Authors Notes: I'm just going to add a Snape disclaimer to this chapter, knowing full well that some of you might not appreciate my take on him. Through Heather, I feel like I am able to accurately express my personal thoughts on such a multi-faceted character, so I will refrain from stating them here. Let me just say, that by no means do I like the "He was the bravest man I ever knew," decision of the source material author, but I do believe that my Heather would be more open to accepting all sides of Snape, good and bad. Well, enough of that. Enjoy and please feel free to comment, even if it's just to tell me that I'm off my rocker.
Harry Potter and all its complicated characters belong to JK Rowling.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Returning to Hogwarts felt very different than it had nearly a month ago. Now that she knew she would be back here full time in only a few weeks it was hard not to look at the place in a whole new light. The nostalgia that was only mildly pleasant on her last walk up the grounds now assaulted her senses with each step.
Tonight, the gates were flanked by more than just the winged boars. Two full squads of DMLE officers backed up by aurors were providing security and everyone's names were being checked against a list before they would be allowed inside the grounds. Personally, Heather thought this was slightly ridiculous. The vast majority of those who had been invited to attend the ceremony had either been a member of the Order or Dumbledore's Army and would be more than a match for any Death Eaters who might take this opportunity to cause trouble, and that was only if they were able to get past the wards guarding the castle. Still, with the Minister, many Department Heads, and select VIP's in attendance, she supposed that the extra security couldn't hurt.
One of the officers wielding a probity probe warily approached Heather after her name had been checked against the list. Holding her arms out to her sides, she allowed the witch to run her over twice with the golden antenna looking device. As she was only carrying a small handbag, the search did not take long. Her holster, which she had been permitted to keep after resigning, would hardly have been appropriate to wear with her dress, and so she had built a pocket into the skirt that kept her wand hidden but easily accessible. It never hurt to be prepared after all.
Once the Weasleys and Hermione had been given a similar treatment, they all began the long walk up the grounds. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley talked fondly about their memories here as they walked, most of which seemed to involve late night strolls along the lake or other similar episodes. Heather had to smile at that, especially considering the grief she and Ron had been given for their many trips out of bounds. The path leading up to the front doors was well lit by light washing out from the many illuminated windows along with bright, floating lanterns every ten feet or so. About the time they had drawn level with Hagrid's hut, Heather was already regretting her decision to wear heels tonight. The ground was fairly dry, but the unevenness of it was starting to make her ankles hurt with the extra effort needed not to stumble.
They were not the first to have arrived by any means. Already two or three dozen people milled about the Entrance Hall conversing in low tones and wearing robes and dresses of many different colors, though black predominated. All of the doors leading off the hall were closed including those into the Great Hall. A red rope had been set up across the Marble Staircase, blocking access to the floors above. Another similar barrier had roped off a corner of the hall, behind which stood several members of the press. As far as Heather could tell from a cursory glance, Rita Skeeter was thankfully not among them. Beside the hourglasses a section of the floor had been thoroughly cleaned and two new torch brackets flanked the empty space. This must be the place where whatever monument Kingsley had commissioned was to be put after the ceremony tonight.
Unsure of who to go speak too, Heather saw a familiar transparent figure standing near the foot of the Marble Staircases and made for him.
"Hello, Nick," she said when she was close enough.
"Heather!" cried Nick, beaming down at her. "Welcome back!" In a conspiratorial murmur he added from behind a pale, see through hand, "rumor among the ghosts is that you are in fact returning to us for the upcoming term. While I would never deign to trade in such tawdry speculations, I was wondering…"
"Yes, Nick," Heather replied smiling, "I'm coming back. And you're free to tell anyone you want too about it. It's no secret."
Nick straightened and adjusted the neck of his doublet. "Splendid!" he boomed. "Now, if you will excuse me, my dear, I must go see a ghost about a sickle."
Heather watched him drift away with a chuckle. She knew that as much as Nick might claim to despise gossip and rumors, he was known to place the occasional wager with the other ghosts on them. Just what a ghost had to win or lose; she had no idea. Still, something had to amuse them in the afterlife and it may as well be that. She also knew that Nick was discreet and could be trusted, if there was ever something she didn't want to get out.
Her attention was taken up by a large figure wading through the crowd making almost directly for her. She smiled at Hagrid who, without noticing, brushed aside two doddering old warlocks who weren't paying attention. "Heather!" the gamekeeper turned Care of Magical Creatures professor boomed, scooping her up into his arms. He was wearing his nicest, and absolute worst, suit in honor of the occasion. It tickled Heather's bare skin. More than once she had tried to work up the nerve to tell Hagrid just how horrible the suit was, which could best be described as resembling an incredibly shaggy dog. She'd even be more than happy to help him find a replacement, but she'd never been able to get it out.
"Hello Hagrid," Heather said happily when she was released. Nothing could dim the joy she felt at seeing him. Hogwarts had always meant Hagrid, and she couldn't imagine the castle without him.
"Don't 'ave much time," he told her quickly, "Lots ter do before term starts. Almost couldn't get away for this, not that I'd miss it for anythin'.
"Big plans for lessons this year?" Heather asked silently glad she had dropped his subject. No matter how much she loved Hagrid, she had enough scars to last a lifetime.
"Loads, and," Hagrid straightened, looking extremely proud, "been made Head o' Gryffindor house."
"Congratulations!" Heather beamed, inwardly wondering through her excitement just how Hagrid would be able to fit through the portrait hole.
"Thanks a bunch," Hagrid said, his blushing cheeks only just visible past his tangly beard. "Can't wait to see yer and Hermione when yeh get back. Best be goin' now, gotta few more folks ter see before this thing starts."
Left alone again, the Weasleys and Hermione were nowhere to be seen in the crowd, Heather waited patiently at the foot of the staircase. No one else approached her there, which left her able to watching the majority of the crowd without having to turn her head more than a few degrees. "Relax" she told herself quietly after automatically glancing around at the many entrances onto the hall. Her auror training had taken over automatically, sending chills up her spine and setting her heart to race. "You aren't an auror anymore," she muttered without moving her lips more than necessary, hoping that no one think she was talking to herself.
She was spared any further introspection by the doors to the Great Hall opening of their own accord. Through them strode Professor McGonagall, wearing robes of forest green and her ever present bun under a pointed black hat, along with Kingsley. "If you would all please make your way to your seats!" called Professor McGonagall in a carrying voice honed by years of teaching. "We will begin the ceremony shortly."
As a body, the mass of witches and wizards migrated slowly through the now open doors and into the Great Hall. It had been decorated and laid out much the same as it had for the Yule Ball, minus the icicles. Underneath hundreds of floating candles, dozens of round tables surrounded by chairs had been set out replacing the four house tables. Near the far end of the hall, where the staff table usually stood, a large platform decorated in black cloth had been erected, with a podium in the middle and a row of a half dozen chairs behind it. Just in front of the platform, set a bit apart from the rest of the seating was a single large rectangular table that was clearly for Heather, Hermione, and Ron, as well as the rest of the Weasleys. From there it would be easy for them to be seen, and also make it easier for them to reach the platform when the time came for their awards to be presented.
The only other thing out of place in the familiar room was a large stone obelisk standing to the right of the platform. Heather worked her way around the edge of the room, bypassing her table for the moment at which the others were already seated, and approached the stone. It was made of some white stone and easily reached ten feet tall at the peak. On the side facing the hall was etched the Hogwarts crest and under it the legend,
The Fallen
Battle of Hogwarts
2 May 1998
Under this was a double column of names beginning with "R. Lupin" and continuing on down the face. Heather joined a small knot of people who had likewise come to inspect the memorial. They drew back slightly when they saw her, either out of respect or something else, she didn't know or care. One by one she read each name slowly, remembering each face. Though every one of them hurt, she occasionally smiled sadly at the thought of some long-forgotten joke or story she shared with them. She had finally accepted that they hadn't died for her, and that made saying goodbye one last time a tiny bit easier.
Eventually her eyes reached the last name, and she frowned. Someone was missing from the list, and she knew exactly why. Looking around, she saw Kingsley and Professor McGonagall standing with a handful of senior Ministry officials to the side of the platform watching the crowd filter in. Leaving the obelisk behind, Heather approached them.
"Excuse me, Minister?" she said loudly enough for the entire group to notice her.
"Yes, Heather?" asked Kingsley. His expression shifted after taking in the determined set of her chin, and a small frown formed between his eyebrows. "What's the matter?"
"There's a name that hasn't been added to the memorial," Heather stated, looking from him to Professor McGonagall, "and I think you know who I'm talking about."
Professor McGonagall let out a small sigh. "Potter, if this is about Severus Snape, I must insist you to let that matter drop. As I have already expressed to you, there is no concrete proof that Snape was anything more than Voldemort's spy within the Order, other than your word. To add his name to the memorial would be a slap in the face to each and every person who lost someone-"
"Is my word not enough?" asked Heather icily, now glaring at the Headmistress. "Should we take a trip into the pensieve? My memories, not to mention Snape's that I now possess, should be more than enough to-"
"Enough, Potter." McGonagall cut her off in turn. "This decision was made by the Minister and myself. Severus Snape will not be added either to the memorial nor to my office wall. That is all I have to say on the matter." Gathering up her considerable height, Professor McGonagall turned and faced pointedly away from Heather. Kingsley didn't look away, but he did look uncomfortable. "Listen, Heather, it's not exactly a good time to bring all of this up. Give us some time to review this, once everything really settles down, and then we can-"
"We can, what? Sweep it even further under the rug?" Heather bit out, feeling a sudden resentment towards Kingsley not unlike that which she'd felt towards his Scrimgeour and Sudge. "I thought your Ministry was supposed to be built on truth, Kingsley, no matter how ugly it might be."
Without waiting for him to reply, Heather turned on her heel and marched towards the empty chair in the center of her table. She was still fuming when she dropped into it, none to gracefully.
"What's up?" asked Ron, looking confused.
"Snape," Heather growled under her breath.
"What about him?" Ron pressed.
"McGonagall has some vendetta against him or something. She doesn't want to hear the truth about him, and she's gotten Kingsley to go along with her." When Ron still didn't understand she added, "his name wasn't listed on the memorial.
"Oh," said Ron slowly, "Well, c'mon. I mean, it's hard enough to accept that the git was on our side before Dumbledore's death. Afterwards, blimey, if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I doubt I'd believe it."
"Ron's right, Heather," interjected Hermione, leaning over on Heather's other side. "Snape may have been with us in the end, but no one is going to believe it. It's not that it's right," she said quickly, "but it's the truth."
Heather leaned back in her chair and glared forward. "I know that look," said Hermione softly. "What are you planning?"
"Don't worry about it." Heather said, ending the conversation.
Even as she worked out what she was going to do, a part of her wondered just why she was so upset about this. She hadn't ever liked Snape, how could she after everything he had done to her, not to mention her friends and Sirius. She wasn't even sure that she didn't still blame him, in a way, for her godfather's death. So why was this making her so angry? "It's the injustice of it," she finally decided. Whether or not Snape was the largest arse in history, he had given his life to bring down Voldemort just as much as anyone else. True, he had only done it because of a long held, and to be perfectly honest, creepy obsession he'd had with Heather's mother, but did that make his actions and sacrifice any less real?
The Great Hall fell silent around her as Kingsley climbed up to the podium. "Welcome everyone and thank you all for being here tonight. This evening has been long in coming, where we who fought can come together and acknowledge those who both gave their lives and who were able to bring about the final victory over Lord Voldemort." The usual shudder at the sound of Riddle's name rustled the crowd. "To begin the evening, I would like to say a few words."
Kingsley's words were soon lost behind the backdrop of whirling feelings inside Heather's mind. He certainly wasn't as dry as the speaker at Dumbledore's funeral had been, but trying to find and put together words that could convey the tragedy and victory of that night was next to impossible. It was something however that Kingsley was able to keep his speech from coming across as hollow and full of meaningless words like 'honor' and 'duty.' Still, it was hard for her to keep her focus on him and not on her irritation.
When Kingsley was done, McGonagall rose to speak, followed in turn by the rest of the Ministry entourage. This is when Heather lost all patience with the evening. Other than McGonagall, not one of them had even been present for the Battle, so why were they being given such places of prominence in the ceremony? She wasn't the only one who felt this, as an undercurrent of muttering began to break out as the third Senior Undersecretary started into his speech. At last, they were done and Kingsley returned to the podium. He must have been able to tell that the crowd was now restless, or worse, and so he quickly said, "And now, I would like to invite Ms. Hermione Granger to the stage."
Blushing slightly, Hermione rose and approached the platform. At the foot of the steps, she stopped and took in the obelisk for a long minute before ascending. One of the Ministry officials handed Kingsley a wooden frame, in which rested a large golden eight-pointed star on rich looking purple cloth. "Ms. Granger, it is with great honor that I present you with the Order of Merlin, First Class." Kingsley said, holding out the medal to Hermione. Amid loud applause, she took it with a whispered "Thank you" before retreating from the podium. Of the three of them, only Heather had been asked to speak. Now, considering just how many Ministry windbags had given speeches, this felt a little insulting.
Ron's turn was next. His face matched his hair as he too stopped to look at the list before being presented with his medal. Once he was back in his seat, Heather braced herself. "There are no words to truly describe the next person I to call," said Kingsley slowly, gazing out at the crowd. "She has given more than most to the cause of our freedom and has faced things that few could hope to come through unscathed. So, without further ado, I would like to invite Ms. Heather Potter to the stage."
Underneath the loud applause that broke out, Heather heard a small undercurrent on muttering, but she ignored it. Like her friends, she read the list of names on the obelisk before climbing the steps and approaching the Minister. Kingsley was beaming from ear to ear, but in the depths of his eyes, was that a hint of fear that Heather saw? She accepted the framed star amid more clapping and a few cheers before turning to face the crowd. Behind her, Kingsley resumed his seat.
Flashbulbs burst into life from the far corner of the hall where the press was still curtailed behind a rope line. Everyone had fallen silent now and Heather could feel the anticipation in the air. She looked once more at the tall, white stone, before clearing her throat.
"Thank you, Minister. This award doesn't belong to me," she began firmly. "It belongs to each and every person who fought here for our freedoms, and in particular, those who died doing so." She stared out across the hall and took a steadying breath. "It belongs to every single person who fought, died, and lost loved ones to Tom Riddle's evil, because without them, without you, Voldemort would still be alive today."
She could see, over the expectant faces looking back at her, reporters were quickly scribbling her words down in their notepads. "And it belongs to someone whose sacrifice in the effort to bring down Lord Voldemort has gone unnoticed, or in a few cases, outright ignored." Behind her she could hear Kingsley groan and felt Professor McGonagall's eyes boring into the back of her skull. The crowd was now almost literally on the edge of their seats, waiting for her to continue. "That man," she said loudly and clearly, enunciating each syllable, "is Severus Snape."
No one made a sound. Even the reporters managed to keep the noise of the quills silent. The air closed in around Heather. It was too late to back down now; she knew and so she pressed on. "Severus Snape was not a nice man. I won't even say that he was a good man. But, from the moment he learned that Tom Riddle was hunting my parents, he abandoned his master. He turned his back on the most evil wizard the world has ever seen and became the spy of Albus Dumbledore. Even after Riddle's downfall on Halloween almost seventeen years ago, Snape remained loyal to Dumbledore. He was constantly on the watch for Voldemort's return. And on the night Riddle finally returned, Snape, still working for Dumbledore, returned to Voldemort's side, begging forgiveness, and pledging undying loyalty. He managed what no other witch or wizard was capable of, fooling Lord Voldemort."
"Severus Snape did not murder Albus Dumbledore. Dumbledore was already dying when he arranged his death with Snape. A student at Hogwarts had been tasked with murdering Dumbledore on pain of death by Voldemort, and to protect that student's soul, Snape carried out the deed. Not to kill, but to release both Dumbledore and this student from gruesome fates. I cannot speak to Snape's tenure as Headmaster of Hogwarts School. I cannot say what he did or how he treated those under his power, but in the final hours of his life, even as the Battle of Hogwarts was being fought all around us, Snape was still working to bring about Voldemort's ultimate downfall. His final act was to give me the information I needed that allowed me to defeat Tom Riddle once and for all."
If someone had dropped a handkerchief, Heather was sure she would have heard it clear across the hall. She could see anger on many faces and plain shock on others. Ron looked dumbstruck, either at what she was saying, even though he knew all of this already, or merely at her audacity. "Severus Snape was not a kind man," she repeated. "He was prejudiced, he was flawed, he bullied his students, including me from the moment I set foot in this school. I do not think I could have ever counted him as a friend, but to let his sacrifice go unacknowledged is not something I am capable of. Thank you."
Her speech abruptly ended, she turned from the podium and crossed to the steps, pointedly ignoring the glares and whispers now breaking out all across the hall. In her anger she had forgotten to announce her resignation from the Ministry and intention to return to Hogwarts, which Kingsley had specifically requested. "Oh well," she thought. Being careful to meet no one's eyes, she lowered herself stiffly into her chair and faced the platform. As expected, Professor McGonagall's face was white with fury, and Heather returned it in equal measure. It was a long time, or so it felt, before Kingsley found it in himself to rise and return to the podium. "Well, that brings the awards portion of the evening to a close. Now I would like to invite all of you to rise and enjoy the rest of your evening here."
The dais was cleared, and the monument was solemnly levitated through the crowd and out to its permanent home in the Entrance Hall. A band mounted the steps and began to play. Food began to appear on tables, sent up by the usual method from the kitchen below. According to the program for the ceremony, this was supposed to be a time for people to reconnect and spend time with one another before the evening ended. For a long while no one moved, except for a small knot that instantly got up and stormed out of the hall. Heather didn't see who they were and didn't care. She sat with her arms crossed, glaring at nothing. The other occupants of her table drifted away, either to dance or mingle, leaving her there alone. She knew almost everyone was talking about her, but then again that was nothing new here.
"You look like you need a drink," a voice said from behind her. Heather turned in her chair to see Neville standing there with two goblets in his hands. He was dressed in fine robes of black with a high collar that looked a bit out of date but fit him well. "Don't worry, nothing but pumpkin juice, I made sure. Mind if I sit down?" he asked, his words coming out in something of a rush.
Heather shrugged and jerked her head at the empty chairs surrounding her. "Help yourself, it's not like anyone else is using them." Neville sat down and set one goblet in front of her. "So," Heather said after he was quiet for a moment, "I suppose you hate me for what I said about Snape?"
Neville sipped at his drink before replying. "Honestly, I probably should," he said evenly. "I mean, after all, for years I hated him about as much as I hated Bellatrix. And you didn't see what things were like here last year. Even if it was true and he was working for the Order, I'm still not sure it matters."
Heather shrugged moodily. "I can understand that feeling. He was a horrible tyrant even before he was headmaster, so I can imagine that was only intensified." Heather stretched her neck, rolling the stem of the goblet back and forth between her fingers while she slouched in her chair. "Listen, I don't blame you or anyone else for hating me-"
"I don't," Neville said suddenly, "hate you, I mean. How can I hate you for standing up and speaking the truth just because I might not want to hear it. I mean, beyond anything else I've known you for seven years. What with all we've been through, I don't think that hate is a feeling I could have for you."
"Look around, Neville. You're probably the only person in this room who feels that way." Heather scoffed, gesturing to the Hall with a lazy wave of her hand.
He shook his head. "They don't hate you, Heather. They'll come around; they always do. People just never want to hear an ugly truth when they can believe a pretty lie."
Heather shrugged. "Yeah, well, I'm still amazed you want to be seen with me right now."
"We've been friends' way to long for this to come between us. I mean, you were the person who left me petrified on the common room floor our first year, and I still talk to you after that." He risked a small smile.
Heather chuckled. "I remember right, that was Hermione and all you had to do was get out of the way. You just had to go and be stubborn."
"Something tells me that argument wouldn't exactly hold up in a court of law, Auror Potter." Neville grinned
"Ex-Auror Potter, thank you very much. My resignation went through yesterday." Heather said, tilting the forward in a mock salute and then raising it to her lips. Neville's next statement almost made her choke on a mouthful of pumpkin juice.
"So did mine," he said in a would-be casual way while pointedly looking away from her.
"What?" Heather exclaimed, trying to catch her breath. "Why?"
Neville smiled at her and shrugged. "I just don't think my parents would have wanted me to not finish school," he said. Something in his face gave away that this wasn't the whole truth.
"Uh huh, and what's the real reason, Longbottom." Heather replied nonplussed.
"My fight's over. I think my parents have been sufficiently avenged, and I'm tired. I think you know what I mean." Neville said somberly. "Besides, I have other reasons for wanting to come back to school." He added quietly, as if he hadn't meant to say that last part.
"Like what?" Heather asked, now extremely interested. "You got a girl you like or something?" He didn't reply, but his blush told her she was right. "Or…is it a boy…" she added, suddenly wondering that she'd never actually seen him pursue a girl, other than Hermione very briefly all those years ago.
"Girl," Neville grunted noncommittally, sticking a finger in his collar, and trying to adjust it.
"Who is it?" she cried in amazement. Neville looked away quickly, his neck now as red as his face. "Is it Luna?" Heather asked, "because you know, you two would make a cute couple."
"It isn't Luna," mumbled Neville.
"Hannah Abbott? I think she's always had a thing for you." Heather suggested. "Please tell me it's not Romilda," she said in disgust when Neville shook his head again. "Well then who…" her jaw went slack. Neville had turned to look at her, his face a mixture of embarrassment and earnest anticipation. "M-me?" Heather stammered. "You like me?"
Neville nodded, looking crestfallen. "You mean you didn't know?"
"What? For how…WHAT?" Heather stammered even worse, feeling her own face going bright red now.
"Err, never mind. Sorry for even bringing this up." It was Neville's turn to mumble incoherently now as he rose to leave. "Sorry." He managed again.
"Wait," Heather said, reaching out to grab his hand without realizing she was doing it. "Do…you really like me?" she asked. Neville nodded mutely but stopped moving away. She could feel his hand quavering in hers, and in that moment he looked much more like that young boy looking for his toad on the Hogwarts Express than he did a battle hardened auror. "I'm sorry, I just…I never thought of you like that." She continued, pulling him back towards her table a little.
"No, no of course you didn't," Neville replied, still not looking at her. "And that's all right, you don't have to or anything. I just thought that since…"
"It was you," Heather said across him. "You were the one who kept putting those glasses of water on my nightstand and getting me back up to bed when I was drunk." Her eyes traced Neville's arms, remembering how they had felt propping her up that night at the club. "And…you punched Justin…"
"Yeah, well. He deserved it." Neville said darkly.
"No question, but still. No one else stood up to him." Her voice sounded very far away as her mind raced back along the events of the summer, putting a new light on practically everything she had seen Neville do. He had been moved into Grimmauld Place when he had a perfectly good home with his grandmother. He had been glad to escort her, and everyone, to the club, and made sure she was taken care of. And during that disastrous intervention he had been the one to subdue her before she had been able to attack anyone, all without harming her, even unintentionally. "Neville, I…"
"Listen, this doesn't have to change anything. I'm sorry for bringing it up." He said earnestly. "I just…for some reason I worked up the nerve to say something tonight and now have completely put my foot in my mouth. So, listen. I'll catch you around at school, I guess." He tried to pull his hand away, but Heather held it fast.
"No," She stood and faced him. "You were honest with me, so it's only fair that I am too. I've never thought about you like that before, and…right now is nowhere close to the right time for me to be pursuing a relationship."
"Of course it isn't, you're right-" Neville said quickly but Heather continued.
"But, you had the guts to come over here and tell me how you felt, sort of, and I think that was incredibly brave of you. After all, telling the Heroine of the entire Wizarding World that you have a crush on her, that takes some guts." She prodded him in the chest with a smirk.
Neville still looked nervous but managed a weak smile at her attempted joke. "So, what now?" he asked.
In a tone of mock hurt that could have put George Weasley to shame, Heather pressed her free hand to her chest. "You mean you weren't going to ask me to dance?"
"You want too?" asked Neville, looking thunderstruck. "But, I thought you just said-"
"I said I wasn't ready for a relationship, and I'm not. But I am up for a fun evening with a great guy who means the world to me. Now, if you don't think you're up to it…" she trailed off teasingly.
"No, no. Come on, let's dance!" Neville exclaimed. He took a firmer hold on her hand and led her towards the dance floor.
The press was gone, Heather was thankful to see. Her head was still reeling at this revelation even as Neville rested a hand nervously on her waist and began to lead them around the floor. It was as though she were seeing him in two different lights at the same time. He was both the boy she had grown up sharing a dormitory with and going to classes alongside, while in the same instant he was also the grown man who had stepped forward by himself to challenge Voldemort and destroy the last horcrux. Was it really possible that this boy…no, this man could actually like her when he had seen her at her absolute worst not even two weeks ago? And just how long had he liked her in the first place? All these questions and others occupied her thoughts long into the evening, and she hardly even noticed the rest of the Great Hall watching her and Neville dance away the evening.
When the last song ended, Neville released his grip from her waist and looked sheepish. Heather decided he must have been lost in thought as well but wasn't entirely sure if she wanted to know exactly what those had been. The few remaining guests were now gathering their possessions and heading for the open door into the Entrance Hall. Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and the rest of the Weasley's must have already left, because there was no sign of them.
"So…" Neville said slowly. "What happens now?"
Heather considered him. "Want to escort me home?" she suggested.
Neville smiled from ear to ear. "I would love to," he said, extending his arm. "You're staying at Ron's place, right?"
"Yeah, don't worry I can get us there." The air outside felt very cool for an August evening, and Heather instantly regretted not bringing a jacket. The thin cover resting on her shoulders held in no heat, and her dress covered nothing above her breasts. Goosebumps broke out along her arms all the way up to her shoulders. Neville must have noticed this because he slid out of his jacket and wrapped it around her. "Thanks," Heather murmured. The jacket smelled like him, an earthy woody aroma that tickled her nostrils pleasantly.
There were lights on inside the Burrow, but no one was in view when they arrived. "Well, here you are," said Neville, who hadn't released her hand.
"Thanks for a wonderful night," Heather said, turning to him and gazing up at him.
"It doesn't change anything though, does it?" asked Neville, sadness tinging his smile.
Heather shook her head slowly. "For now, no. I'm just not ready for that. But you managed to make me feel really good about myself tonight. I didn't think that anyone could like me like that, especially not someone who had seen all of me that you have." Neville's ears went pink, and his eyes dropped from her face for a split second before returning. "That is not how I meant to phrase that sentence." Heather laughed. "What I meant was you've seen me at my utter worst, so the fact that you still like me either means that there must be something here to like, or you need to get your head checked out."
Neville smiled. "Who knows, could be both."
"Still, you have no idea how you made me feel tonight. And, you never know about the future, alright? Hermione's been drilling into my head since she got back that we have our whole lives to live now. So, there's time."
Neville nodded and turned to go. At the last moment, Heather's arm shot out. Her hand gripped tightly around his wrist, and she pulled herself back into his arms. Without thinking, she was standing on tiptoes and had kissed him. The contact lasted for less than a second, but it was long enough to make every inch of her skin burn and freeze simultaneously. Without another word she crossed the boundary of the wards and marched up towards the house, leaving Neville standing there looking dumbstruck. She hadn't even remembered to give him back his jacket.
Everyone was waiting for her in the kitchen. "Don't even start," Heather ordered Ginny, who was making kissy faces at her. She brushed past the table and made for the stairs before anyone could see just how red her face was.
"Oh, come on!" came Ginny's shout at her retreating back, "at least tell us if he's a good kisser!" Heather didn't respond.