Disclaimer: This story is based on the characters and world created by JK Rowling. Anything you do not recognise is my own creation. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

– CHAPTER THREE –

The Promise

Neville had never been one to doubt the world. He had seen his fair share of miseries and disasters. It came with the territory. Death Eater scum had tortured his parents to insanity; he eventually came to terms with it. Dumbledore, his hero and inspiration, died; he got over it. Former Death Eaters murdered his darling wife Hannah … well, he still struggled with that.

But to see Harry Potter, defeater of Lord Voldemort, so vulnerable and weak and broken … it made him doubt. This was a man whose life was defined by his losses, but still had the energy to lead the Unknowables to more arrests than it had ever known. There were times when Neville had doubted himself, where he was on the verge of quitting and it was Harry who made him believe, just as he had done at school.

As he turned from his best friend and slowly trudged through the mud towards the village church, he realised that the grief Harry was feeling was far from ordinary; Luna had been his foundation and support. Who would hold Harry up now? Hermione? She was too busy trying to get as far away from England as possible. Ron? He was too busy drinking himself to death. Bill? He had his kids and a heavily pregnant Fleur to think of.

'Is he alright, Neville?'

Neville met the eyes of Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic. 'He just lost his wife, what do you think?'

'I think you need to show more respect.'

Neville sized up the man. While a good Auror in his time, and a war hero to boot, Shacklebolt had weighed up as an uninspiring Minister. Politicians will take the credit for our hard work. A good Unknowable is an invisible Unknowable. Those were the words of Boris Bogand, Head of the Unspeakables. The public saw Shacklebolt as one of the most efficient Ministers since the dawn of the Ministry; Neville knew otherwise.

'Of course, Minister,' said Neville. 'Potter is deep in mourning; it would be inadvisable to disturb him.'

Shacklebolt nodded, a sure sign that Neville was dismissed. Needing no further encouragement, he made for the small gathering of people standing underneath their various umbrellas. He made eye contact with Bill, his only other friend, and they came to an unspoken agreement to leave. After all, they had both given Harry their condolences and paid their last respects to Luna.

Neville's expensive black leather shoes squelched against the muddy ground. It had been some weeks since the last drop of rain and the ground had not taken the sudden downpour well. From the corner of his eye, Neville saw Bill mutter his goodbyes. Sometimes Neville wished he could engage in casual conversation. He wished he could discuss the weather, or argue about Quidditch or, as was happening now, share in the grief. But conversation led to friendship, which led to more chances of secrets slipping.

Neville recalled the day he told Bogand that he was engaged, to be married. Bogand had doubled Neville's hours, thinking it would tear him and Hannah apart, but the relationship had instead gone from strength to strength. Hannah was that kind of girl. Neville closed his eyes and sighed. Her death still tore him up inside, but at least he had Alice. Harry ... Neville didn't like to think of what he was going through now. One thing was for sure, he had to be there for Harry; and being there for Harry meant finding and killing the wizard who killed Luna.

Neville looked up. The old village church was a modest building; it was not what Neville would call attractive, not that he could see the good in anything right then. Luna ... he had loved her like a sister. When Hannah had died, it was Luna who called round and cheered him up with far-fetched tales or one of her revolting casseroles. It was Luna who looked after Alice when Neville was working. It was Luna who had given him the confidence to try for the Department of Mysteries in the first place. Why did people around him die, or worse?

Neville, head down, trudged up the path that went around the side of the church. He was tempted, for a moment, to walk in. It was warm, bright and the buzz of conversation was oddly enticing. He thought, not for the first time, of taking Alice and living as a Muggle, where death would no longer plague them like a disease. He would come to a church like this one every Sunday, take Alice to a Muggle school and get a comfortable job for himself. But he knew he couldn't leave Bill and Harry behind. He owed them too much.

'You alright?'

Neville glanced over his shoulder. Bill, it seemed, had finally finished saying his goodbyes and had caught up. 'Yeah,' said Neville, 'I just can't believe it, Bill.'

'I know what you mean. As if Harry needed any more tragedies.'

'Yeah, and just when he was really happy, too ... '

Neville trailed off, glanced at Bill, and then settled for silence as they approached the pavement. Neither spoke. It was almost as though they were upholding a respectful silence for Luna. The only sound made by either man was their traipsing shoes.

They silently turned right into a road even quieter than the one they had left. A pigeon was perched on the rusting road name, lit by a failing street lamp. Neville tore his eyes away from the sleeping bird and took out his car keys as they approached his car; a 1996 Vauxhall Corsa, five door, dripping wet. Not exactly the height of technology, but he knew he wouldn't be able to use it if it were. The car was unspectacular, distinguishable only for the incredibly poor parking: the back wheel was mounted on the kerb while the front one was far out in the road. Beside him, Bill snorted.

'Nice parking.'

'I only passed last week, alright?'

'And how badly did you Confund him?'

'I had to pass! Alice's Muggle friends are starting to ask questions – we're the only family down our road who doesn't own a car. She's been badgering me to drive for a year now.'

'I think they're going to realise something's wrong with parking like this.'

'Wingardium Leviosa!' Neville lifted all two tonnes of car and straightened it.

'Yeah,' said Bill, shaking his head, 'because that's something you can get away with in Muggle suburbia.'

'There's no pleasing you, is there?' said Neville, managing a strained smile. With a flick of his wand, he unlocked all four doors and slipped into the front seat. Another jab and the Supersensory Charm had been applied. Neville turned on the ignition and the car roared into life. The low, reassuring voice of WWN's news anchor blasted out of every speaker, interrupted only by the gentle patter of rain hitting metal.

'... Dozens of mourners have been said to be attending the private funeral of Harry Potter's late wife, the eccentric Luna Potter. WWN has been on the streets today to gauge public opinion on the tragic death of the First Lady of the wizarding world. John MacLeish reports.'

'Yes, Terry, I've been in Hogsmeade all day today and I can tell you that the mood is melancholic. Well-wishers have been queuing outside the post office for hours, all hoping to send Mr Potter messages of support. I have here Darius Mosley, a local village boy. Darius, what would you say to Harry Potter if he were here?'

'Don't be sad, Mr Potter, you're the best wizard in the whole wide world. I've got posters ...'

Neville turned it off and settled instead for the frantic swishing of the window wipers. He put the car into gear and lifted the clutch. Too fast: he stalled.

'You're sure we shouldn't just Disapparate?' said Bill.

'The neighbours saw me leave with the car – they'll be asking questions if I came back without it. I don't know why Harry didn't just use a Muggle-repellent on the church.'

'You know what he's like …'

'I guess that's why we love him,' said Neville distantly. On the second try, he managed to move the car off. Fortunately, Bill's house would only be a ten minute drive.

'He thinks it's murder,' said Bill, breaking the silence.

'He told you that?' said Neville, trying to keep dubiety out of his voice.

'No, but you can just tell. It was written all over his face. He wants revenge.'

Neville gripped the steering wheel a little tighter than usual: he hated lying to Bill. 'Revenge? Bill, he works for the Department of Mysteries – he's not a Hit Wizard.'

'He killed You-Know-Who; he's not exactly a lightweight, either.'

'He'll call in special favours and get the best Aurors on the case, nothing more. He's not the Chosen One anymore.'

'You-Know-Who underestimated him, too.'

'That was ten years ago.'

Neville turned right and the car juddered like a giant was shaking it. He glanced down at the gear stick and realised he was in fourth gear: too late, he had stalled again. 'I hate driving,' he muttered, as he switched the ignition off and on again.

'You've got to hand it to the Muggles, though; they've made a lump of metal that can travel pretty damn fast.'

'When the driver's a Muggle …'

'At least we're nearly there.'

'Thank heavens for small mercies.'

They danced around the issue of Luna's death for the next five minutes until they finally turned left and a sign in front of a neatly trimmed hedgerow told him it was Northey Avenue. The rain had died away; the only sound that could be heard was the humming of the engine. As he slowed down, Neville glanced right. Every house on the winding road looked utterly identical. Large and brown, with garages and at least three cars each on the gravelled drives. Number thirty-nine, he counted, number forty-one, number forty-three. Finally, he came to number forty-five and pulled into the drive and switched off the engine.

Even under the glare of his headlamps, number forty-five, Northey Avenue stood out like a goldfish in a river full of salmon. It was a small, yellow bungalow with a red door that, to an ordinary person, would seem almost impossible to fit through. The drive was overrun with moss to the point where it looked rather like a green carpet. Other than his, there were no cars, or indeed a garage to put them in. Unlike numbers forty-three and forty-seven, it had a small red chimney poking through the tiled roof. It remained by far the best house Neville had ever seen.

Neville rose out of the car awkwardly and locked it with his wand. His thighs ached having been tensed throughout the journey and his knuckles were white, having gripped the steering wheel for dear life. He looked up to see Bill walking through the open doorway, which he knew to have grown in size, and Neville quickly followed his friend through.

From the inside, the house looked twice as large as the others around it. The entrance hall was a comfortable size and had been painted a neutral beige. A flight of stairs rose to his left and another on his right. Straight ahead was a small corridor. Neville took off his shoes and waited as the shoe shelf edged forward and scooped them up before scuttling back to its resting place near the foot of the stairs.

'Daddy!'

Neville braced himself as the love of his life jumped into his open arms. For the first time that day, he smiled as he thought of how much he had missed Alice without even knowing it, while running his hand through her long, blonde hair. When she pulled away, he studied her face, making sure she was okay. Her resemblance to Hannah was remarkable: the same hair; the same round, pink face; the same button nose. The only thing she shared with Neville was his small, brown eyes.

'Did you have fun with Auntie Fleur?' he said.

'Yeah! Me and Dom –'

'Dom and I.'

'Dom and I read The Tales of Beedle the Bard with Auntie Fleur.'

'Did you now?' Neville looked up in time to see Fleur and Bill finish their embrace. Fleur, who looked radiant despite her bulging stomach, greeted Neville with a kiss on each cheek. 'I hope she wasn't too much bother.'

'No, no, no, of course not,' she said, her English nearing perfection; even her accent had faded a little. 'Alice is wonderful – Dominique not so much.'

'She's just like her old man,' said Bill.

'Exactly!' said Fleur, feigning indignation. 'She is the one I must keep my eye on, but with Alice around, she is manageable.'

Alice flushed at the praise, but appeared uncomfortable at her best friend being criticised. 'Did you manage to get them all to sleep, then?' said Neville, surprised at the house being deadly silent for the first time in his memory.

'Victoire is sleeping, but Dominique is pretending to do so. She refused to sleep with Alice at home.'

'That's my Dom,' said Bill.

'You will stay for tea, no?' said Fleur briskly.

'Merlin, no,' said Neville, glancing at his watch. It was already nine-thirty and, at six years old, that meant Alice should have been in bed half an hour ago. 'Thanks so much, but I've got to get this one into bed.'

'She can sleep around here with Dom if you want,' said Bill, causing Alice to bristle with excitement.

'No, you've already done so much – I can't thank you enough. But she's going to Andromeda tomorrow and I daresay those two will be up into the small hours of the morning if they're allowed together again.'

'Yeah, that was my fault,' said Bill sheepishly.

'Hey, I've got the day off on Wednesday,' said Neville, 'so if you want to dump the kids around mine and take a well-earned break, then feel free to.'

'You are kind,' said Fleur. 'You are sure you do not want to have a quick drink?'

'I'm sure. Thanks again for looking after Alice, Fleur, you're a star.'

'It was a pleasure, Neville, a pleasure like always.'

The shoe shelf scuttled forward again and spat both his polished leather shoes and Alice's dainty purple plimsolls. As soon as he put them on, the door behind him swung open, letting in a cool breeze.

Fleur swooped down on Alice and embraced her as she would her own children. 'Au revoir, ma Cherie.'

'Au revoir, Tante.'

An indirect benefit of Alice spending so much time around Bill's family was her rapidly developing French. Fleur had made sure her children spoke it fluently; partly to keep her traditions alive, and partly to annoy Bill, who had real trouble speaking it.

Bill shook his head at Neville, who returned a sympathetic smile. Within minutes, they had said their goodbyes and Neville was in the driver's seat once more, this time with Alice beside him. For the first time since he began driving, he did not stall pulling out of the drive and into the road.

For ten minutes, Alice recalled in great detail her activities with Dominique. Neville barely had enough time to put in a few words before she interrupted him with something else she had remembered. When she had displayed all the new French she had learned, she frowned: a sure sign that a difficult question was coming. It was the same look Hannah gave him when he returned from twelve-hour shifts at the Department.

'Daddy, why did the second brother want to bring people back from the dead?'

Neville gripped the steering wheel a little harder. 'What?'

'In The Tale of the Three Brothers, the second brother wants to bring people back. Why does he want to disturb people that are dead?'

'He missed his wife, honey.'

'But you said people that are dead are at peace. Why does he want to disturb their peace, Daddy?'

'Because sometimes, when you love someone very much, you want them with you no matter what.'

He pulled into their drive and switched off the engine. They slipped out of the car and Neville locked the car with a discreet jab of his wand. Their house was far smaller than Bill and Fleur's; it had three bedrooms and was semi-detached: more than enough for the two of them.

After making sure Alice wasn't hungry, Neville helped bathe her, dried her off and picked out her pink pyjamas. Very soon, he had tucked her and her toy dragon, Flamey, into bed. Neville sat on the edge of the bed and picked up The Free House-Elf, a children's story inspired by Dobby. Harry had invited him to the launch; the author adored the Boy-Who-Lived and, for once, Harry had accepted the invitation.

'Is Uncle Harry going to bring Auntie Luna back?' whispered Alice.

'I don't think so, honey.'

'But he loved Auntie Luna very much, too.'

Neville sighed and put The Free House-Elf on the bedside table. 'Uncle Harry doesn't have the second brother's Stone.'

'But Dom said he used the Stone to beat that bad man.'

'His name was Voldemort, and Uncle Harry lost the Stone.'

'Daddy, why did Auntie Luna have to die?'

'It was her time to go, darling.'

'I miss her.' Her watering eyes narrowed and slowly she began to cry. Neville shuffled up the bed and held her trembling head against his chest.

'Oh, Alice, I miss her, too.' He felt like crying, too, but he had to stay strong for her. Instead, he held his darling girl in his arms and rocked her back and forth.

As her tears subsided, she said, 'Can I sleep with you tonight?'

'Of course, honey.'

He carried her to his bedroom, which was somewhat smaller than hers. Alice slept in his bed about once a fortnight: usually when she remembered her mother and grief would render her unable to sleep alone. Those nights, she curled up in his arms and cried herself to sleep. He knew Luna's death would hit her badly; Luna had become something of a surrogate mother in the two years after Hannah's death.

Neville laid her and Flamey down on the bed before joining them. He began stroking her hair once more, hoping it would soothe her.

'Daddy,' she whispered, 'promise me you'll never die.'

Neville had once vowed that he would never lie to Alice. But, in that moment, there was such crushing desperation in her voice that he could say nothing but, 'I promise.'