All The Time In The World
Chapter Two
When they wake up, the room is as barren as before. They struggle to sit up, but the hammock swings wildly and they are deposited unceremoniously on the floor. Jem's tongue feels furred, her eyes sticky and she would give anything for a hot shower and a toothbrush.
"Look," Neville scrambles to his feet and goes to a door that appears in the opposite wall. He sticks his head in then turns to her with a grin. "It's a bathroom!"
It's not ideal. There are rust stains around the taps and there's a crack in one of the mirrors, but there's a toilet, a small pile of towels and – joy of joys – a shower.
They take turns in the shower and then sit on the floor, sharing a box of Every Flavour Beans. They only have those, three Chocolate Frogs and a corned beef sandwich. The day whiles itself away and they re-read old copies of the Prophet, which Jem had hastily stuffed in her bag when she emptied her drawers in the dormitory before they made their escape the night before.
Neither of them mention the kiss.
That night they agree they will have to venture out for food tomorrow. The thought does not thrill them. But the next morning, the passage to the Hog's Head has appeared and they don't have to worry, about food at least.
Aberforth Dumbledore is not initially impressed by these youngsters. The girl has a rangy, hungry look – pretty if you like your girls skinny and watchful. The boy has the half-stuffed appearance of someone in the process of losing baby fat faster than nature intended. Both of them look like they have been trampled by a herd of centaurs. They are friends of Potter's and clearly want to emulate their hero. Aberforth thinks they are foolish. Better just to make the best of things, he reckons. Albus was one for rocking boats, not him.
"So you'll just bow down to them, is that it?" Neville is halfway through his fried breakfast – Aberforth could hardly refuse a request for food. Neville puts his knife and fork down and stares at Aberforth. "But you're Professor Dumbledore's brother!"
"What's your point?"
"He wouldn't want us to just take it! He didn't believe in all this stuff – keeping Muggles down, preserving the purity of magical blood. He'd want us to get the younger ones away."
"You don't know what he believed, boy."
"I know he believed in Harry Potter."
Aberforth looks at the girl – Jem, she calls herself. She only asked for a bacon sandwich, lots of bacon. She has already devoured it and is now looking mournfully at her empty plate. He can't think where she puts it all if she eats like that on a regular basis. She looks up at him and repeats her statement.
"He believed in Harry. And so do we. Wherever Harry is, he's not on the run, whatever the Death Eaters say. And soon he'll be back."
"And you two will be waiting for him, will you?"
"Yes," the boy now chimes in. "We'll be here, ready to help him if he needs us. We're Dumbledore's Army."
Aberforth almost chuckles at this, but then he remembers his brother. He didn't often visit, but Aberforth does remember Albus mentioning that some of the children had opposed Dolores Umbridge, calling themselves "Dumbledore's Army".
"So you're ready to die in my brother's name, are you?"
Neville nods firmly.
"Yes, I am. And if you won't help, I'll find another way to get people away from the Carrows'. Just do one thing for me. Please?"
"What?"
"Help get Jem away."
"Do what?" Jem looks furious; this is clearly not something they have discussed. "Get me away?"
"It's not safe."
"It hasn't been safe for a long time. It wasn't safe at the Ministry that time either or in the Astronomy tower. I'm going nowhere."
She looks at him in a way that appears significant. Aberforth wonders if the boy can tell what she's thinking, what she's trying to convey in that look. Neville sighs and shakes his head, picking up his knife and fork half-heartedly and poking at the rubbery eggs. Whatever was in that look has cowed him.
"Will you help us?" Jem has a very pointed chin, which she juts at Aberforth defiantly.
"Yes," he finds himself saying. "If I must."
"Why did you try to get me to leave?"
They had walked to the Hog's Head, hand-in-hand, though Neville isn't sure whether this is because of the kiss or because of the uncertain terrain. Now though, she is stalking along, a pace ahead of him, arms obstinately folded.
"I told you. It's not safe."
She snorts, clambering out of the tunnel at the other end, barely registering what has sprung into existence in their absence (a fresh pile of towels, a radio and two pillows).
"I just want you to be all right."
"I'll be all right if I'm here with you."
Her face burns bright red as she says this. She is not usually a blusher, unlike Neville who blushes all the time, at the slightest provocation.
"I don't want to leave you."
She is having trouble keeping eye contact and her blush is not subsiding. She starts to lower herself to the floor to sit down, but a bench swirls into being beneath her, catching her unawares so that she lands with a jerk. He sits down next to her, sliding close so that their thighs are touching and he can see how her breathing makes her hair lift when she turns to look at him.
"I don't want you leave either. Not really."
"Good. Because I'm staying put. You and me – we're a team. We're all that's left."
They are almost nose-to-nose and this time he is not sure who started it, only that suddenly her lips are on his and then her mouth is open and their tongues are touching. Her arms wind round his waist and he cups her jaw in his hand.
It is not his first kiss. In their fifth year, before George left, Jemima pointed out Hannah Abbot's glances. Driven half mad by seeing Jemima kissing George that morning before breakfast, Neville somehow found the courage to talk to Hannah. Behind greenhouse number three, with the smell of peat strong in the air, mingling queasily with Hannah's sickly sweet perfume, she kissed him.
Afterwards he had asked if she fancied going for a walk after dinner to which she eagerly agreed. Trust me, he had thought gloomily as he trudged up the castle, to end up with a girlfriend I don't even want.
But their relationship had been short-lived. Unimpressed by his monosyllabic attempts at conversation by the lake that evening, Hannah politely refused his offer to meet again the next day.
So no, this is not his first kiss. But somehow it feels new. Teeth are not bumping or scraping together, he finds that he can breathe even though they are not breaking apart. He feels a sudden stiffening in his jeans when she makes a tiny sound somewhere between a sigh and a whimper. He pulls away, alarmed by his body's betrayal. But she doesn't seem to notice, leaning her forehead on his and smiling dreamily.
"I've been wanting to do that for two years," she says.
"Me too," he breathes and thinks – sod it, as he leans in to kiss her again.
The terrible thing of course was that he liked George. He liked all the Weasleys' and envied them their boisterous affection. Everyone liked Fred and George and Neville couldn't seem to dislike him for noticing Jemima. That didn't stop him hoping that nothing would come of their Yule Ball date, that George wouldn't be interested in anything after that.
He was totally wrong of course and George was about as devoted as he could be while still keeping his place as chief Hogwarts troublemaker. Fred was about the only one that actually ribbed him about having a girlfriend, most of the girls seemed envious. To have nabbed a Weasley twin was a badge of honour. While it was still a novelty Neville saw less of Jemima, but as their relationship wore away into habit he got his best friend back, albeit with the regular acquisition of Fred and George.
When Fred and George made their dramatic exit from Hogwarts, George had swooped down through the crowd of admiring students and snatched Jemima up onto his broomstick. An excellent flyer, he managed to steer the broomstick through the fireworks, snog his girlfriend goodbye and then deposit her safely back down on the floor beside Neville.
"Look after her for me, won't you, mate?" he said with a wink before zooming off.
Neville couldn't help but have a grudging respect for him. He could never compete.