Friday morning
Professor Neville Longbottom slipped into a booth at his favourite new restaurant—the Abbey in Hogsmeade. As part of his compensation, he had one breakfast and two dinners off per week, during which he was excused from his duties at Hogwarts Castle. He made it a habit to take his breakfast on Fridays, as that was the one morning the owner always took for herself. Before he could even open his copy of the Daily Prophet, the woman in question joined him.
"Professor Longbottom," she said with a formal tone.
"Madame Abbot," he replied with a slight nod.
"Please, it's my day off, too." She began to grin.
"My apologies, Mrs Longbottom," he answered, his face shining with boyish joy as they broke into wide smiles. He leaned across the table, kissing her rosy cheek warmly.
"So, how has your week been, darling?" Hannah admired her husband as he filled her in on the various goings on at the school. He was tall and dark-haired, and his fair complexion still made him prone to blushing. His eyes were kind and had lately become surrounded by faint smile lines. It was an honest face, the face of a good man, and she thought he was very beautiful.
As he recounted his fairly typical week, Neville watched his wife's eyes sparkle. His life had become predictable, comfortable, and even safe, but so long as he spent a few nights each week during the term with this beautiful woman—and all of his holidays—it was a happy life. Their closeness was central to his happiness, and he treasured her each day.
One of the servers brought their breakfast, and Neville poured the tea while Hannah distributed sausages and juice. She placed a plate with an egg-white omelette for herself and another with a soft-boiled egg with toast soldiers for her husband. He was too grown up to ask for them, but he smiled quietly whenever she provided them for him. He topped his egg and dipped a toast piece into the soft yolk.
"Did you hear the news?" Hannah asked, loading a bite of sausage and omelette onto her fork. "Harry's back."
Neville blinked rapidly, mouth agape and a smudge of yolk on his chin.
"Harry Potter?"
She laughed around a bite of breakfast, covering her mouth with a cloth napkin. She swallowed and washed her bite down with a sip of juice.
"How many Harry's do we know, Darling?" Before he could answer, she waived her hand dismissively. "From before the War, obviously."
"Is he in London? Or visiting Molly? We should ask him to stay here if he hasn't already made plans." Neville was talking with a quiet but urgent voice. "Harry, what has it been? Ten years?"
She shook her head. "Nearly twelve! Apparently, he's in Woking. With Luna."
He thought this over for a moment. "How long has he been back?"
She shrugged, taking a sip of tea and setting her cutlery down. Breakfast was forgotten, and the couple spoke together softly and passionately. Even after all these years, Harry Potter had that effect on wizard-folk of a certain age.
"We've been sent an owl. They're having a get-together, something called a Veiller, Saturday next, and we've been invited."
He tilted his head and observed her carefully. "And, you'd like to go?"
She reached out and took his hand comfortingly.
"Neville, do you honestly think I'm worried about you seeing Luna again?"
He blushed and looked down at his egg. "No," he muttered.
"I love you. It's been a long time. We should go see our friends."
He nodded, then looked up. "Oh, goodness!"
"What?"
His eyebrows reached upward, eyes wide. "Do you suppose they've invited Ginny?"
She matched his expression. "I've no idea, but I wouldn't miss that reunion, would you?"
