Shock and disbelief

Neville's POV

If you told me when I was younger that I could experience more heartbreak than when I first found out about my parents, I wouldn't have believed it. At that time, my parents meant more to me than anyone else in the world.

Then, I came to Hogwarts. I thought I might fit in there. But, no. I didn't. Instead I fit out more than at home with Gran and Trevor and the neighbours who I didn't like but who I didn't not like either.

I was teased mercilessly. I was a scrawny blonde boy with incredibly large wobbly-edged front teeth that I should have gotten braces for ages ago. And you know what was worse? My horrible memory. I was ashamed of myself. And so was Gran.

Then, in Seventh Year, it all changed. Instead of being stupid and gawky, I had become quite good looking. Maybe even attractive. I had filled out and my hair was finally cut properly. I was 'dateable' as Hermione would say.

But what raised me even higher, if that was humanly possible, was when I cut off Nagini's head. Technically, I wasn't doing much. Harry told me to kill the snake; so I killed the snake. I didn't even know it was a Horcrux.

Then I came back to redo my Seventh Year. I can remember it feeling strangely surreal. Too normal. There were no Death Eaters or punishments. It was finally quiet. Everyone at Hogwarts was thoroughly traumatized by last year. Too much to make our last year cheerful.

Then, Luna. She was in the year below me, with Ginny. We all formed our own group: me, Ginny, Luna and Hermione. Hermione and Ginny obviously missed their boyfriends and mostly bonded over Ron and Harry, while Luna and I were thrown together. We formed a bond and a friendship I will never forget.

Even when she told me her secret, I helped her. Luna was pregnant. Somehow, I couldn't believe that small, odd little Luna was pregnant.

I was the one who measured Luna to see how much weight she'd gained. The one to accompany her to each Healer's appointment. The one to hold back her hair and rub her back while she threw up into the toilet. The one to pore over names with the rest of the 'group'. The first one to feel the baby's kicks. While Luna was delivering the placenta, I looked over the tiny baby, marveling at her.

Flashback...

I stand next to Luna. I hold her hand tightly. Tears streak her face. I can feel her shaking. Her hair falls down in thick blond waves. Her eyes are large and terrified.

"You're doing good. Really good. Wonderful," I assure her.

She tries to smile but I see right through it. I wish she'd believe in herself just as much as I believed in her. When the Healer tells her to push, she turns to me, eyes as big as plates, shivering.

"You can do this," I tell her.

She manages a faint lifting of the corners of her rose red mouth. Then she takes a deep, shuddering breath, and with a bone crushing grip on my hand and on Ginny, who's on the other side, she spreads her legs open and pushes. An expression of fresh, pure pain takes over her face, which is raised up to the ceiling.

Her face turns white and her jaw drops open a little. Her grip tightens as the head of the baby appears between her legs. Her face looks like death. The Healers pull a screaming baby into the world and Luna's grip relaxes and the colour rushes into her cheeks.

"You did it," I whisper.

"I did it," she repeats in a daze

It's the terrible uncertainty in her voice that breaks my heart into pieces. Like she didn't believe she could.

Flashback ends...

Sometimes I wonder if I deserve what I have. And why some things were taken away from me. I have a lovely daughter, Alice Marie Longbottom. A beautiful toddler with large dewy, peacock blue eyes with specks of black in them, fringed with long, velvety lashes. With long, blond hair that curls into thick, springy ringlets. My lovely Ally.

But most of all I think about why Alice can't have a mother. Can't have someone to lean over her at night and kiss her with a warm, tender embrace that only a mother could give. A wet, heartfelt kiss that only a mother could press to her baby's forehead. A snuggle against the curve of a breast which only a mother could do. The feeling of love and closeness only a mother could stir in her child.

But I loved Hannah too. I loved the curve of her arched brown eyebrows. The outline her full breast made against her thin, summery dresses. The way her hair curled up at the edges. But mostly I miss the way she felt against me. Her bare, flat stomach against mine, her hardened nipples rubbing into my chest. I miss nuzzling my face in her reddish-brown hair and inhaling the scent of her peachy shampoo. I miss the feelings she stirs in me like a tidal wave. The butterflies in my stomach that she tickles to life with her magical touch. Mostly, I miss her. All of her.

Flashback...

I can't believe she's gone. I look at her body, her beautiful, lifeless body and I can't help but wish she would wake up and laugh at me for believing in her joke.

The corners of her lips are lifted in a slight, humoured smile, like she was telling me a joke she knew I'd laugh at. Her yellow summer dress is slashed open at the middle. Blood stains it. It's soaked in water. Her hair is wet and sticks to her neck and shoulders. Her head is tilted to the right, her eyelids shut over her lovely, hazel eyes.

"Wake up," I say. It comes out harsher than I mean it to.

She doesn't. The teasing smile is still flickered over her face. It makes me sick to the stomach. The fucking Death Eaters raped her. Raped her. They kissed her and forced themselves into her. And she had to bear it. Then they killed her. Cutting open her dress and slashing open her lovely, white throat. Then they threw her in the river.

I don't know I am crying until my cheeks are fully wet. They fall down, these crystal salty tears, one by one. I cradle her body. And I cry. The tears run down my cheeks and drop off my chin. They roll down the side of my neck and merge into the droplets of sweat that paste my shirt too my skin.

"Wake up," I choke, bent over her. "Please, wake up!"

Flashback ends...

Back in the present...

I'm sitting in Hannah's parents' house with Alice settled comfortably in my lap. Her legs are wrapped around my waist, her head on my chest, ear to my beating heart. My arms are around, pulling her into me.

The walls are plastered in peeling blue wallpaper. They slide down the walls like a banana. The living room is dark. A small fireplace with a smaller, glittered red and yellow and orange fire flickering in it is the only illumination. The couches are old and sunk and blood-red. The carpet is dusty and stained.

Mrs Abbott sits across me, her fingers entwined in her husband. She isn't that old but her hair is mostly white. It curls up at the ends and comes up till her broad shoulders. An emerald green shawl is thrown over her neck and arms. Her sapphire blue eyes glint behind jeweled spectacles that hang on a long gemmed string. Teardrop diamonds hang from her pointed ears. A diamond ring sparkles on a bony finger.

Mr Abbott isn't nearly as attractive as his wife. His hair is red but patched with white until the colour takes over most of his head. It looks like bloodstained snow. He has a tuft of a beard growing off the end of his pointed chin. His eyes are large and hazel and very kind. A grin floats in them. His nose is flat against his face, creating a comical contrast from his pointed beard. A matching ring slides between the middle of his finger and bottom.

"I have to go back to Britain," I explain. "H- the pub is going down."

The pub is the Leaky Cauldron. Hannah bought it after we were married. She was the landlady. A lump rose in my throat as I thought of 'was'. Is. I push away the heap of grief that tumbles into my heart as I think of Hannah. Feelings aren't important right now.

"There is a war, Neville," Mrs Abbott says flatly.

"I need youll to keep Ally," I ignore Mrs Abbott's reply.

"Neville, son, look, me wife's right. There's a war goin' on," Mr Abbott says in his hearty way, his forehead crinkled like a wet paper in concern and anxiety.

" Exactly," Mrs Abbott agrees.

"Please. I really need this. Only for a week. I promise," I say earnestly.

At the end, I win over. I'm wheedlesome enough to persuade (or maybe manipulate?) Mr and Mrs Abbott to take care of Alice. They adore Ally and reluctantly agree. Mostly for Alice. A little for me. We plan.

"I'll go tomorrow," I say.

"Day after?" suggests Mrs Abbott.

"Tomorrow," I say firmly, hoping not to stretch my luck.

But Mrs Abbott just nods and sighs. I look down and press a kiss to the top of Alice's messy, fair head. She stirs a little in her sleep then falls back, undisturbed.

Sometimes I think the only thing that the Abbott couple and I have in common is Alice. And Hannah, of course. The Abbotts love Ally. She's been their sun ever since- Hannah died. In some ways Alice is so much like her mother you'd know immediately who she is by a quick glance. In some, though, she's exactly like me in that blink-and-you'll-miss-it kind of way.

Mr and Mrs Abbott are looking at Alice now. Their eyes were crinkled in fondness for little Ally. They loved to babysit her. And I hated to leave her.

"Tomorrow," I whisper into her hair.

Tomorrow...

The next day is a blur. At least the morning is. My portkey is scheduled to go at eight thirty so I had woken at six to get things ready.

Alice sat on my bed. Her peacock blue eyes wide as she watched me. Her head tilted a little to the side as if she was wondering. A little headband was balanced on her blonde curls.

"What is Daddy doing?" I croon at her.

"What Daddy do?" she repeats, giggling.

"I'm going somewhere," I tell her.

"No," she returns.

"Daddy go and Ally stay with Nana and Grandad?" I say persuasively.

"Nana and Gandaddy?" she asks.

"Yes for small while, darling," I tell her, dropping a kiss on her head.

"Why?"

"Daddy has to do something, Ally."

She pouts. Her bottom lip sticks out underneath her rose red top lip. She shakes her head so her curls bounce up and down on her shoulders. Alice is very passionate. When she gets into a tantrum, it's hard to stop her.

"Daddy come. Daddy love you," I quickly say.

As if to prove my point, I raise her up into my arms and rest my chin on top of her head while her ear is pressed against my heart. She snuggles against me and her brief spell of crying ceases. I keep her close to my heart.

I can remember her birth. I can remember Hannah's face when the baby- our baby- was laid on her breast. The wonder and shock that filled her amidst a rush of emotions. I never loved her more.

Flashback...

I can feel her hand shake in mine. She's dead nervous. I am too. I can't believe today is the day our baby will be brought into the world. That today the baby we've been waiting for nine long months will be here soon.

I wrap our fingers together and pull them up. I press a kiss on her knuckles. She shivers. Her hold tightens and relaxes with each passing contraction. They grow in pain and length, building up for this moment.

Her grip doesn't relax. She breathes in and out through her nose, her mouth pulled back so that her lips are pursed. A tear rolls down her cheek. I lean down and wipe it away. I kiss her rose mouth tenderly and then straighten up.

She sits up and I know that my kiss has given her courage. She tosses a lock of reddish- brown hair out of her eyes. She's determined.

"Shall we push now?" the Healer asks casually, as if she were a waitress asking whether we were ready to order yet. Ready?

"Okay. I'm ready," Hannah says, but she bites her bottom lip nervously as she does so. I kiss her one last time and she kisses me back.

"Push," the Healer says, more like an old matron than a Healer in an urgent situation.

This, however, obviously makes Hannah feel better. She's always been the kind of person to react according to her surroundings. If the Healer had been panicked, she would have panicked. Since the Healer was calm, she was calm.

She holds my hand tightly and takes a huge breath. She holds it for a little until a contraction comes rolling in and she breathes out. She leans forward, her legs bent and spread apart.

"It's dilated enough," the Healer says. "Push now!"

Hannah's hair falls forward over her shoulders, tangled and messy. Her eyes are large, fear lurking in the depths of her hazel caves. But there's also courage, a knight in shining armour, a sword and a sheild, and determination.

She squeezes my hand so tight it feels broken as she pushes. Her face is a blur of pain and determination. Her nails scrape me. She lets out a loud pained cry. She stops, but then she's pushing again and tears are pouring down. Her teeth are set into her bottom lip. Little dots of blood are beaded together on the lip.

Then there's another push and her face changes. A look of perfect peace and happiness settles over it as her hand relaxes and Alice Marie Longbottom is guided into the world. She's crying as Alice latches on to her nipple, hardened and darkened. We're both crying as we look at the baby we've created.

I love her so much.

Flashback ends...

"Please keep her safe," I say as I hand my sleeping daughter to her grandparents. "Stay safe."

"We will," Mrs Abbott says firmly while Mr Abbott says, "You too."

Before I leave, I shrink my bags until they're small enough to wrap in my handkerchief and stuff in my pocket.

make it to the Portkey station in time. It is a tight little place. Portkeys are illegal so the station is hidden away as an old bar. A ceiling fan revolves slowly, creaking loudly. People are gathered around plastic tables on cheap chairs.

I make it to the counter. A tiny, weazy little man is behind it. A snowy white mustache erupts over his top lip. A few barmaids in tight clothes, busts thrown out were working behind him.

"Something to transport me to another world," I say. These are the code words.

The foxy man grins. "Yah've come ta the right place, then. What may be your drink choice?"

He pulls out a menu. I look down at it. On the right side all the real names of all the countries in the world are listed. On the left are the code names. I find England.

"One Entity wine, thank you," I say.

"Good choice, that," the foxy man says.

He pulls out a glass and multiplies it so that there are two. He pours a red liquid into the copy and hands it to me, whispering as he does so, "Sets off in ten minutes."

I pay him and then walk outside. It's dark and dirty. I tip the glass and pour the drink into the wilted grass. I wait out the ten minutes by watching ants scuttle across the grass, struggling.

After exactly ten minutes have passed, I feel the glass grow hot. It glows a bright blue. I wrap both hands around the bottom of the glass as my surroundings blur and gradually shift to the unfamiliar ones of England.

I'm in a dirty alley. It's unusually dark for morning. Graffiti covers the walls. Rats scuttle by. Garbage is thrown randomly on the floor. I'm careful not to step on it. Water drips down the walls, creating a patch of muddy wetness, which gives off a horrible smell that hangs around me.

Drip-drop

Pitter-patter

I had devised a plan at home. At least I thought so. The Abbotts and I had agreed it was foolproof. Except, it's not.

We had planned that I would Apparate to the Leaky Cauldron and then use my wand to change my features. I had already created a brother for Hannah-Carter Abbott. A friend of mine had even made an identity card for him.

Except there are so many things wrong with it.

I had already stumbled into my first problem. I had forgotten that there were Apparating points!

I sigh and kick at the ground in frustration. Okay, so I would just have to walk to the nearest Apparating point. I pull out my wand and cast a GPS spell. The wands twists towards a direction.

I follow my wand dedicatedly. Maybe too much. I look down at the ground, layered with dirty snow. Trying to find the large red circle painted on the ground.

I collide with someone. I look up and I'm looking into the clear grey eyes of Luna Lovegood.

She looks good. Her hair falls in pale blond waves that curl up into slight curly springy ringlets. Her eyes are large and wistful. They're dreamy and grey, specks of gold lurking deep in her pupils. She's wearing a coat and the hood is pulled over her head. A bracelet jingles at her wrist. It's a charm bracelet.

"Neville?" she cries out.

I can't concentrate on what I say or what she is saying. She looks excited, though. But underneath it, I can see the pain she's fighting off and I want to wrap her in my arms and make it go away.

And that's how we end up here. Not in the Leaky Cauldron. Not a hotel. Not any place I'd dreamt of being in. Her flat. Alone.