Neville was alone. And he was praying. He was never sure to whom or what he prayed, since he had not had any kind of religious upbringing at all. Most of the time, he was not even sure what he was praying for. But when one is alone and confused and fearful, it can help to think that there is a Benevolence which understands what is going on and that no matter what happens, it is all part of some greater plan.

Neville had spent a lot of his life alone and confused and fearful. His parents had been snatched away from him when he was was not yet two years old, leaving him nothing but their empty bodies and the screams which haunted his nightmares. His grandmother had never been very affectionate and was often quick to criticise the grandson she clearly felt was an inadequate replacement for her stricken son.

Even at Hogwarts he had been alone. Surrounded by his peers, he had never had even one close friend in whom he could confide his hopes, dreams and fears. He had felt invisible. It was easy to be invisible when one shared a room with Harry Potter.

He tugged back the curtains of the four-poster where he had slept for seven years to peer across the darkened dormitory at Harry's empty bed, remembering the night two years before when Harry had walked across the space between them to ask Neville about his parents.

Harry had never made Neville feel invisible. From their first year when Harry had declared him to be worth twelve of Draco Malfoy to the battle of the Department of Mysteries, Harry had never treated him as less than anyone else. Harry made Neville feel grateful. And confused.

Here he was on the eve of what might be the definitive battle against Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and instead of fear and worry, Neville's mind was full of Harry. It always had been. He used to rationalise it - hero-worship, admiration, friendship - but not anymore. He would be facing death tomorrow and he could not lie to himself any longer.

From that moment two years ago when his lips had touched Harry's for one brief instant, something had clicked into place inside him. He did not just admire famous, heroic Harry Potter. He loved him.

That was the confusing part, because he liked girls, too. He had been so pleased when Ginny had agreed to come to the Yule Ball with him in his fourth year after Hermione had turned him down, and he had enjoyed the one kiss they had shared. Awkward though it had been, it was his first, and he treasured it.

Was it possible to like both girls and boys? Neville had only ever heard of liking one or the other, and he knew his Gran's opinions on such things. He wondered what his Gran would think if she ever found out he had kissed another boy. What if the other boy was Harry Potter, whom she so clearly would have preferred to have as a grandson? Neville allowed himself a tiny smile at the thought of that opinionated old woman, for once struck speechless.

The smile faded as he remembered Harry leaving with Ginny after the gathering.

Everyone had been pale and subdued, and no one had spoken more than a few murmured words following the horrific death of Professor Snape. Dumbledore had grimly informed them to go get some rest, that they would reconvene the following morning, and that beds would be provided for those who wished to remain at the school overnight.

Neville had hoped that Harry and his fellow Gryffindors might stay - that he might not have to face tonight alone - but he had heard Mrs Weasley say that it was a night for the family to be together. Her statement clearly included Hermione holding Ron's hand, and Harry with his arm around Ginny. He had laid a hand on Neville's shoulder in passing, but had spoken not a word. Dean and Seamus had not stayed either.

Neville rolled over on his stomach and stared moodily at his headboard, where some previous occupant has scratched the letters "RL + SB". He tried to feel happy for Harry and Ginny, but all he could think was that if he died tomorrow no one would ever scratch his initials like that. With Ron and Hermione, Harry and Ginny all wrapped up in one another - and he had no illusions about what this night likely held for them - he thought it was entirely possible that no one gave so much as a passing thought to Neville Longbottom.

But he had no room for bitterness tonight. These were people he cared for, and if they were not thinking of him, well, he would think of them instead. Wonderful heroic Harry, loyal Ron, thoughtful Hermione, strong Ginny, stubborn Seamus, easy-going Dean, the irreverent twins, otherworldly Luna, wise Dumbledore, kindly Lupin ...

Remus Lupin had stayed, he remembered. Neville had watched everyone else leave the Great Hall in twos and threes, seeking comfort in numbers and drawing strength from the presence of friends and lovers. But Lupin had stood staring at the body of Severus Snape still tied to its chair. Neville had seen him reach down at last to touch a blackened hand. "Go in peace," he had heard Lupin say softly.

Lupin, along with a few other members of the Order, had been staying at the school for several days now. Neville was even fairly certain he knew which room the former professor occupied. Lupin had always been kind to Neville. He had known Neville's parents, and he and Harry were close. He would be alone tonight. Perhaps he would offer Neville a little company and a kind and sympathetic ear.

Decision made, Neville slipped out of the silent dormitory and padded down to the common room in his bare feet, out through the portrait of the Fat Lady and through the dark and echoing corridors of Hogwarts. Reaching the door he sought, he crossed his fingers, held his breath and knocked.

A minute later he was trying to decide whether to knock again or give up and go back to bed when the door opened a few inches, revealing the disheveled countenance and bare shoulder of Remus Lupin. He smelled strongly of firewhiskey and something else that Neville could not quite name.

"Oh, good evening, Neville," he said, not impolitely. "Do you need something?"

"I'm s-sorry," Neville stammered. "I didn't mean to wake you. I just - wanted someone to talk to."

For a moment, Lupin looked torn. "I'm sorry, Neville," he said at last, with sympathy. "I wish I could, but now really isn't a good time."

"Oh," replied Neville as realisation dawned. "I didn't mean to - I'll just let you get back - I mean, goodnight, Professor."

He turned and walked away quickly. The door clicked shut behind him.

Even Lupin has someone tonight, he thought gloomily. He wondered vaguely who it was. Probably someone from the Order, he guessed. There had been rumours that the Auror Tonks was interested in him. Maybe it was her. But then he remembered that the Aurors were already in position for tomorrow. Then who -?

The walk back up to Gryffindor tower seemed longer than usual, and the silence of the corridors was eerie. It did not feel as though the castle was sleeping; more like it was waiting for what the morning would bring.

When he reached his dormitory once more, he did not go to his own bed, but lay down on Harry's instead. Neville pulled the covers up over himself and laid his head against the pillow, breathing deeply to see if he could catch the lingering scent of the boy who had slept there for seven years.

There was no one left for him to talk to. Instead, Neville tried to imagine that Harry was there beside him - tried to conjure the words of encouragement Harry might offer to calm his fears and worries - but Harry would not be summoned so easily.

He wondered if he would survive tomorrow's confrontation. The way the twins and Dumbledore had explained the plan, it did not sounds as if they expected many casualties. Perhaps everyone would be all right. But what if they were wrong?

If he died tomorrow, he would never finish reading the book Professor Sprout had written. He would never learn how to swim. He would never get to visit a tropical rain forest. He would never write that comparative study of wand woods like he had always wanted to. He would never hear someone say they loved him. He would never tell Harry how he felt.

A tear slipped down his cheek, and he wiped it away angrily. What was the point in dwelling on all the things he might never do? What about all the things he had done?

He had single-handedly fought Crabbe and Goyle in his first year. Lost, but still fought. He had once earned the house points that had put Gryffindor over the top for the House Cup. He had been one professor's star pupil. He had achieved an Outstanding in Herbology and Exceeds Expectations in both Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts. He had been a member of Dumbledore's Army and a credit to Harry, his teacher. He had faced his fears in open battle at the Department of Mysteries and he had not fallen to his enemies. He had kissed Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter.

If I fall tomorrow, he decided, that's all right. I've done things. Maybe a few people will even remember me. And if I live, all the better. I'll do more things and I'll make sure the people who matter most never forget me.