave her an excuse to put off giving him an answer. On the one hand, she wanted to lie, to say that she'd just had a rough night and move on. But at the same time, there was something about Neville that made her want to tell the truth. Maybe it was because he was nice, a genuinely kind and loyal person who Hannah respected. But also, there was the odd sensation that she didn't need to hide in front of him. They'd already broached the biggest topic of them all—her mother—and even Susan shied away from that. What could it hurt to tell him that her other parental relationship was going to shit? Or that her whole family seemed to be a mess of secrets and lies and unmet expectations about wasted potential? Then again, maybe her mind had just caught in his thick brown hair, which had grown out to be slightly shaggy, or how wide his pale green eyes looked when he stared at her like this.

"I had dinner with my dad and his parents tonight," she said, the words coming out slowly as she weighed each one. "We do it every couple of weeks, but," she stopped short, taking a steadying breath before pushing on, "Tonight just felt extra tense and…messy."

There. That was all true, and it was more than the nothing that she would have said normally. So what if she wasn't giving him full details? There was time for that, and she would get there eventually, especially if he kept giving her that look.

Neville nodded, his eyes never leaving her face. She could've sworn, in fact, that his eyes dipped down to her lips for just a second. It made her bite at them self-consciously, and then she was sure when he looked down to watch. She turned away, not embarrassed, exactly, just flustered. The phrase "butterflies in your stomach" felt a little too accurate.

With another bite of pie, Hannah tried to calm her body down, to stop her heart from knocking so hard against her ribs. Neville took another bite too, his fork scraping on the dish a bit, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. Her eyes wandered back to his face but his focus was on his fork, which he twisted between his fingers absentmindedly. His attention slowly turned to her.

"Can I admit something?" he asked.

Hannah nodded. Her attention hung on the right corner of Neville's mouth, where the pie filling had stained his skin.

"My Mimbulus mimbletonia is still dying, and I still haven't contacted Professor Sprout even though I told you I would."

It didn't seem like that big of a confession to Hannah. She appreciated his honesty and all, but couldn't help wondering why his voice sounded so strained. "Okay," she said. The confusion pulled her mouth into a frown.

Neville sighed, letting his head fall back against the bed. "It just...it feels like admitting defeat."

She bit her lips together to keep from smiling.

"Herbology's the only thing I've ever been consistently good at, it's the one skill I thought I could count on and now I don't know if I even have that."

"It's not the only thing," Hannah said, her voice sounding surprisingly snappy. She felt defensive on Neville's behalf, even if it was against his own words. "You've always been incredibly kind and respectful and those are both skills that many other people sorely lack. You were a fantastic and brave leader for the DA."

"Only because Harry wasn't there," Neville said. "And even then it took Ginny and Luna disappearing before I really did anything."

Hannah waved her hand, as if that would dispel his words. "You did plenty while they were there."

"But that's not—" He cut off when Hannah placed her hand on his arm.

"This is all beside the point anyway," she said, attempting to ignore the way his muscles tightened under her fingertips. "We both know that Herbology encompasses plenty of difficult skills. It's not like it's all one thing."

Neville just stared at her, his eyes crinkling slightly on the sides as he processed her words.

"Besides," she said, letting her touch brush slightly along his skin, "I think putting your plant's wellbeing before your ego would be incredibly brave."

"I don't know about that," Neville said. "It would be nice." He moved his arm back, stopping when the tip of Hannah's finger came into contact with the base of his palm.

Her heart raced again. "Bravery and kindness aren't so different."

Neville smiled at her, wide and toothy.

She smiled back.

The silence that had fallen lingered for a moment, but this time it was comfortable, if not a little charged by whatever this exchange between them meant. Hannah shifted her body around, under the guise of fixing her posture, and slipped her fingertips over the edge of Neville's hand.

"Tell me more about your day," he said. His voice sounded so soft, but it had lost the hesitance she'd heard in it with his earlier questions.

"Tell me about yours," Hannah said.

Neville frowned at her, but the gesture didn't reach his eyes.

"Please?" she said. She thought she heard his breath hitch as she risked allowing her index finger to trace the smallest of circles on his skin. "I'm still building up my nerve, and besides, I don't know anything about what you were doing before I ruined your dinner."

The frown deepened. "You didn't ruin anything. In fact my day dramatically improved when you showed up."

Hannah laughed. "Oh, sure. Nothing makes my day like dealing with someone else's meltdown."

"Okay, maybe not right then, but right now?" His eyes flicked down to her hand on his before returning to her face. "Best part of my day."

She couldn't stop the smile that broke out before it overtook her whole face. An accompanying blush spread out over her cheeks and down her neck, and Hannah had to force herself not to break eye contact—using up some of that small reserve of nerve that she'd been working on. She leaned her head back against the footboard again, in an attempt to hide some of the blush and just to settle in and focus on Neville's voice. "Come on, tell me," she said.

He bit his lip for a moment before conceding. "Well, mostly I was just at home working with the Mimbulus mimbletonia, because it really isn't doing well," he said, a blush working its way onto his face as well. "But I think I'll be writing to Professor Sprout when I get back anyway."

Hannah rolled her eyes. "Don't let me force you."

Neville laughed. "Never," he said. "Anyway, then I had to go to Madam Malkin's. I'm in Harry and Ginny's wedding party and they had an appointment today to pick out our dress robes."

"And how did that go?" Hannah asked, a shiver practically running down her spine. She'd never enjoyed going to the robe shop, in fact she had dreaded it before school each year. It was a relief when she'd stopped growing after fifth year and didn't have to return. Being poked and prodded in front of everyone who happened to be in the store at the same time had been like something out of Hannah's nightmares for as long as she could remember.

Neville shrugged, the movement causing his hand and arm to move minutely under her touch. In the back of her mind Hannah realized how silly it was, to sit there all but holding hands, never making a move to complete the gesture. The foreground of her thoughts, however, kept circling how pleasantly comforting the contact already was.

"It wasn't so bad," Neville said. He narrowed his eyes for just a moment before adding, "Although, maybe I can just say that because it's over. I don't know. I certainly never need to do it again."

They fell into silence again. Hannah would have tried to fill it, asking more questions or attempting a joke, anything to hold onto this moment longer, but the look on Neville's face held her back. His thick eyebrows knit together, and the set of his jaw, where a muscle kept tensing, suggested that the moment wasn't over so much as paused until he figured out what to say next.

He took a deep breath and then said, "The worst part actually had nothing to do with the robes. Out of the wedding party, Luna was the only one who wasn't there, and everyone kept asking me about her. If it was weird to be in a wedding with her and all, given…given how we had, err…"

Her body froze in place as her mind raced to figure out the proper reaction to this. On the one hand, Hannah wanted to snatch her hand away from him, to put as much distance as possible between their bodies. How could she have been so stupid? Of course he still had feelings for Luna—they'd been so close for years. And they had sat together that first night in the pub! Susan's words came drifting back to her, Was it like a triple date or something? Maybe it had been. Those six, all noted heroes of the war, it made sense for them to couple up and move on with happy, successful lives. However, a small voice of logic in her head shouted over all of those other thoughts. If they were still together, or even just liked each other, the voice said, Neville wouldn't still be here, not like this anyway. He's not that kind of guy. Hannah longed to believe that voice, no matter how small it seemed in comparison to the myriad of other swirling suppositions. Her stomach churned. Unfortunately, her brain usually stored logic in short supply, especially in comparison to raw emotion and sensitivity.

Hannah removed her hand from Neville's.

She hugged herself around her middle. Even after removing the physical contact, though, she couldn't bring herself to look away from him. That urge only got worse when he sucked in a small but sharp breath, the sound almost whistling through his teeth. She followed his gaze down to his hand, which almost looked lonely lying there by itself now. He formed a fist and knocked it against his thigh a couple of times before speaking again.

"It was just annoying," he said, not meeting her eyes anymore. "Because the thing is, it's been so long, so many years, since Luna and I saw each other like that. It was stupid for them to go on about it." He flexed his hand before laying it flat on his leg. "Stupid for me to go on about it too, I suppose."

Well shit, Hannah thought. She said, "I think that my dad might be trying to forget about my mum or something." The words came out hurriedly, and she half hoped that they might work like a salve for the past few minutes.

Neville's head whipped up. He stared at her, his eyes almost looking wary. "What?" he asked.

Hannah explained about the upturned picture frame, and about her father's harsh reaction when she'd mentioned her mother. "It just doesn't make sense," Hannah said after wrapping up all of the details. "They loved each other so much, I don't understand how he could just…stop." Her voice cracked on that last word, and she swallowed thickly in an attempt to halt any tears before they could come out.

"I doubt that he wants to forget," Neville said. "But grief is weird. Trust me, Gran and I have very different ideas of what to do about my parents but, when it comes down to it, we both still love them." His voice came out all low and soft, somehow managing to sound reassuring rather than patronizing. Hannah thought that maybe there was an undercurrent of Neville's own pain running through it, and that was what made the difference.

She turned to look at him, but he was staring down at his hands in his lap. They both had their legs stretched out before them and the difference in length would have been comical to Hannah at any other time, if they'd only been talking about something, anything else.

After a shaky breath, she continued to explain the situation. "I think the worst part is that I can't even ask him about it," she said. "We all just tip-toe around him and his emotions, because for so long he's barely held it together. He can't…he can't even use magic very well anymore and it's terrifying to watch but if we try to confront him about it he just gets angry or even worse he goes silent and I don't know what we're supposed to do." The tears had started to come now, and Hannah swiped at them angrily. This was her first time telling anyone about this, and she couldn't stand to think that she'd break down before she could even get it all out.

For his part, Neville was looking at her now. She could feel his eyes on her, even as she focused determinedly on the wall that faced them.

"I feel so stupid saying this," Hannah said, choking back a sob. "Because it's obviously untrue and horrible, but sometimes it feels like I lost both of them instead of just Mum." She wiped at her tears, which were rapidly growing in volume. The attempt seemed feeble in the face of their numbers though, so she stopped.

Neville took Hannah's hand in his as she lowered it from her face.

She tried not to focus on his touch, but instead on getting the rest of the words out. "And my grandparents see it too, I know they do, but they don't do anything to fix it. They're so scared of starting a conflict with him, and then instead my grandmother picks at everything I do. Tonight she knew something was wrong but rather than ask him she confronted me and…" Hannah broke off, talking a moment to regain her breath. "I can't even talk to Susan about this," she said. "How selfish would that be? I can't complain about my family problems when most of her family died. It's already horrid of me to complain about my father to you and I just…I just don't know what to do."

"You have every right to be upset, Hannah," Neville said, rubbing his thumb along her knuckles.

Now she sobbed.

Before she knew it, Neville had moved the pie dish aside and pulled her towards him, enveloping her in his embrace for the second time that night. The scent that had been on her pillow only a couple of weeks before enveloped her as his body did the same.

"You're alright," Neville said. "You're alright, you're alright."

Hannah felt the vibrations of his voice through his chest, where her head and one of her hands lay. Her shoulder was jutted up under his arm, and somewhere in her mind she recognized that it probably wasn't comfortable for him. She attempted to adjust her body against his, but he must have interpreted it as her attempting to pull away. He hugged her tighter.

"You're alright," he said again.

Later, Hannah would appreciate his choice of wording. "You're alright" is miles away from "it's alright." The former addresses the individual while the latter addresses the entire situation at large. Upon reflecting, she appreciated that Neville didn't say that the situation her family found itself in was alright, he didn't even insinuate that any of the things she'd experienced that day were okay. Instead, his focus was on her. And while she may not have really taken it in while sitting on the floor together, Neville's words did manage to sink in deep enough. In the subsequent days, and even hours, Hannah liked the feeling that she might be able to be okay even within all of the messy dynamics and issues.

In the moment, though, all she could do was cry.

Neville just kept telling her, "You're alright. You're alright, Hannah." He started to rub her back slowly as she sobbed against him.

When the sobbing and tears had let up, she pulled away slightly. "I'm sorry," she choked out. She wasn't sure how much time had passed exactly, but the room around them had slowly darkened. Hannah felt ashamed. It wasn't so much for having had another meltdown in front of him, but for the fact that it was lasting so long.

"Don't be," Neville said. He gave her enough room to move, but didn't move his arms away from her.

"I've kept you all evening," she said, sniffling.

Neville chuckled softly. "You've given me pie and conversation. It's actually been one of my better nights in the past few weeks."

Hannah scoffed, but it sounded more like a laugh by the end. She sat all the way up finally, and the movement forced Neville's embrace to fall away. Hannah was sorry for the loss, feeling at once like she'd lost a sort of armor. After wiping at the warm tear-tracks that had formed on her skin she decided to get up. "I'm gonna try to wash this off," she told Neville, gesturing vaguely at her entire face.

"I'll be here," Neville said.

In the bathroom, Hannah tried to take a second to calm her whole body down. She shook out her hands and bounced on the balls of her feet, attempting to focus on the hard coolness of the tile on her skin. Her heart was racing, but not in the pleasant, exciting way that it had earlier. Now it felt like her mind had just run some sort of emotional marathon and her body was trying to catch up.

The mirror reflected a less-than complimentary image. Hannah ignored it. She let the water run until it got warm, then splashed it on her face haphazardly. What did it matter if her hair and dress got wet? They were both already a mess. She scrubbed away the stains left by her tears, attempting not to think about Neville, alone in her room. But still, the thoughts came. The doubts about how he must view her now, and the fear of the fact that he knew so much about her family, stampeded through her mind. Hannah took comfort in the fact that they were all slightly fuzzy though, basically harmless compared to what she had felt and thought earlier in the day.

When she was done with her face, Hannah turned to her hair. It looked frizzy and slightly wild, so she restrained it into twin plaits. The familiar, repetitive motion of twisting the blonde strands into place always had a slightly soothing effect on her.

She finally emerged back into her bedroom, and found Neville standing over her desk, taking in the mess that was always there.

"Sorry," he said, backing away from it at once.

She shook her head. "Don't worry about it. There's nothing important on there."

He smiled. "Well, in that case, what's this?" he asked, holding up a piece of paper she'd abandoned months ago.

Hannah cringed. Even from across the room she could tell that it held a halfhearted painting of a very poorly looking field of flowers. "Watercolor painting," she said. "One of my Muggle aunts is very into crafts and I went through this phase of trying loads of them." She shrugged.

"It's brilliant," Neville said, his focus back on the painting.

Hannah laughed, walking to stand beside him. "Hardly." She looked down on all of the abandoned projects, beading that was half done, sketches that didn't look right, embroidery hoops with threads hanging off. "I'm afraid I was never very good at any of them. It just got very frustrating, because it didn't seem to matter how hard I tired."

"Show me how to do it," Neville said, still staring down at the painting. His eyes were so wide, almost like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. It wouldn't occur to Hannah until later that of course he felt like that, as watercolor didn't lend itself to magic, and without any Muggle relatives it was doubtful that Neville had ever seen that loose, free flowing style of art.

"Surely you've got something better to do tonight," she said. It wasn't that she didn't want him to stay, she just didn't want him to feel like he had to—like he had to keep watch over her and make sure that she was okay.

Neville turned to her again, a grin spreading across his face. "I really don't."

"Well," she said, biting her lip for a split second of consideration, "Okay, but it won't be any good. I basically have no clue what I'm doing."

"Then that'll make two of us," Neville said.

As Hannah gathered supplies for both of them, and they settled in on the floor again to start, she tried not to think too much about what it all meant: that night, him staying with her, him holding her earlier. She reasoned that once she started thinking about it, she'd never stop. And she didn't want to be wrapped up in it, not when they were having such a good time, making messes of their papers and laughing as they talked about nothing in particular.

The one thing that kept coming to the forefront, however, was that this night felt like the start of something. Despite how her entire day had gone beforehand, and how much she had cried in front of him, Neville's presence felt like a promise. Of what Hannah didn't know, but the excitement to find out bubbled up inside her anyway.


Author's Note: Did you guys know that Neville's eye color is never given in canon? At least, not that I could find. Hopefully everyone's all right with what I've chosen. I think there's something kind of poetic about his being a slight variation on Harry's, given the prophecy and all.

Thank you so much for reading and (at least at the time of original posting) happy New Year!