Stitch Me Up
Tress Blues
2
He tried not to stare.
Honestly, he did.
It was just difficult because he was bewildered as to how he'd never noticed her before. Perhaps he thought that if he stared long enough, he'd suddenly have a full recollection of the friendly moments they'd shared and accidentally forgotten. Or maybe it would make up for all the time he'd just let his gaze just skirt over her, as though she were a Crawling Daisy Vine.
Whatever the reason, Neville Longbottom stared at Hannah Abbott as she flitted behind Madame Pomfrey, healing over wounds and soothing those in pain. And he found it so very strange that he seemed to know everyone she was attending and yet, up until a few hours ago, he had no idea she even existed past a name. How bizarre.
"Neville, where's my water?" Gran demanded, her voice croaky. Neville shot a spell into the transformed wooden goblet and passed it to his Gran, carefully. Augusta Longbottom had most certainly seen better days: the arrived St Mungo's healers had confined her to the cot with breathing difficulties and a case of the shakes but it seemed as though Gran was beginning to burn up and her eyes were glazed over.
Dean, Ginny and Luna had already been in to try and coerce him into the Great Hall but he couldn't leave Gran in good conscience without knowing she'd be alright. A part of him wished Hannah would come back and take care of her again; she seemed so good at it.
Hannah flitted amongst her healing patients, most of whom lit up at the sight of her. Her blood-stained robes and soft smile were synonymous with relief in their book as she toned down the pain and kept things under control. Which was really wrong, Neville thought, because she looked as if she hadn't sat down in days.
Her blonde curls had come loose and they fell about her face in a mess. The only part of her that didn't have some kind of grime on it were her hands. Her pretty, pretty hands…
Neville had to avert his gaze as he recalled the gentle way she'd brushed back his hair and checked over his arms. He hadn't had anyone do that in ages, since before the Carrows started their nightly detention schedule. Speaking of the devils, Neville watched as one of the Muggleborn First Year's the sibling Death Eaters had tortured began to speak cheerfully with Hannah, who smiled patiently back and healed up an overlooked cut on her arm.
"Well?" Gran suddenly snapped.
Neville stumbled out of his thoughts but the wooden goblet was still full. "Huh?"
"Are you going to talk to her, you stupid boy?" Gran demanded, imperiously.
Neville played dumb like he always did with Gran. "Who?" That little comment earned him a whack across the back of the head. "No." Neville answered, grimacing. "I'm not. Why would I?"
"Because obviously, she's caught your fancy. Really boy, for someone so brave as to face Lord Voldemort," Gran relished being able to say the name without fear. "You leave much to be desired elsewhere."
Neville sighed, inwardly rolling his eyes. He'd helped defeat the Dark bloody Lord but Gran was still complaining. "She has not," he addressed the first statement. "I'm just waiting until she can come look at you again."
"Oh pish posh," Gran waved him away dismissively. "I'm fine, fit as a fid-" Augusta suddenly broke out into horrible wheezing coughs, her eyes stinging with tears as she retched. Neville leapt to her side immediately, helping her sit up, waving his hands uselessly. Oh Godric, not now, he thought, panicked. Not after everything. What if she's not fine? What if she's sick? Hurt? She'd have told me… He was about to call for help but-
"Can you feel this Mrs Longbottom?" came a soft, firm voice and Gran weakly nodded as a new pair of hands slowly pressed into the old witch's spine. Pretty, pretty hands… "Alright, just let them pass…there you are…it's just a bit of excess from the spell, alright? Nothing to be worried over, I'll just filter the little bit remaining." Hannah soothed, gently helping Gran back into the cot.
"Thanks," Neville breathed, relief coursing through him as Gran's breaths began to seem less laboured. "I was-"
"Aguamenti!" Hannah interrupted, not paying even the slightest attention as she carefully helped Augusta take a few sips. "You'll need to rest Mrs Longbottom, the process if taxing. No doubt, you simply overworked yourself."
Neville didn't quite know how to feel about being ignored. One would think he'd be used to it by now and of course, he was, but he didn't know how he felt about being ignored by Hannah.
It made him feel…bad. He wanted to have her smile at him again. Like she did when she complimented him. When she said he was brave. Just the memory made him flush a little. He couldn't remember the last time someone called him that other than Gran or his friends.
Oddly, he felt it though. He felt brave when Hannah said it.
"I have to keep this one in line somehow dear," Gran laughed hoarsely, jabbing a gnarled finger at her grandson. Hannah laughed with her, politely.
"Well, if you'll excuse me…" she excused herself and without just one ounce of thought, Neville cried out, causing both witches to turn to him with concerned looks. Bugger, he told himself. This is not a good idea you bloody twat. Hannah's a healer and Gran's…Gran.
"Neville? What's wrong?" surprisingly the comment came from Hannah rather than Gran which made Neville simply harden his resolve.
"My arm," he lied. "It's hurting." Well, it was a half-lie. It was hurting. A bit.
Hannah's brow furrowed above her bright blue eyes. "Can you roll up the sleeve for me?" she asked, settling onto the cot beside him and taking out her wand.
He complied, feeling more and more nervous as he rolled the torn fabric. Hannah let out a sympathetic hiss as she spotted the bruises and cuts that laced where Neville had been thrown into a wall by Bellatrix Lestrange. "Why didn't you mention this before?" Hannah scolded, leaning closer in to clear the peculiarly bright bruises.
Neville couldn't answer because she was right there. So close he could smell a hint of jasmine scent curling off her hair. Strands of bloody, grimy, shiny blonde curls that almost touched his skin, tickling it gently. Skin that felt prickly and electric under her dainty, nimble fingers…
"Bugger," Hannah let out a curse that shook Neville from his daydreams which he felt both relieved and frustrated about. "This one's gotten infected. Come on, the St Mungo's tent has a cream for that. Spells will just inflame it."
Without another word, she wrapped those pretty fingers around his wrist and began dragging him along the aisles. "Wha- but, Gran…?" Neville stuttered, casting a look back at a very amused Augusta Longbottom.
"She'll be fine. I gave a bit of a Sleep Spell to help her rest. She'll be in pain for a little while before I get back so I wanted her to be comfortable," Hannah babbled away, not looking back at him as she expertly weaved them through the aisle of wounded soldiers.
Neville thought about complaining that Gran should've been told what she'd been given but quickly realised she'd probably just tell Hannah to stick her bloody spell where the sun don't shine. Or maybe, she'd just kick up a fuss and say no, since Augusta seemed to have taken a liking to Hannah Abbott.
"Here we are," Hannah announced as they reached one of the posts. Healers were rushing about, mindlessly administering and taking vitals. It was like a well-oiled machine in here, Neville thought to himself as Hannah pushed him gently into one of the seats.
She disappeared out of sight for a moment and Neville felt a slight jab of irrational fear. What if she got waylaid by one of the other Healers? What if she got lost? It occurred to him that those were stupid questions but like he said: irrational. "Now where did I put the…ah, here we are!" Hannah arrived back carrying a jar of mushy green paste.
"Mimbletone Concoction." He mumbled under his breath and for the first time since she'd called him brave, Hannah gave him a startled smile.
"Yes," she confirmed, needlessly. "It helps kill infections but the wound will probably scar. Nothing I can do about that until it's old, I'm afraid."
Neville couldn't help but feel a little disappointed by that; he wasn't vain enough to want them gone so he would look better but the war had left him feeling soiled and dirty and he really just wanted to get rid of the mark where Bellatrix Lestrange, the embodiment of everything he hated about the war, had touched him.
Hannah pretended not to notice his frown, which he thought was pretty decent of her, as she put the paste along the bright red wound. "You'll be fine to go to the Great Hall after this," Hannah noted, her eyes still downcast. From this distance, Neville could pick out each one of her fine golden eyelashes.
And now you're becoming creepy. "I'm fine here." He told her, his voice a little creaky.
"Oh?" she still didn't look at him. "But don't you want to see your friends? Your grandmother will be fine here, I can even give you updates if you like."
Neville fidgeted because he couldn't very well tell her one of the reasons he wants to stay is so he can keep watching her. You're a bloody stalker Longbottom. "They'll be fine without me."
And for some reason, that made Hannah look up. "You should see them." She said, firmly. "They'll want to know you're alive and well."
Neville hissed as the Mimbletone Concoction started to seep through. "They'll be fine." He repeated, tightly. "I've already seen a few anyway, they'll spread the word."
Hannah started to go slightly pale and her face turned sombre. "Of course. Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood were in."
"Yeah," Neville eyed her, worriedly. "Are you alright?"
"F-fine." Hannah squeaked, accidentally knocking the jar of Mimbletone Concoction onto the floor. "Oh for Helga's sake!" she swore vibrantly and ducked down to pick it up.
And of course, being the teenage boy he was, Neville couldn't help but notice how he got a rather spectacular view down the front of her robes when she leaned over. Yep, you're a pervert. It's official. It was a very nice view however…
"Oh Merlin," snapped a grouchy voice from behind Hannah and she suddenly stood up, turning around rigidly. Neville eyed the St Mungo's Healer behind her, speculatively. He was a tall, fat man who was giving Hannah a look like a Hungarian Horntail.
"We have to use that you know Abbott! I know it might be hard for your pea-sized Hufflepuff brain to work out but throwing Mimbletone cream on the floor is a bloody waste when infection is breaking out all over the place!" he roared, snatching the jar out of her fingers. Neville felt like tossing the bloody thing at his head.
"Sorry sir," Hannah whispered, meekly and the man disappeared, growling to himself.
Neville, on the other hand, was in shock. "Are you kidding? Who the hell was he?" he felt shocked and angry and stunned that Hannah just sat there and let it happen like she was a muggle punching bag.
Hannah sniffed a little. "No one. He's a St Mungo's Healer. They're professionals and they don't like mistakes." She sounded so…robotic.
"Dropping a jar is common as Toads Weed." Neville told her bluntly. She cracked a small smile at the Herbology term which made him feel a little better.
"They don't like the Hogwarts helpers," she confided, gently sweeping her wand to heal the bruises on his arm. "They've been yelling at us since they got here. I just cop the brunt because I'm an easy target. They're just stressed I suppose-"
"They're wankers." Neville blurted out and suddenly went red at the idea of saying that in front of Hannah. Blonde, pig-tailed, blushing, pretty Hannah Abbott. He expected someone as nice and sweet as her to just walk off in a huff but she surprised him. Of course.
"Well, maybe a little," she agreed, giggling. "They're under a lot of pressure. People want their families back, especially now."
"They still shouldn't talk to you like that." Neville grunted, still a little flushed. "S'not right."
"And what am I going to do?" Hannah teased, trying to take his mind off the soft sting of her wand. "Yell back at him?"
"You should," Neville agreed. "But you won't."
"Why?" Hannah suddenly started, her face stormy. "Because I'm a 'pea-brain Hufflepuff'?"
"No, no, no," Neville stumbled over his words. Godric, think, Longbottom, think! "You're- well, you-"
The light in her blue eyes was fading fast. "Well, if that's all, Mr Longbottom, you'll be right to go." She said professionally. Even though it wasn't the first time she'd dismissed him, it was the first time he hadn't wanted her to.
"No, I mean-" Neville sighed, frustrated. "You're too nice!"
"Pardon me?"
"You, you're too nice. That's why you wouldn't yell at him." Neville felt pleased with his answer.
"How would you know?" Hannah busied herself with arranging supplies on a tray and tried her best not to sound bitter. "We've never even spoken."
"Well let's speak then," Neville tried to lighten the mood desperately. "What's your favourite colour?"
Despite herself, Hannah cracked a small smile. "What?"
"Your favourite colour, your favourite plant, your favourite teacher?" Neville babbled off. He knew that he was probably making a fool of himself but he couldn't honestly bring himself to care enough to stop.
Hannah paused for a while. "Blue. I-I like blue." She whispered, her cheeks rosy. She couldn't believe herself. What was she thinking? One second she was actually arguing with Neville Longbottom and now she was talking to him? Like they were, dare she think it, friends? Honestly, today could not get any stranger.
"That's great!" Neville cheered, brightly. "I like blue as well! We're practically the same person!"
Hannah laughed, caught off guard by his infectious brightness. It was something she'd always admired about Neville in the first place. He made things seem a little less worse when he was around. "You need some food," she told him, helping him roll his sleeve back down. The little electrical jolts were still there. "You're practically hallucinatory."
"Come with me?" Neville asked, hopefully. She felt a 'yes' bubble on the tip of her tongue but then she remembered Ginny and Luna and how brave they were and how they'd fought alongside him, how they'd hugged him, how close they were. And how much it would hurt if she saw them all again.
Hannah shook her head, politely. "I can't. Too much work to be done, I'm afraid." She was about to turn away but she suddenly found herself taking a deep breath. I'm a Hufflepuff, she thought to herself, determined. We're brilliant at making friends. "But maybe we could talk later? You know, after everything's done?"
Neville beamed, awkwardly. "Er-s-sure. Um, I'll- I'll owl you? I mean, if that's alright?" he stuttered over his words. She thought he was adorable and nodded her head, shyly.
"Sure. I live at the Leaky Cauldron." She said, quietly. She didn't want to go into reasons now and thankfully, Neville seemed to shy away from the subject as well.
"Well…until later then?" Neville said, uncomfortably.
Hannah smiled gently. "Go get some food. Your grandmother will be fine."
Neville cracked a small smile. "Thanks. And you know, if that guy comes back…well, you know, I've already yelled at a homicidal maniac today so a Healer with an attitude won't be too much of a problem, right?" Personally, he thought the joke was bad, and tasteless and awful but Hannah giggled, waving him away.
"I'll be sure to inform you next time Healer Rice irritates me. You can come threaten him with your sword." She didn't clarify to the prying ears around them that it was the Sword of freakin' Gryffindor but the implication was clear. Neville smiled and left and Hannah sighed, giddily because she was going to owl Neville Longbottom and things couldn't be more perfect.