Molly really outdid herself for Ron and Hermione's New Year's Eve / engagement party. She must have felt terrible about her behavior, because she really went above and beyond.

Of course, it helped that Arthur was back at the ministry, in a higher position and that they only had one child left at home, giving the Weasley parents more money to spend than they'd ever had before. And Molly didn't spare expense when it came to quickly setting up this party. Invitations were magically written and sent by a team of owls to the entire Weasley family, Ron and Harry's friends from Hogwarts, Hermione's friends from Hogwarts, and even to Hermione's muggle parents.

Molly rented a tent, not unlike the magical pup tent Harry and Ron had taken the prior year on their journey. Only this one was slightly larger and was enchanted on the inside to look like a ballroom. It was a plain ballroom, though and Molly went to work erecting extra fireplaces (it was cold and snowy after all), tables, chairs, and decorations which looked festive and wintry. Twinkling faeries spelt out Congratulations Ron and Hermione in a living sign that moved from wall to wall.

The party being planned at the last minute, Molly wasn't able to hire a caterer. She spent ten days frantically preparing food and drinks. Fleur, Neville, Ron, Hermione, Harry and Ginny helped all they could, but were faced with the task of meeting Molly's expectations. And when it came to cooking, no one had expectations like Molly.

"I'd rather not even have this party if I have to put up with this," Ron grumbled one day as he tossed a lumpy bowl of dough outside for the birds and gnomes to fight over. Molly complained it was too lumpy and wouldn't make proper bread. "Who still hand makes bread anyway? We can just buy it from the store."

"Ronald," Hermione admonished him. "You always complain about store bought bread. Your mum is doing this for you. For us."

"But I don't know how to make the bread."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's called reading a simple recipe," she snapped.

"Why are you so bent out of shape?" he asked.

"Because after I graduate and we get married, I'm going to be working and starting a career. So I hope you don't expect homemade bread every day like you grew up with."

"Oh." Ron was quiet for a minute. "I don't expect that." But it sounded like this was news to him. Neville smiled inwardly as he continued peeling potatoes. It had always struck him that Ron never knew that, despite coming from one of the poorer wizarding families, he was really quite spoiled in many ways. Harry and Neville, two parentless children, had always been able to see clearly how rich Ron really was.

Neville, still unemployed, volunteered his services to Molly. His reasons for doing so were partially genuine (he really did want the party to be successful for Ron) but partially it was an attempt to get on Molly's good side. He felt awkward around her since she'd come over to George's a few mornings prior. In a way, Neville felt that her being there when he woke up in the same bed as her son, she'd witnessed an intimate moment.

So he'd spent several afternoons at the Burrow, put to work weeding the frosty garden, pulling all edible plants from it, peeling potatoes, beating curtains, fixing loose steps and anything else Molly could think that needed doing around the house. Though Molly was definitely kind to him, she had not yet developed the same easy motherly manner that she had with Harry and Hermione. Time Neville kept telling himself, Give her time.

George couldn't believe that Neville was willing to give up his time to help around the Burrow. "You don't have to do it," he'd said the night after Christmas when Neville got back to the flat. "No one expects it from you."

Neville shrugged. "I don't mind," he said simply. "You have the shop. I'm unemployed. I want to help."

"Mum's a slave driver," George warned.

Neville shrugged again. It'd always bothered him to hear people complain about their mothers. "I like your mum," he said quietly.

George got it, right away. It hit him suddenly what Neville must feel like every time someone complains about their mother. "I'm sorry," he pulled Neville onto the bed, enveloping him in a hug. "You're right," he buried his face in Neville's neck, "My mum's great."

New Year's Eve arrived. Neville stood rooted in front of his closet at his house staring at his robes. He wondered what the dress protocol should be. Regular robes? Dress robes? Muggle clothes? Neville, like most wizards under the age of forty, didn't like wearing robes and mostly wore jeans and T-shirts. (Muggle clothes the old witches and wizards called it derisively.) Nicer trousers and a knit shirt if the occasion called for something nicer than denim. Why hadn't he talked to George about this?

Finally Neville settled on dress trousers and a button up dress shirt. He didn't care that much, he just wasn't willing to wear robes. He ran downstairs where Gran was polishing his shoes, tapping her wand on the shoes over and over until she could see her reflection.

"Thanks," Neville said taking the shoes from her, failing to care that he didn't actually like it when his shoes were so shiny and reflective, and started to lace them up. "Are you sure you won't come?" Molly had decided to invite Gran, as a way to get to know her better.

"No, dear," Gran said. "My arthritis is acting up."

Neville nodded, and looked at his Gran critically. Certainly she was elderly. She'd been older when she'd had his dad, and his dad had been well into his thirties when Neville was born. There was no mistaking that her body was starting to slow down, though her mind was as active as it'd ever been. Still, Neville worried about her and made it a point not to spend too many nights at George's flat so he could check in on her.

"I won't be home late," he promised.

Gran waved her hand. "It's New Year's Eve," she said happily. "Have a good time and I won't worry about you unless I don't see you by late tomorrow."

Neville laughed, "Are you sure?"

"Did I ever tell you about New Years Eve when I was nineteen?"

Neville laughed again, "No Gran. Is this something I want to know about you?"

"Probably not. I was a wild one in my day."

Neville kissed her on the cheek and walked out the door and disapparated to the Burrow.

He stood just feet from the entrance of the Burrow, listening to the loud music already pulsating from the tent. Someone was playing a Weird Sisters phonograph. Neville heard a noise behind him and turned around curiously to see a car pulling up next to the Burrow. He realized at once it must be Hermione's parents, the only ones who'd be arriving by muggle transport.

Sure enough, Hermione stepped out the back door, just as an older woman who looked astonishingly like Hermione stepped out the passenger door and a tall skinny man got out from the driver's side. Neville was relieved to see Hermione had also foregone the robes. "Neville," Hermione called, waving to him.

"Hermione," he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.

"This is my mum, Dr. Jean Granger and my dad, Dr. Owen Granger,"

Neville shook their hands. He's hardly ever had any contact with Muggles and wasn't quite certain what a doctor was. "Pleasure."

"Mum and Dad, this is Neville Longbottom. He was in my class at Hogwarts and he's dating one of Ron's brothers."

"Hermione," Neville said, exasperated. Just as Dr. Owen repeated Neville's line of "Pleasure."

"What?" she asked innocently.

"Can I ask you not to out me and George to everyone?"

"Oh, is it still a secret?"

"Yes!" Neville said defiantly. "It is!" Hermione's parents were blushing deeply.

Neville walked into the tent with Hermione and her parents, her parents looking quite surprised at seeing a large ballroom appear in front of them. He quickly pulled her aside.

"Hermione. You owe George an apology."

"What? Why? Everything worked out."

"But it might not have. You can't go poking your nose in other peoples' business like that. George gets to decide who he tells and when he tells, all right? This whole thing with him. With me and him, it's so new. You need to stay out of it for now."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't tell me, tell George."

Neville looked around. Where was George? Neville wandered around the party, nibbling on delicious food from the long table he'd set up just the day prior. He couldn't believe the spread. Even with help, Molly had really outdone herself.

Neville looked around and waved and chatted with a few others. Harry, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, Luna, Mr. Lovegood, the Patil twins, Lee Jordan (who remarked, embarrassingly loudly, "the guy who's going to get Georgie Weasley to settle down!"), Bill and Fleur, Percy with Penelope Clearwater, Hagrid, Professor McGonagall, and Tonks' mother with little Teddy whose hair was looking rather purple these days. (Neville felt a connection with little Teddy Lupin, knowing full well what it was like to be raised by a single Grandmother). Plus countless others that Neville didn't recognize. This was clearly the place to be on New Year's Eve.

Finally, Neville spotted George walking in with Ginny. Neville started to walk toward him, but he saw Hermione grab George and pull him back outside. Neville was impressed. He didn't think Hermione'd ever be able to admit she was wrong and actually apologize.

When George got back in, he headed straight for Neville. "Let's grab some food," he said.

They stacked their plates with roast beef baguettes, salmon rolls, treacle tarts and everything else Molly had made. George guided Neville to a table in a corner, where no one else was. "Let's sit here,"

Neville sat. He and George were quiet for a moment, chewing their food. "Ginny talked to me," George finally said quietly.

"Mmm-hmm?" Neville asked taking a sip of butterbeer.

"She told me."

"About what?"

"About Amycus Carrow."

"Oh. That." Neville was quiet.

"You saved her."

Neville shook his head. "I didn't. She didn't need saving. She saved herself. George, do you have any idea how powerful a witch she is?"

"She's a seventh child. Seventh children are always extra powerful."

"Really?" Neville had never heard that before.

George nodded. "Families aren't so big nowadays, so you don't see as much of it. And a lot of people don't know it anymore. But yeah, a seventh child always has special powers. Fourteenth children do too." He paused. "All multiple of seven, actually, so twenty-first children do too, but that's only ever really been the case like once in wizarding history."

"Huh. Interesting."

"Anyway, that's not how I meant it. You saved her."

"I didn't do anything but make her stay with me at all times. Until we started making camp in the Room of Requirement."

"You were her friend. You were there with her and that's what she needed."

"Really, George. I didn't do much."

"She just told me that if it wasn't for you, she would have hunted down Carrow and tried to kill him."

"But she stopped me from doing just that."

"And stopping you stopped her from doing it also." George hesitated and softened his voice. "She also told me she was suicidal, but you just being there kept her from doing anything about it."

"She was what?" Neville was shocked.

George nodded. "She said she even stole a Tschiffely plant from the greenhouse."

Neville sucked his breath in. Tschiffely was extremely useful for tanning dragon hides, but was instantly fatal if ingested. It was, sadly, the most common form of wizarding suicide. Students weren't even allowed in that area of the greenhouse. Thinking back, he actually knew when Ginny stole it. They were in Herbology class and Neville had stayed after to talk to Professor Sprout. Because he and Ginny were sticking together, Ginny waited for him, but was wandering around the greenhouse. Neville had seen her in the restricted section, but hadn't though anything of it, And neither had Professor Sprout, who didn't lecture Ginny. "I didn't know I was saving her," Neville explained to George. "I like Ginny, you know? I just wanted to be there for her."

"Thank you," George said.

"For what?"

"For my sister," George rolled his eyes at Neville not realizing what he was being thanked for.

"You're welcome."

They continued eating and George finally said in a cheerful voice. "Well! That was serious."

Neville laughed. "Let's lighten the mood then," he said.

"All right," George agreed and took a shot of firewhiskey, and handed one to Neville who downed it quickly. "Move in with me."

"What?" Neville asked, shocked, and coughing on his firewhiskey.

"Move in with me. Move into my flat. Let's live together," he explained.

"We've been together, like, two months."

"So?" George asked.

"Well it's awfully fast."

"Can I get serious for one more second?" George asked.

"Sure."

"I love you."

"You what?"

"You heard me. I love you." He paused. "Look, I'm not Mr. Romantic and I'm not big on hearts and flowers and all that bullshit, so don't make me say it over and over again, all right? I. Love. You. I do and I want you to know it."

Neville laughed. "You're an idiot."

Now George was laughing. "What?"

"I love you too, all right?" Neville answered, blushing furiously.

"I knew it," George leaned over and pinched Neville's arm. "I knew you loved me. I knew it from the way you can't keep your hands off me."

"Ow!" Neville held his arm where George pinched it. "I think that's the other way around, friend. You can't keep your hands off me."

George was still laughing when he said, "See? We love each other. We should live together."

Neville shrugged, "Maybe."

"Come on...why not?" George wheedled.

Neville felt the heat in his face as his face reddened a deep shade. "I..." he croaked. He had no idea how to say what he needed to say.

"What?" George prompted.

"We haven't even..." Neville waved his hands vaguely between their bodies as he drifted off. George still looked blank, so Neville tried again. "We haven't even really had a proper shag yet. Have we?" He closed his eyes, horrified at how much he knew he was blushing. He knew he shouldn't have been embarrassed, because really, once you've had someone else's cock in your mouth, what else is there to be embarrassed about?

"Ahhh." George said, nodding his head. "So we're laying in bed at night, nearly every night for the past month or two, and fooling around and you want more, but you don't think to ask for it?"

Neville knew George was teasing. But he still felt the need to defend himself. "I've never done this before. I don't know how long it's supposed to take before it happens. I mean, how long before you shagged Oliver?"

"I was an early bloomer," George answered.

"How long George?"

"It's not going to make you feel any better."

"How long?"

"Pretty much right when we both realized the other was in to it. My fourth year. Oliver's sixth."

"God." Neville said. "God! You were fourteen!" Neville shook his head. "I'm so stupid when it comes to this. I'm nineteen, all right? You were fourteen and you jumped right into it with Oliver. Why're you waiting so long with me?"

"Look, Nev. Oliver was just a...a nothing. We weren't in some kind of relationship, all right? We were just messing around. He wanted to mess around with birds and blokes, but he only wanted to date the birds."

"So?"

George sighed. "Look, you say you're new to this, but so am I! I've never done the boyfriend thing, all right? I've done the making out with Oliver thing, the shagging Oliver thing. But I don't know when it's the proper time to shag a boyfriend."

"So we're both idiots about this then," Neville said.

"Exactly."

"Well, that's a relief." Neville said, and George laughed.

"So let's do it."

"Move in together? George, I don't know. My Gran needs me."

"No. I meant shag. Let's do it."

"Now?" Neville looked around.

"Yeah now." George insisted. "Not here, obviously. But now. Let's go."

"But the party..."

"They'll be fine without us. Come on. I always wanted to get laid in my childhood bedroom."

"Oh." Though Neville was a bit nervous, he had a sudden surge of boldness as he said, "Yeah, let's go." He drained his butterbeer and followed George running and laughing out of the tent into the cold night.