Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters; I am merely playing with them. They belong to their respective owners.
A/N: I wrote a fairly upsetting oneshot in my spare time several months ago, and finally got around to editing it. Warning: if you ship Nannah this WILL make you cry.
Neville couldn't find Hannah anywhere; he had found Ernie dead in the Great Hall, and Susan talking with her friends, yet Hannah wasn't with either of them.
Admirers surrounded him, but he didn't acknowledge what they were saying.
"Excuse me," he found himself saying, "I just saw a friend."
He noticed one of the girls looked hurt, and he regretted it immediately. It had been a lie, but fortunately, Professor McGonagall was standing feet away, who looked as if a blow of wind could knock her over.
"Longbottom," her voice was hoarse.
"Yes, Professor?"
She swallowed, closing her eyes, "It's Hannah Abbott, I don't think she's going to make it." Their eyes locked when she opened them, and the hopeful look in Neville's eyes that was once there vanished. All thoughts disappeared from his mind, for he felt as if he was standing in nothingness.
"W-where is she?" his hands started to shake, so he stuffed them in his torn pockets, but it did no good.
"Hospital Wing," every inch of her face was etched with sorrow. "Go now, before it's too late." McGonagall patted his back, and walked away.
Neville barely acknowledged her pat; the world didn't seem to matter anymore, but an image of a dying Hannah crossed his mind. He made his way through a crowd even though his legs told him he couldn't run. He wouldn't be able to stand it if no one was there for her.
How he got there was lost to his memory, but all he remembered was how his fast breathing made him dizzy. He managed to make it to the infirmary door, ready to fall over, but he managed to make it inside.
Hannah was in a bed beside the window, looking as pale as a full moon. A gasp escaped his mouth, and he fell on his knees beside her bed; he had never seen Hannah so weak before.
"Neville," her voice was barely audible.
"Hannah," he held her hand in his.
They looked into each other eyes, and Neville could see Hannah was beyond his help. Her eyes were desperate, she couldn't hold onto the world anymore.
"I love you, Hannah," his voice started cracking, but he knew he would never get the chance to tell her.
"Yes," her eyes closed, and fear rushed through his body, but they slowly opened. "Thank you, Neville, for everything."
She was blinking, struggling to stay alive, but Neville held her hand with both of his. Hannah's blinking started to slow, but Neville stayed beside her, trying to stop her from falling off the edge. Her eyes didn't open, and his breath caught in his throat.
"You were my other half," it was barely audible, but it was heard perfectly in his ears.
He felt it as Hannah's soul left her body, and her hand became limp in his. His breath passed through his throat, and a sob escaped. Tears started to fall onto the sheets, and Neville set her arm across her stomach.
"Farewell, dear Hannah," his voice quavered, and a tear fell onto her face as he kissed her forehead.
Neville's love for Herbology died with her, and his craving for chocolate never ceased, for he would never forgot the moment they first looked into each other's eyes.
She was still there, of course, in his mind; she was there every day. Hannah helped him through decisions, and through life. He never remarried, or dated another woman, nor did he think about it.
As Neville Longbottom lie on his deathbed, in old age, he uttered a reply to his lost half.
"And you were mine."
His eyes shut becoming whole as he reunited with Hannah in paradise.