Author's Note: Well, several mental breakdowns later and I finally have a new chapter for you guys! I hope it's not too late. I also hope that you're all okay with how angsty this gets. And how involved in Herbology it is. Thank you all a million times over for reading and sticking with this story!
Surreal. That was the only word Neville could think of to describe the feeling that overtook him as he stepped from the green flames and into the Hog's Head Inn. He tried to ignore it, adjusting his grip on the pot that held his Mimbulus mimbletonia, but his chest hurt a bit as he looked around. The place couldn't help but bring back all sorts of memories, both good and bad, resulting in a mixed bag of emotions that left him completely out of sorts.
He stepped onto the hay-strewn floor. A dark, cowardly corner of his mind urged him to just get out of there, to stop thinking about the times he'd fled to this place from the Room of Requirement, desperate for food and supplies and good news. But that wouldn't be the right thing to do. And besides, by agreeing to come and see Professor Sprout at the school, he'd already signed up to face his past that day. Of course, this was different. During his final year at Hogwarts he'd had plenty of time to overcome the memories of wartime that plagued every corner of the castle, and he'd had to in order to successfully complete his schooling. He'd never even tried to revisit this dingy place.
There were only a couple of customers inside the pub that afternoon. One was an ancient looking wizard who stirred his drink compulsively even while giving his full attention to a book that lay open before him. The other patron wore a hood so low over their brow that in the low light Neville couldn't make out any of their features. He remembered hearing that in the months immediately following the war the Hog's Head had seen an upswing in customers, much to Aberforth's chagrin, after the reports of its involvement in the DA's resistance efforts were published. It seemed that the few intervening years had stamped out whatever sparks of interest had arisen.
Neville reached the rough, oak bar. He was just about to sit on one of the mismatched stools when a tall figure ducked through the doorway that led back to the stairs.
"What're you doing here, Longbottom?" Aberforth's bright blue eyes scanned Neville, lingering for a moment on the plant where it was still tucked against his side.
Neville's stomach twisted. It wasn't that he had expected a warm welcome, exactly, but this was hard enough already without the coldness. He cleared his throat. "I've got a meeting with Professor Sprout," he said.
The old man grunted. "Well I don't know the last time Pomona stepped foot in here." He offered a small smile before adding, "Though you wouldn't think she'd mind the dirt."
A chuckle escaped Neville and his spine lost some of its nervous rigidity. "I just wanted to drop in before heading to the castle, to...check in."
"There isn't much to check," Aberforth said, one white eyebrow arched. "Unless you've heard something I haven't."
Neville shook his head.
"Last I heard, though, you went to work for the Ministry." The way Aberforth's mouth formed the word suggested an acerbic edge.
"I did," Neville said. Treading lightly seemed like the only appropriate approach to this conversation, for both parties.
Aberforth didn't say anything, but the lines around his mouth deepened with his frown.
It felt like a cork had lodged in Neville's throat. "It didn't, I mean, I didn't—" He cut off to stifle a cough in his fist, wishing that he could just apparate away rather than continue to struggle through this exchange. "It just never felt right," he said, unable to meet Aberforth's eyes.
"Hm." The noise sounded almost involuntary, but also vaguely proud.
Although, Neville considered, maybe that was his own wishful thinking. Regardless, the conversation stalled out there. Neville pulled the Mimbulus Mimbletonia closer to his side, poking one of the boils accidentally and causing it to release a high pitched whine that even made Aberforth jump.
"Watch it, would you? That'll disturb the other customers."
Neville looked up to apologize but found Aberforth grinning back. The elder man laughed when he saw the troubled look on Neville's face. Neville chuckled too, although not for the same reason he assumed Aberforth had. For him, it was in relief, and not just from the fact that he wasn't actually being scolded, but rather because he could now release some of the panic he'd felt at the prospect of having to hold an entire conversation about what had happened with the Auror department. That topic had yet to be delved into with anyone, let alone an old man who he'd only met because of dire circumstances and hadn't really interacted with since.
"Alright there, Neville?" Aberforth asked. And now he did look concerned, those blue eyes piercing and still unnervingly similar to his brother's.
"Fine," Neville said, mustering a smile. In truth, however, his mind was a jumble of thoughts, with the most prevalent being the wish that he had never even gone into the pub. He was already nervous for the meeting, he didn't need to add on the stress of thinking about his failed career, or whatever you could call it. "I should probably go, though," he said. "I'd hate to keep Professor Sprout waiting."
Aberforth's eyes narrowed. "Of course. Well, it was nice seeing you, especially under less stressful conditions." The old man smiled broadly. "You'll have to come by soon, maybe bring some friends. We could all have a drink and reminisce about those horrible old days."
Neville nodded, and tried to return the kindness in Aberforth's current expression. "Yeah, yeah definitely."
And as Neville walked out onto the Hogsmeade high street, he tried to think of that possible future meeting instead of dwelling on the one that had just happened.
In fact, by the time Neville arrived at the castle gates, he actually felt quite proud of how far he'd come. A year ago, he never would have thought of actually going to the Hog's Head. And so what if he wasn't ready to talk about the Aurors? It was only right that he should discuss it with his friends before anybody else heard about his reasoning, or lack thereof. All around, he'd done alright.
In the shadow of the castle's towering gates, however, the warmth of that pride waned. It wasn't the enormous iron gates themselves, but something much smaller, off to the side. Neville's eyes caught on the memorial plaque as soon as it could come into focus, adorning one of the gate's stone columns.
He couldn't recall the exact scene of the day when they had revealed it, those thoughts were just a mess of black clothes and too bright sunlight that couldn't have felt more out of place. The atmosphere of that day, though, was an entirely different story. Staring at that slab of bronze, which had barely tarnished in the three years since its arrival, the same icy discomfort slid into his stomach. He reached out his hand, running his fingers over the embossed names of so many people, some his friends, some strangers, all gone before their time.
"So much for temporary, huh?"
Neville nearly jumped out of his skin.
"Oh, sorry Longbottom," Professor Sprout said.
Her cheery round face was such a contrast to the feelings that had swelled inside of him that Neville had difficulty actually meeting her eyes. "Hello, Professor," he said gruffly.
She brushed off this awkward greeting and continued her earlier thought. "Remember how they said this was only supposed to be here until they could make something more significant? You'd think three years is long enough." She shook her head, the frizzy gray hair that poked out from under her hat shaking as well. "After all that's changed, it's too bad the ministry still drags their feet on everything."
Neville shrugged. "This isn't bad," he said. Sure, it wasn't very substantial, but what good would it do at this point to bring in a new memorial? What would that mean? Another ceremony, certainly. More speeches about bravery and sacrifice and gratitude, all of which would miss the most important point: that these people never should have been in that situation in the first place. And there would be more crying. Bringing in some new memorial would just dredge up old problems and feelings that everyone he knew had worked so hard to move past.
Maybe it was just best to leave well enough alone.
Professor Sprout frowned at him, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she turned to the gates and pulled out her wand. With a few twists of her wrist the metal creaked and swung open just enough for them to go through. "Shall we?" she asked. She didn't wait for a response before she started walking briskly towards the castle. "We're heading towards Greenhouse 6, by the way. That's where I have all of the exotic plants now."
"Okay," Neville said, feeling dumb because he couldn't remember where exactly those plants had been kept before.
He had thought that seeing this place wouldn't affect him. He'd spent a year here following the war after all, and made it through that basically unscathed, but as he followed his former professor up that long walk with the castle looming before them, Neville's heart hurt. Even more surprising, that pain wasn't about the memories of battle. Even as they passed the spot where he'd stood as Hagrid approached with Harry's seemingly lifeless body, where he'd hoped against all hope for a continued fight, where he had looked into the deformed face of Voldemort himself, it wasn't those memories that tugged at his chest. What he felt wasn't even sadness exactly—it was more like guilt.
His mind flooded with images of the future he had imagined for himself the last time that he stood on this ground, as he'd left the castle once and for all, having finished his education and chosen a path. Neville's stomach churned. That path, that stupid fucking path that he'd only lasted seventeen months on. The one he'd already dodged questions from Aberforth about, and the memory of which now slapped him across the face with his own failure.
"How's your grandmother?" Professor Sprout asked, turning her head back momentarily to look at him with a raised eyebrow and smirk. "Still wearing that hat of hers?"
Neville changed his grip on the Mimbulus mimbletonia. It felt like bile had risen in his throat. "She's doing well," he said thickly. "Hasn't changed a bit." He thought about who he'd been the last time Sprout had seen him, more than two years before. He thought about how far he'd strayed. Unlike me, he thought.
He didn't dare voice that aloud, though. Neville felt fully aware of what he saw as his own degradation, and didn't need a woman he'd so long looked up to recognizing it as well. The only thing worse than knowing that you've failed, he reasoned, is telling others about it too.
They continued towards the green houses, following the path that led down and around to the castle's left. The Whomping Willow and Hagrid's hut both stood out starkly against the otherwise empty landscape that they passed, with the tree's tendrils being the only things that moved in the occasional afternoon breezes. It occurred to Neville that this was the only time he'd ever seen the castle without other students around, and how lifeless it all seemed. Then his gut heaved again as he remembered that he wasn't the only student there, because of course he wasn't a student at all anymore.
After that, Neville stopped looking around, instead focusing on the crooked tip of Professor Sprout's hat as she continued to walk in front of him.
The hot interior of Greenhouse 6 was more than welcome when they got to it. Neville hadn't anticipated the riot of color and movement that awaited them, the sight of which overwhelmed his eyes such that they couldn't quite focus on anything. It was like a different planet inside of that room. The abundance of life almost completely covered the glass walls, and everywhere he looked Neville found a species that had previously existed in a purely abstract manner to him, only seen within the pages of his books.
Professor Sprout shut the door firmly behind them, and then walked to stand near the head of the worktable, which stood at the center of the room, the only vacant surface. It looked as if she were about to begin teaching, like this afternoon was just another class session. She turned to Neville and said, "Well come on then, let's see it."
He approached the table and set the Mimbulus mimbletonia down in front of the professor. As he pulled his hands away, he let one finger brush gently across the plant's firm flesh, between two of its boils. Sprout went to work, poking around it, looking closely, not even flinching when it let out one of its low wails. Suddenly Neville's throat felt tight, but it wasn't with any of the thoughts that had plagued him outside, there was no room in his brain for those anymore. The possibility that Professor Sprout would give him bad news suddenly felt very real.
"How old is it?" she asked him, continuing her observations.
"I've had it for six years, but it was mature when I got it. My best guess is that it was only about four years old then, though. The boils seemed about the right size for that age according to my reading."
Sprout nodded, pulling on a pair of dragon-hide gloves that made Neville nervous. As if she had read his mind, she looked up and asked him, "You don't mind if I poke around a bit more in-depth, do you?"
Neville shook his head. "No, 'course not." That was, after all, why he'd brought it here. And while he'd seen Professor Sprout be a bit vicious with the more dangerous plants when they would begin to get out of line, she also always went out of her way to be careful that her ministrations didn't harm any plants when it wasn't strictly necessary.
Nodding, Professor Sprout reached under the table to bring up a pail full of equipment, selecting a short lance from the bunch. In one swift motion she poked a boil again, this time with the sharp end of the lance, and collected some of the Stinksap that leaked out on her gloved fingers. Rolling the sap around, Sprout said, "Well, this looks normal. There's a good sign for you." She raised the sap closer to her face, smelling the sticky substance. "Although," she continued, "the odor doesn't seem quite as potent as we'd normally like."
Neville nodded, kicking himself that he couldn't remember whether or not he'd included that information in his letter to the professor asking for this very meeting.
After wiping the sap off onto a rag, Sprout picked up some small sheers, keeping them closed but using the tip to poke the Mimbulus mimbletonia near its middle.
Neville's stomach churned. He could see what she was trying to accomplish and knew exactly what was going wrong, but did that mean that he should correct her? She was a professor, after all, and the last thing he wanted to do was act disrespectfully to Sprout when she was helping him out of pure kindness. After another minute or so of effort without a reaction from the cactus, however, Neville decided to squash his nerves and speak anyway. "A little to the right," he said. His face went red at how high his voice had sounded.
Sprout raised an eyebrow so high that it disappeared into the bushy grey hair that had escaped her hat, but did move the sheers as he had said. "Here?" she asked, the metal point hovering above the plant's flesh.
"About a millimeter lower," Neville answered.
One swift jab in the specified location and all of the boils discharged Stinksap. However, where a healthy Mimbulus mimbletonia would have launched the stuff everywhere, making it to the far reaches of the greenhouse, this one had only just gotten Neville where he stood. With her proximity, Sprout was covered, but that was the smallest of victories.
"Interesting," Professor Sprout said, regarding Neville.
He brought out his wand to clean up the mess, silently casting Scourgify. It was unclear if Sprout was referring to the cactus's behavior or Neville's.
Looking back at the plant before her, Professor Sprout spoke again. "You mentioned in your letter that you've been using this plant for breeding?"
Neville nodded. "Yes, for the past few years."
"How many cycles have you put it through?"
"Um, six I think? Some of my first tries weren't successful." He saw the professor frown down at the cactus and his heart started to pound. "But I've gotten better at it! I've been able to propagate four new offspring now. The other mature Mimbulus mimbletonia that I have flowers every six months, so—"
"What have your studies said about how often these plants reproduce?" Professor Sprout asked, her attention still trained on Neville.
"Well, not a lot," Neville said. His face felt even hotter than it had before. "That's part of why I wanted to breed these, because there's such a lack of published work that I could find about them. Everything I've read just said that they reproduce during the flowering period, as we'd expect from most flowering plants in general."
Professor Sprout turned back to the cactus before her, stroking it gently as it let out a low whine. "And what spurs Mimbulus mimbletonia to flower?"
All of this suddenly felt like a horrible flashback to his early days at Hogwarts, to quizzes that he didn't know the answers to, no matter how hard he'd studied, how hard he'd tried to get things right. But he couldn't just say nothing. He'd done so much reading about these things, so much research into what he was doing wrong before he resorted to this meeting. "My research never identified an exact cause," he said. "But it did suggest that they primarily bloom during the rainy season in their natural habitat."
"And how often does that occur in the deserts where these live?" A smile seemed to play about the edges of Sprout's mouth.
"Once a year," Neville said. It was obvious that he was missing something, but he couldn't think of what for the life of him.
Sprout looked straight at Neville, "I'm sure I don't have to tell you that it's much wetter here than it is in the Assyrian deserts."
"Oh," he said. "Moisture makes it bloom?"
"Not exactly," Professor Sprout said, putting on a familiar air that Neville recognized from all of those years as her student, "but a Mimbulus mimbletonia does need to absorb a certain amount of moisture before it can bloom, and it can do so much quicker here than it can in its original habitat. So let's remember, just because the other one was blooming, doesn't mean this one was ready to go through another pollination cycle yet."
The tension in Neville's shoulders dissipated with the revelation that his beloved plant was not dying of some unidentifiable disease. His chest still felt tight, knowing that this was mostly his fault, but at least this was something curable. "What do I do now? To fix it?"
"First of all, don't beat yourself up about it," Sprout said with a smile. "Incidents like this happen to all Herbologists at one point or another, Longbottom. Be glad it didn't get any worse."
Neville nodded. His heart pounded again, but for the first time that day it was from something positive. Professor Sprout calling him a Herbologist made pride thrum through his whole body. If nearly killing his cactus had one positive, he'd just found it.
"Next, keep doing what you described in your letter. It needs to rest and if you hadn't already exhausted it with breeding you certainly would have by trying so many methods of recuperation on it. These plants are from the desert, they need stability!" Sprout began to walk towards the other end of the greenhouse, where a large wooden supply hutch stood. "A stable environment would be nice, a greenhouse with a charm on it to recreate the weather conditions in the desert would be ideal but obviously a bit much for only six plants. Keep them as warm as possible for now."
"Alright," Neville said, though he wasn't sure how his grandmother would react to all of his Mimbulus mimbletonia moving into the sunroom.
Professor Sprout, meanwhile, had reached the hutch and opened its doors to dig inside while having to occasionally dodge the grasping vines of a nearby bush. "Have you ever given thought to pursuing Herbology professionally?" she asked.
"A little bit," Neville said, feeling his eyebrows draw together. "A lot more lately, though."
A large bottle full of brown liquid now in her hand, Sprout closed up the hutch and started her way back towards Neville. "It's obvious that you've done quite a bit of good research for your own interests, how would you feel about doing it for someone else's projects?"
"Yours?" Neville asked. Hope fluttered in his chest. Maybe this was exactly the opportunity he needed. The time spent in the Hogwarts greenhouses had been some of the best he'd ever had, the happiest and calmest. To be able to do that again, to be under Professor Sprout's tutelage again, all of it would be a dream.
Unfortunately, that dream died almost as soon as it had arisen. "No, no, I'm afraid teaching doesn't allow for all that much experimentation on my part," Sprout said, though she was still smiling at him. She resumed her spot at the head of the table and set the bottle down next to the Mimbulus mimbletonia. "Have you heard of Selina Sapworthy?"
"The author of Winogrand's Wonderous Water Plants," Neville said. He'd always found that book, a chronicle of plants found in African lakes, completely fascinating, and had even kept a copy with him throughout school. When he had looked into the author, it'd been a let down to discover that that was her only book, though he'd heard her on Tilden Toots's gardening show on the wireless a few times.
"That's the one," Sprout said. "She's finally getting around to writing a new book, but apparently has lost her taste for travel and needs a researcher to do all of that work for her. Knowing her, the pay won't be marvelous, but she's been asking around for any recommendations of potential candidates who could be up to the task." She considered Neville with her eyebrows raised.
"It sounds like an amazing job," Neville said, not even allowing himself to imagine that Sprout was actually getting at what he hoped she was getting at.
"You haven't met the woman," Professor Sprout said with a chuckle. She uncorked the bottle and was about to pour it onto the dirt surrounding Neville's Mimbulus mimbletonia when she regarded him again. "It's just a fertilizing potion for general wellness, something to pepper it up a bit. Any problem with using it?"
Neville shook his head. "No, not at all. Although, I did buy some of that before and it had no effect."
Sprout scoffed as she poured a generous amount around the cactus. "The stuff in stores is all rubbish, home-brewed is the only way to go for these kinds of potions. I remember and understand why you were never drawn to potion-making in your time here at school, of course, but you ought to give it another go now. If you want a future in this field there are a few essential drafts that you'll need to get down; this is one of them."
"Okay," Neville said.
"So should I send your name in?" Sprout asked, smirking at him.
"If you wouldn't mind," Neville said, his stomach in knots. "Thank you so much."
Sprout smiled warmly at him. "Come along," she said, handing the Mimbulus mimbletonia back to him and turning towards the door. "I've got a book on Herbology related potions that I want to give you before you leave."
It was early the next morning when Neville arrived at the Leaky Cauldron. Not that he'd memorized her schedule, but since he'd begun talking to Hannah more he'd been able to surmise a pattern in her schedule there, and that involved working the apparently tediously slow breakfast shift on Tuesdays. And besides, he'd already been awake for some time before deciding to come. Sleep had been hard to come by for the whole night. Neville's brain just couldn't seem to switch off, instead going in circles over everything that Sprout had told him and, especially, about the prospect of getting a job he would actually enjoy. Even when he finally had fallen asleep, Neville woke up a few short hours later, and hadn't been able to go back to sleep at all. Eventually, having had enough of trying to rest, he got up and dug out his copy of Sapworthy's book, reading over some of his favorite entries until he'd deemed it late enough to head out.
As he ducked inside of the pub, he was glad to escape the cold drizzle of rain that was falling, even if he'd only been in it momentarily. He ran a hand through his now damp hair as he walked through the near-empty dining area. It was honestly a bit eerie, seeing a spot that he knew as a loud, vivacious, gathering place so empty and quiet. He could hear the crackle of the fire and the low hum of a wireless somewhere behind the bar. He even heard the creek of the door to the kitchen as it swung open revealing Hannah.
"Hello there!" she said. It might have been wishful, but Neville couldn't help but think that she'd sort of lit up when she saw him.
"Hi," Neville said, standing opposite her.
"Well sit down," she said, gesturing to the stool before him. "Coffee or tea?"
"Tea please."
Hannah started to dart around behind the bar, gathering a teacup and the kettle, along with the cream and sugar. "Tell me how it went with Professor Sprout! What did she say? I was so anxious to know last night I nearly sent you an owl."
She laughed and Neville smiled at her, taking in her appearance that morning. He felt happy to see how relaxed she looked. Her hair had been twisted into a simple knot at the back of her head, although many pieces had escaped near her face, and she looked well rested, her eyes bright and clear. Her movements seemed easier than he'd grown accustomed to seeing, too, with less thought put into them. And perhaps best of all, she kept looking at him in such an open, unguarded, natural sort of way. Neville's heart raced with the knowledge that he'd do just about anything to keep her looking at him like that.
"Neville?" she prompted, a bemused smile on her face.
"Right," he said, trying not to look too obviously embarrassed. He recounted everything that Sprout had said about the Mimbulus mimbletonia and Hannah listened, smiling at him throughout.
"Well that's wonderful news," she said when he finished. "I'm so glad it'll be alright."
Neville felt the relief wash over him again as he admitted, "Me too." He sipped his tea, before adding, "Thank you for suggesting that I go to Sprout."
Hannah waved off his thanks. "Wait here a minute? I want you to try something," she said, turning to go into the kitchen.
Neville nodded. "Alright."
He continued to drink his tea while she was gone, mulling over what else to tell her. Half of him wanted to tell her about the potential job offer, to thank her because who knows if Professor Sprout would've considered him for it without that meeting. He wanted to tell her how excited he was that this was even a possibility. But still, he couldn't help but hold back on that. It was just an offer, not even one made directly to him. So what if Sprout suggested him to Sapworthy? That didn't guarantee anything. And what if he told her about it now but didn't actually get the job? His stomach churned at the thought. The last thing he wanted was for her to know that he'd failed in yet another way.
It was for the best not to tell her, he decided, as he was nervous enough already. After all, it wasn't as though he hadn't looked for another job at all, he had, he'd spent plenty of time doing so. But that pursuit was always so disheartening. There was never anything he could find that sounded the least bit appealing. Everything either seemed unattainable or else totally unfulfilling, and it always made him so disgusted with the situation and himself that he put off the whole matter altogether for another few weeks before the cycle would repeat itself. He recognized that he was in a privileged position that he could even go through this cycle and still get by, but that too made him disgusted by himself. Now that this potential job had appeared, seemingly an answer to all of his wishes, an escape route from his current situation, he couldn't bear the thought of it slipping by. And on top of that, he couldn't stand to think of telling Hannah or anyone else that it had.
Hannah reappeared out of the kitchen, a platter of muffins and two plates in her hands. She placed a muffin on a plate and gave it to him. "Try it," she said before coming around to sit on the stool next to his with a muffin of her own.
Neville did, and he was surprised to find a few different kinds of dried berries as well as chocolate inside. "This is really good," he told her. He took another bite. "Did you make these?"
"Yeah," Hannah said. She let out a relieved sort of laugh and bounced her legs up and down a few times, the balls of her feet pressed against a crossbar low on the stool's legs.
Neville's heart surged.
"I took a couple of my grandma's recipes and tried to combine them a few different ways, and this is my favorite by far so I am so glad that you like it too," she said.
"How did it go with them on Sunday?" he asked. He knew that she'd had to go to another dinner with her family only two days before.
Hannah shrugged. "Fine, I guess. Better than the last time, that's for sure." She gave a small smile and gestured at her face. "Although I guess that's obvious given how I'm not, I don't know, having another breakdown?"
Neville smiled back at her.
Her eyes no longer met his when she said, "It's still just so weird, and at this point I don't know how we'll ever be normal again. Or if that's even possible, I suppose."
It took every ounce of self-control to stop Neville from reaching for Hannah's hand. Still, he had to do something to keep her from feeling so alone. "Before I went to the castle yesterday," he told her, "I stopped by the Hog's Head. I don't even know why I did it, really. But it was weird too. I couldn't stop thinking about back then."
"Oh, Neville," Hannah said, her eyes big and staring straight into his.
For a moment, he was taken back to a night in the Room of Requirement, when he and Hannah, Seamus, the Patil twins, Terry Boot, and several others had all taken refuge there, bruised and bloodied and running out of hope. Even understanding the room as well as he did, Neville had longed for an escape, for some sunlight. His trips to the Hog's Head had been his only relief, and he'd wager that everyone there had known it.
Hannah reached out for Neville's hand.
The feel of her slim fingers weaving with his own nearly broke him. "We're never going to escape it, are we?" he asked.
A sad smile appeared on Hannah's face, making it clear that she knew exactly what he was talking about. "Maybe one day," she said, "But probably not anytime soon."
Neville nodded, swallowing thickly.
"But we're both here now," she said. "And that's good—so much good has happened. It's just hard to see sometimes."
He didn't say that a lot of bad had happened too, that a lot of bad things were still happening. He didn't need to. Hannah already knew that, and Neville knew that she did.
As they sat there, hands still intertwined, Neville tried so hard to focus on the present, on the reality of her skin on his, of the pulse he could faintly feel as it jumped in her palm, of the sound of the rain picking up outside. This was something good, of that he was sure. And no matter how impossible it seemed, he just needed to focus on that and try to let it drown out the fears from the past and the worries of the future.
Author's Note: I really never thought I'd write so much about a fictional cactus, but here we are. Although there's no avoiding it when writing about Neville, of course.
Thank you all so much for reading this story and for sticking with me through my various blocks. At this point I think it's best that I don't make any promises about updating this fic—except to say that eventually it will happen—but, if it's any consolation, I've already started the next chapter. It feels so good to write again.
