Half-life


I


The important thing is not to cry, her mother would have said. Although her mother had died many years before, Molly was sure that Muriel would loudly express the same opinion. She would probably go straight from the funeral to afternoon tea with her friends, where she would gossip about Molly’s ‘mistake’, and proclaim that Molly would be so much better off without that ‘funny little man.’

When Molly had eloped with Arthur, she had been infuriated by her family’s response. Later, as her relatives accepted her choice of a husband, but still strongly disapproved, she found it amusing, laughing with Fabian and Gideon about what a disappointment they all were, and how they didn’t care because they had each other, and their chosen partner. Now, however, she could find it neither humorous or angering. There was no room for any emotion around the sadness that saturated her body.

You have to be strong for your boys, Muriel said. But Molly was not sure that was true. At Christmas, Harry, Sirius and Hermione walked around the Burrow uncomfortably, unsure how to deal with the Weasley family’s pain. Percy had come home, embraced her, and she’d burst into tears. Every cloud had a silver lining, but this cloud was possibly the only way Percy would ever have come back.

While she had often said Harry and Hermione were practically part of the family now, this made it clear that they weren’t. How could they be? She had lived with and loved Arthur for over thirty years, she had had seven children by him, had been raising seven children with him. They had lost a father they had known and loved. How could Hermione, Harry and Sirius understand that?

When would it have been all right for Arthur to die?

Never, for her. Molly was not one to think about her own death, but when she had, usually at funerals, she had always imagined dying in bed, with Arthur by her side, both leaving this world within a few months of each other.

But for the children. When would they have been old enough that their father dying would no longer break their childhood? When they had children of their own? Grandchildren? Arthur would never be a grandfather. How was that possible? How was that fair?

In a way, they didn’t want her strong. When she cried, it laid their grief out in the open, caused them to cry, and if you couldn’t cry when your father had died, when could you?

They spent Christmas in each other’s arms, trying to understand a world without their father, a world which shouldn’t exist.

Dealing with a dead Arthur was like forgetting how to breathe, and they all just had to hope they’d be able to learn how to do so without him.

Come January, her four youngest went back to Hogwarts, Bill moved in with Fleur Weasley, something she would have argued against, but now just thought he should take what happiness he could, even if she expected the Frenchwoman to leave him heartbroken. Charlie and Percy moved back into the Burrow.

Molly overheard them saying it was for her, but knew it was just as much for them as well. Charlie was working in Wales, Percy was repenting, helping around the house, degnoming the garden, going to work but as his heart was no longer in it, he was soon fired. Molly liked him being around the house, liked looking up from cooking and seeing him sitting at the table and having him as part of the family again. But she didn’t want him to fall into a rut, and so she badgered him about getting a job, and eventually he did and she felt happy for him.

She didn’t like the evenings, expecting Arthur to walk in, and seeing Percy instead, and part of her feeling disappointed at the sight of her son, and then guilty for it.

Charlie suggested she volunteer at the Welsh dragon Sanctuary. They always needed volunteers, he said, to help with administration and the educational side. This didn’t appeal to her, but volunteering did, and so she began to work at St. Mungo’s.


II


Neville was sitting beside his mother, holding her hand. She was asleep, as was his father, but Neville didn’t want to leave just yet. He had come to St. Mungo’s without his grandmother’s knowledge, something he’d never have imagined doing a few months before. A lot had changed.

It was a bitter sort of comfort, to know that he had it in him to at least try to be as brave as his parents. Perhaps one day he’d be lying in a bed next to him, and his grandmother would be the one holding his hand, remembering the boy he’d once been.

On his birthday, his grandmother asked if he wanted to invite any friends around, but he said no. Neville wasn’t sure why, but thinking about it later, decided that it was because they didn’t know about his parents. Ron might, but he doubted the others did, and Ron would probably assume they knew anyway. Harry definitely would not. And somehow it felt wrong to invite people who were ignorant of the fact his parents were alive but not, into his home.

Harry could remember his parents. Neville had once overheard him talking about it with Hermione and Ron, and he’d felt jealous. It wasn’t that he begrudged Harry these few fleeting memories, but wondered why, where his parents should be, all he could see were two people who either had a dull or terrified expression and swung between the two without warning.

As good as dead.

Perhaps Ron now knew slightly how he felt. Maybe Harry would feel a fraction of it, now his godfather was dead. But certainly over the past few months Ron had been more morose, less willing to joke, and when he did, it was always with effort. There was also a determination about him which hadn’t been there before, and when his brothers had made their escape from Umbridge’s regime, Ron didn’t laugh, but watched them with a grim smile.

But at least Ron still had one parent, and could remember the love of another. Having said that, when Neville had visited St. Mungo’s over Easter, and seen Ron’s mother moving around the hospital. She’d also been moving slowly, but had seemed happy enough, keeping it together, distracting herself with volunteer work.

Perhaps some days she visited the Closed Ward and held Frank’s hand. Neville knew the Trainee Healers were sometimes told to do this, as the sound of human voices talking, whatever gibberish it was, seemed to soothe the minds of the mentally disturbed. They told him that his voice had the biggest impact, but he suspected they were just being kind.

Squeezing Alice’s hand tightly, he stood up, realising that when he got home he was in for a bollocking, but for once, not caring.


III


War changes them both.

Molly refuses to let her family get hurt again, and fights at every opportunity, surprising most Order members with her duelling prowess. Once, their surprise at what the dowdy, slightly chubby housewife and mother was capable of, would have pleased her for days, but not any more. She smiles briefly, and then continues. When she kills Bellatrix Lestrange, she doesn’t even think before she casts the spell. Bellatrix had tried to hurt her daughter. Bellatrix could never be allowed to do that. It was simple.

But still at the end, she finds herself and her family surrounding another body. This time she does not cry, but she has no idea whether this is better or worse.

Neville grows tough. With Harry absent, he finds himself capable of coordinating activity, of being listened to, and of being obeyed by the sheer force of his will. Sometimes it scares him that he can dominate people in that manner, even though it’s in the service of a good cause. He never loses faith in the importance of rebelling, and to some extent enjoys having something tangible to fight against.

But when he kills the snake, he’s not thinking about glory or heroism or other words which will be applied to him in years to come. He’s thinking that this is what Harry told him to do, and if it will defeat Voldemort, he would do anything. But nothing would bring his parents back from their half-living, half-dead state

At the end, he watches Molly stand with her children around Fred’s body. He watches other people cry over loved ones, and wonders if, when his parents die, he will shed a tear for them. It is a question he cannot answer.


IV


Neville likes working at St. Mungo’s. Nowadays, when he walks in the street, even if no-one directly approaches him, he can hear the whispers surrounding him.

He killed You-Know-Who’s snake, spoken with awe.

Sometimes, if he’s in a bad mood, he’ll confront them and demand that they say Voldemort. This leads him to be associated with the many sad young men and women who cannot deal with what they’ve done and what they’ve seen, rather than the seemingly rarefied beings of Harry, Ron, Hermione, Luna and Ginny. Neville sees them sometimes, and they look tired and somewhat stunned, as if living in a world without Voldemort is something they had not expected, but happy. Neville does not know how he feels about a post-Voldemort world, but he certainly isn’t happy.

Molly likes working at St. Mungo’s. Nowadays, when she walks in the street, even if no-one directly approaches her, she can hear the whispers surrounding her.

She killed Bellatrix Lestrange, spoken with awe.

A few people thought she should have been arrested and tried for that. Rules were rules, they said, and there was no clause in the law that said, ‘Use of Unforgivables permitted when daughter threatened.’ But Molly didn’t care what they said, and no one came knocking on her door hauling her in.

Both enjoy St. Mungo’s precisely because, in the midst of life and death, no-one has time to question their past deeds and glories. The present becomes most important, and no-one else cares about their pasts or their futures.

Neville has the rest of his life ahead of him, but all he can do is look back. Molly feels as though she has already lived, and will spend the rest of her life sifting through her memories and regrets and never living in the moment. Being in a hospital, for both of them, is an escape from their own solitude.

Both work night shifts. Neville, because if he’s working at night then it’s easier to avoid his friends, and Molly because she prefers being in The Burrow alone by day. She’s used to that. At night, still, she sometimes reaches across the bed and expects to feel his hair in her hand, his soft skin. Sometimes she lies there with her eyes closed, imagining him breathing next to her, and cursing the daylight which forces her to confront his absence.

They have coffee breaks together. There’s a few of them on break at the same time, but Molly and Neville find themselves drawn to each other. In a place like this, age is no longer a barrier. Neither ask too many questions. They do the crossword together, sometimes discuss the news, or the weather. Little things, which build up until they are comfortable in each other’s presence.

When the Healers ask if Neville wants his parents to be painlessly killed, it’s Molly he discusses it with. She is touched by him confiding in her, and valuing her opinion. He is touched that she’s willing to give it, and doesn’t judge him for considering it.

He says no. He likes being with his parents, knowing they’re breathing, knowing they’re here and alive, even if it’s a poor version of it. It’s something.

A girl he remembers from Hogwarts, Romilda Vane, says yes. He does not see it happen, but a few weeks later, he finds her on the Closed Ward and asks what she’s doing there.

“I don’t know,� she says, staring at the bed her mother had slept in ever since Bellatrix had tortured her into insanity a few years before. “My feet led me here.�

Neville’s shift is just about to finish, and it’s only eleven, so he offers to buy her a drink. He’s not sure why, but several drinks later, she kisses him, and he wonders if the next morning she’ll be telling people she fucked Neville Longbottom. He’s never fucked anyone in his life, and although intrigued and attracted to the beautiful girl running her hands across his body, he finds himself numbed and not fully able to enjoy the moment. Nor does he care that it’s blatantly obvious he’s never done this before.

The morning after is awkward. He lies awake, knowing he does not need to be in hospital until three in the afternoon. He thinks that if he were in love, he would make her tea, and perhaps breakfast in bed, but instead, he’s lying awake, eyes closed, hoping that she’ll go soon. She would complicate things, and he wants his life simple.

Eventually, however, he needs the toilet so badly, he cannot wait, and so climbs out of bed, and when he returns, she’s sitting upright, smiling, and he blushes. He would have thought his obvious embarrassment would annoy her, but instead she seems to find it endearing, particularly when he goes to the kitchen to allow her to get dressed. She emerges and hugs him, scrawls her address on a piece of parchment, and asks him to write.

That evening, he sits at the table, sipping coffee, when Molly joins him, newspaper in one hand, tea in the other.

“I slept with someone last night,� he says.

Molly looks up in surprise, feeling the lines on her face crinkle as she looks from the newspaper to Neville. She’s never thought about Neville as a man her youngest son’s age, a man who has sex. It’s none of her business anyway, and she’s not sure why Neville’s making it her business, so just says, “Oh?�

“Yeah,� Neville says, a hardness in his voice, as he looks at his hand curled around the coffee mug, instead of at her. “I’ve not slept with anyone before, and it was awkward, and I--� He stops, not sure why he’s saying this, other than it has been consuming his thoughts all day. Because now he’s not in Romilda’s presence, he thinks about what she said, and what they did together, and enjoys the memory, while feeling guilty for contemplating them in a place of the living and the dead.

He doesn’t need someone. It’s why he works so hard. It stops him thinking too much. It stops him living.

“What’s her name?�

“Romilda Vane.�

“Oh,� Molly says, nodding in recognition, remembering the pretty girl who had cried into Molly’s arms when her mother was euthanised only a few weeks before. Romilda was in a vulnerable place, and probably shouldn’t have slept with anyone, but Molly knows Neville probably didn’t think about that, and if he had, would have said no. And Molly thinks better Neville, someone who understands a bit of how she feels, than a stranger at a bar.

“Do you like her?� Molly asks.

“I think so.�

Molly smiles, remembering her younger self overhearing Arthur talking to his friend and using those exact same words to describe how he felt about her.

“ ‘I think so’ is sometimes good enough. Does she want to see you again?�

“Yeah.�

“Then try it. You will find that usually, but not always, it’s the things you didn’t do that you regret the most.�

“What’s your biggest regret?� Neville asks. There’s a noise which means their break is ending soon, and then they’ll go to different wards. And Neville feels that Molly will only allow this intimacy to happen once, and he likes and respects Molly, and does not want to regret not taking advantage of it.

Molly’s face suddenly weakens, the lines lowering, lips trembling slightly, and Neville instinctively holds her hand. She smiles, warmed by this gesture, but then finds herself unable to tell this young man with so many things yet to accomplish, that her biggest regret was not being there in Arthur’s stead, when the snake bit him. This is a selfish thought, but one she has recently managed to accept as part of herself, even if she will not disclose it to another soul.

Loosing her hand from Neville’s grip, she sits up and says, “The other day I was doing some clearing out. Arthur has hundreds of books on Muggle things, how things work, manuals, that sort of thing, and I can’t bear to throw them out. And when he bought one, he would read it in one sitting, put it down, and then never look at it again. He’d spend hours tinkering and messing around, when he could have just read the book as he went along, but he said that wasn’t in the spirit of it.

“I found one book, a children’s book, and explains this thing called radioactivity. Arthur didn’t understand it, but was fascinated by it, and tried to get some radioactive substances to experiment with, and got himself into trouble for a bit, but that’s by the by. I was reading this book, and one phrase jumped out. When a substance is radioactive, it means it’s decaying, or something, they use the term ‘half-life’ for the amount of time taken for the substance to decrease by half.�

Neville nods, not really understanding where Molly is going with this, but intrigued.

“And I thought that, were it conscious, and if it had that number applied to it, and it knew it had that much time to live, wouldn’t it live all the more? Because sometimes I think that there’s nothing left for me. There’s friends and family and the potential for grandchildren, one day, but all of that is on a path downhill, a path I wish were shorter. And you, you are just starting. You have the rest of your life in front of you, and you don’t know how long you’ll live, but just pretend it’s short. Don’t end your life regretting having only lived it by halves.�

Neville stares at her, not sure what to say. Molly laughs, standing up, and taking his empty mug, voice taking a humourously stern tone, as she says, “I will stop preaching now, as long as you promise to listen to me, and ask Romilda out on a date.�

He nods, smiling, and seeing her not just as his friend, but simultaneously as Ron’s mother. She is about to turn to take their mugs to the sink, when he asks, “Do you think you lived your life by halves?�

Molly laughs. He’s never heard her laugh like that before, a joyful amused roll of laugh upon laugh, and she clenches at her stomach, and has to sit down again, for fear of stumbling. When she’s done, she wipes the tears from her eyes, and says, “I certainly did not live a half-life. I was happy, for so many years, and if you are happy, then nothing else matters.�

A Healer comes in, and announces the break as over. Neville walks to his ward, and starts preparing poultices, and Molly goes to the Closed Ward, and talks to the patients who cannot understand what she’s saying. And the next morning, Neville will write to Romilda, and that evening panic with Molly about what he’s going to wear and what restaurant he should take her to. Molly will smile and give advice, loving talking to a friend who has yet to live his life, and in doing so, feeling all the younger, and thinking that, perhaps, her life has not yet been entirely lived out.