Winter Rose

Lizzie sat in the Great Hall, unable to think clearly. It had been a long night, and she wanted to lie down where she was and sleep for a few hours. Maybe two weeks, if she was allowed.

She couldn't understand how she'd survived, how she'd been able to defend herself. She was never very good at offensive spells, and she had never felt all that brave when faced with standing up to the Carrows this year. She'd just done what she'd needed to, and even though many thought Hufflepuffs weren't strong, she'd somehow made it out alive.

She ached all over, and her wrist was most likely sprained; she also had a rather nasty cut on her cheek. But there were so many others worse off, and she could wait while they were looked after.

Susan was okay; she had a broken arm, but she was intact. Ernie Macmillan was looking after her - something that greatly surprised Lizzie - so she left the two of them alone, instead focusing her search on someone else.

Neville had done so much this year. He'd been their leader, he'd taken so many curses and hexes on their behalf. He'd destroyed Voldemort's pet snake after being set on fire, for Merlin's sake.

As she wandered outside, Lizzie thought back to the year before. As much as she wanted to pursue something with Neville, they'd both come to a silent agreement to keep things the same. They'd hold hands once in a while, and he'd worked up the courage to return her pecks on the cheek with soft, lingering kisses on the forehead. But for some reason, they'd both been too shy to go any further.

In hindsight, it was for the best. It was difficult to see the Carrows target couples this year; the pain in their eyes was almost enough to break her own heart. But even if they weren't together officially, it always made her skin crawl and her chest lurch when she saw Neville hurt. And there was no mistaking the way he held her tightly when she was feeling scared, or if the Carrows had given her a harsh beating.

She found herself wandering toward the maple tree, and it surprised her to see that it was still standing. Everything around it was charred, broken, and destroyed; yet there it sat atop its hill, the bench still in one piece.

And kneeling in front of the tree was Neville.

She felt herself smile, despite how tired she felt. He looked just as ragged as she must have, a huge cut right at his hairline and his sweater bloodied and ripped. The Sword of Gryffindor lay at his side, stained black with the blood of the snake.

She gasped quietly when she saw what was at the foot of the tree.

In the cold May air, a little patch of winter rose was sprouting, dappled with red. It took her a moment to realize it was from his cut.

"Neville, you should really get that taken care of," she said, tearing off a bit of her sweater. She dabbed at the wound, the blood soaking the fabric easily.

He shrugged. "It's not that bad." He reached out a hand, gingerly touching the scratch on her cheek. "I could say the same for you."

Her emotions suddenly took over, hitting her full-force for the first time since the action had died down. They'd just gone through a year of hell, spent countless hours planning a rebellion, faced the worst horrors imaginable…and they'd made it out alive. Realizing this was enough for her to begin to weep, and she was suddenly hugging Neville, as well.

She buried her face in his shoulder, for once not feeling nervous at how close they were. His own arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer to his chest. They stayed in each others' arms for a moment, her own sobs almost drowning out his.

She pulled back, studying his face. His tears had traced clear trails through the dirt and soot covering his face. He still bore the scars from the torture he'd received during the year, and there were new ones from the battle they'd just gotten through. His eyes, while hardened somewhat, shone with tears and were gazing at her in a way that made her heart pound faster.

And now his face was awfully close…closer than it had been…and…he definitely looked like he wanted to…to…

"Lizzie?"

"Yes?"

"Can I…?" He swallowed hard.

She must have done something in the affirmative, because he leaned in, albeit slowly. She felt her eyelids flutter close, and then his breath on her cheek.

And then his lips were gently pressing against hers.

She sat still, not really sure what to do. Her heart was beating out of control, and her mind was screaming at her to do a million different things. And then…it went blank. All she could feel was the soft warmth of his lips; she fleetingly noted they tasted like caramel, mixed with grime and blood. His hand was cradling her cheek, and she felt herself relax, gently moving her lips over his. He seemed startled at first, but he leaned closer and kissed her back just as softly.

They pulled away, and it took her a few seconds to process what had just happened.

And for the first time in a while, she saw Neville smile. A genuine smile that reached his eyes.

"I'm, erm, glad you're safe," he said, looking everywhere but her eyes.

She laughed, a sound that seemed foreign even to her. She felt more tears escape down her face.

"You've done so much, Neville," she told him. "You've been so brave…"

He sighed. "I…I don't feel brave. Everyone thinks I'm a hero now."

"Well, you are." She kissed him again. "You have been for a long time."

"I…I haven't…"

She gave him a pointed look. "You've been brave long before this year, Neville. I've noticed for a while. You…you remind me of the winter rose."

"Something beautiful emerging in miserable circumstances."

She nodded. "Exactly."

"Like you."

Her cheeks went pink, and she couldn't fight the smile that worked its way onto her face. She was about to protest, but Neville was suddenly kissing her again, and she was unable to say much else.