Pain and guilt

Neville's POV

I'm still not sure whether leaving Luna alone was a good idea. She looked so lost. But don't I look like that too. I stare at myself in the mirror.

What would Hannah have done?

I pause for a moment to think. I remember how kind is. Was. Her body. Her still body. Her selflessness and gratitude. Her loving and her caring nature. Her kindness.

The way she kissed me. The slow movement of her lips underneath mine. The careful way she handled me. The way she kissed my tears away when I was sad. Her arms.

My regret at leaving Luna overwhelms me. I push down the lingering guilt from the thoughts I'd had about Hannah. And the pain that bubbled in my throat. And the tears that studded my eyelashes.

I strip off my clothes. The clothes fall to the floor. I stare at my reflection for a second. Then I turn around.

The water flows down my back and chest in thick rivers. The droplets cling to my body, studding my skin in clear pearls. My hair is drenched. I choke on the water.

It runs down and I continue my shower anyway. Even after I finish rubbing shampoo into my scalp and rinsing it off, I stand still and let the water fall around me.

The mirror fogs. My face is misty blur from underneath. I stretch out an arm. A pearl of water drops. I press my hand against the mirror. Then I pull it back and stare at the clear print it makes against the fogged mirror.

HpHpHpHpHpHpHpHpHpHp

I change quickly. Pulling the clothes over my head like it's a race. Luna is still there. She's probably taking a shower now. The thought heats my cheeks.

I can't remember the last time I was alone. With a woman. I can't remember how it feels to live with a woman. To smell the fruity smell of her shampoo float around. To feel her presence. To have someone else make me a coffee. Like they cared.

And maybe Luna did. It was supposed to be a statement. But it felt like a question. A question mark lingering in my mind. I had done the right thing. It felt wrong to flee.

I was protecting myself. And Hannah. And Ally.

When I finish my bath, I go to the living room. Luna is sitting down on a sofa. Her hair floats down in springs and coils. She's bent over, studying something. It looked like an album. It feels wrong. Like I was spying on something private. A stolen moment in time. A precious one only meant for Luna.

"Luna?" I call out softly.

Her head snaps up. Her face is pretty. Really pretty. Beautiful. Her cheeks are flushed. Her lips are pink. Not red. A baby pink that makes her look younger. Her eyelashes are really long. They shadow her grey eyes. Grey eyes with flicks of gold. Grey eyes with cleverly hidden emotion lurking in their dreamy depths. She looks young. And vulnerable.

I can't believe this is my best friend. Mostly I can't believe that I'm thinking of her like this. That she made me feel a little less sad. I can't believe we've only seen each other for a night because it feels like all our untold secrets are lingering bittersweet in the air. Like memories of things that never happened. Like dreams that were never played out.

"I'm fine," she says, even though I didn't ask. Because I know she isn't anyway.

She shuts the album and stands up, shrugging her coat on and looping her handbag over her shoulder. I follow her outside. I wait for a minute while she locks the door with her keys and then her wand. And it aches that there's so little trust in the world. Because that man who kissed you yesterday may be a Death Eater. Because the waitress who's been serving at the same restaurant for years could be spying on you. Because there was nobody left to trust in this rotten world. With feelings hidden deep inside vengeful hearts. Black rotting the kindest souls.

We walk to the nearest Apparating stop. The red sources painted on the floor. Because people couldn't trust you to Apparate wherever you liked.

I am swallowed by the crowds. There's a war going on. Why were there so many people parading the streets? They hold banners. Their cries fill the air. They stomp their feet. And suddenly I'm a little panicked. Because this is London. And I'm not sure where I'm going.

"Protest," Luna remarks to me as we pass more and more crowds.

I nod. But I'm scared because I've never seen one so close. Never been so deep in the crowds. The voices of the people are deafening.

"No more war! No more war!"

"Peace!"

Beggars are there. A mother wearing rags, holding a baby to her bare breast, it's mouth latched on to a nipple. An old man with crutches. Children littering the streets. With and without their parents. Normal people. Standing up against the common problem. But my heart clenched, knowing that it is no use. The Death Eaters would kill them surely.

"You're going to get lost," Luna says and she grips my elbow to steer me away from another crowd of protesters.

She takes my hand. As soon as our fingers brush together, I feel a jolt of energy shoot up my arm. And it feels tingly. And I'm surprised because I've hugged her before, got so close I could have kissed her, and never felt like this before.

She runs her thumb down my palm. Tingles shoot over it. Electricity crackles where she touches me. This is stupid. I wish she would let go so that this would stop. This constant betting of my heart and creepy-crawly sensation on my hand.

We get there soon. There aren't many people there. Hardly any, in fact. Luna has her hand wrapped around my elbow now and I'm stiff underneath her, nerves bursting. What is wrong with me?

"Do you still have an Apparating license for London?" she asks and her voice is a little breathless.

"No," I reply, trying to ignore how nervous I'm feeling.

She holds me tighter and my stomach feels a little funny. I can't remember the last time a girl had held me so close. I can't remember the last time a girl had her hand on my arm. Most importantly, I can't remember the last time I'd liked it.

We spin around and the world blurs but Luna's hand is tight at my elbow. Too close for comfort, perhaps but I don't wriggle loose. Even though I could make her loosen her grip. I don't want her letting go, though. Even if my stomach is swishing with nervousness.

We're on the doorstep of a house. The Potters, I assume. Luna lets me go and I'm ashamed to feel a little annoyed at it. She steps slightly forward and knocks. I can hear a shuffle behind the door. Someone is there.

"Who is it?" whispers a voice.

Can't trust, can't trust

It rings through my mind. Luna turns and gives me a reassuring smile. Relief washes over me. This was normal. She was normal. My heart did something weird in my chest. She was really pretty when she smiled, I noticed. Really pretty.

"Luna," she whispers back.

The door opens. Ginny stands in the doorway. The smile slips off her face when she sees me. Her eyes widen Her jaw drops dramatically.

She looks tired. Her flaming red hair is pulled into a messy bun and she was wearing a baggy T-shirt with the words "Princesses Don't Cry" paired with black leggings. Her face looks the same. There's a smattering of freckles on her nose and they dust the rest of her body like a star sprinkled sky. Her eyes are just as hazel as ever. A bulge in her T-shirt indicates that she's pregnant.

"Neville," she whispers. "Oh my God, Neville."

"Hey, Ginny," I smile.

She reaches out and we hug. She's younger than me but she acts older. She's a lot like her mother in some ways. Her wedding ring glints in the light. She pulls back and inspects me in a way so like Mrs Weasley that it's creepy.

"Come on in," she says finally and pulls me and Luna into the house.

The house is really nice. It's warm and feels right. The living room is cluttered with things but it doesn't look dirty or messy. It looks right. Modern.

Harry is sitting in a chair. He looks pretty much the same but, like Ginny, tired. His glasses lean on the edge of his nose. His eyes glow emerald. The scar on his forehead is faded. Hardly there. But you can see it if you look close. A horrible reminder of what our past has been like. What our future might be.

Two little boys are playing on the floor. I recognise James and Teddy immediately. Teddy is older now. Nearly eight, I realise with a pang. Have I really missed out on so much? He's learnt to take control of his power. His hair is teal and black and his eyes are blue. James is Alice's age, but born in July. He's only one then. He stares at me. He doesn't remember. He is too young of course. I can't expect too much.

A little girl plays with the boys. It's Victoire, I realise. She's two years younger than Teddy, so turning six. She looks adorable. Her hair is wavy and silvery blond, like her mother's but her eyes are a softer and a darker blue than Fleur's: Bill's eyes. She wears tiny fairy wings on her back, a gift from her uncle George, no doubt. Her dress is yellow and she wears a ring of white flowers on her head.

The whole Weasley clan is here. Bill is holding Dominique, who is turning four in November, on his lap. He looks good. The scars have healed or maybe I've gotten used to them. His hair is still as long as ever and his eyes glow despite the difficult times.

Fleur was holding Louis. She was incredibly protective, I notice. She doesn't let him play with James. She looks as beautiful as ever. Her skin glows with the radiance of a thousand diamonds and her hair falls in a sheet of ice to her hips. Her eyes are cold but the ice in them has thawed.

Percy is not here. His family has already fled. George and his wife, Angelina, look dead tired. George is trying to smile but something indefinable haunts his expression. They have two children. Fred and Roxanne, both who are James's age. They're fast asleep, held carefully by their parents.

Ron and Hermione are pregnant again. Hermione has already suffered two miscarriages and my heart aches for her. She's smiling, though, and her hand lies on her baby bump. She looks happier than I'd ever seen her. Ron looks happy too. Exhausted but happy. His arm is snaked around Hermione's waist so that a palm lies casually over her hand on her bump.

For a moment, I stare at them. This was my family. The family who had loved me when nobody else did. They had made Hogwarts worth it. And I feel bittersweet, standing there as a rush of emotions crush me under their heavy weight. A sort of joy for them. To see them again. And sadness. Mingled with everything else. And everything over that.