Neville Longbottom was a now young man. He had long since lost his chubby exterior, growing into a tall, almost lanky, man. He had grown into his teeth too, it seemed. They were no longer bucked, but over the years had formed into a large, handsome smile. He was still quite clumsy though, as if he were still adjusting to his lengthy limbs. However, he was not nearly as forgetful, except around her. When he was around her, he got all tongue tied and his thoughts seemed to vanish in a cloud of smoke. It was most embarrassing.
From the first time Neville had seen Grace Adams, he had thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She had transferred to Hogwarts in his seventh year.
Dumbledore had made the introduction to his curious students one winter day. “This is Grace Adams,” he had said. “She is a transfer student from America. She has been sorted into Ravenclaw.” He smiled brightly. “I’m sure you will show her much kindness and make her feel very welcome.”
As she took her seat at the Ravenclaw table, Neville couldn’t take his eyes off her. She had long, shiny strawberry-blonde hair that fell to her waist, with little ringlets at the end. It swayed as she walked, and Neville found himself mesmerized by it. She had a petite frame, no taller than Hermione. He imagined her head would fall right about to his chest. She had the most beautiful blue eyes, with specks of green and brown in them. And, her smile was so sweet, it made him melt. He found himself wanting to talk to her and, at the end of dinner, he vowed he would do just that.
He met her in the hallway, a small group of girls surrounding her. He tried to speak, tried to introduce himself, but he had forgotten his name. He just stood there, stuttering as the group of girls around her began to giggle.
Just then, Luna Lovegood passed and said, “Hello Neville,” never looking up from her latest issue of The Quibbler.
Grace smiled sweetly. Neville found himself beginning to blush profusely. He turned and ran.
Now, three years later, he was sitting in the kitchen of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. The war was in full swing and The Order needed all the help it could get.
Ginny walked into the kitchen just as he had fallen asleep in his chair. As he began to slump over, he caught himself and jerked upright.
“Rough night?” she said with an understanding smile. No one was getting much sleep lately, with Voldemort on the move.
“Yeah,” he said as he rubbed his face with his hands. “I can’t fall asleep. I just lay there, knowing that when I’ll close my eyes, I’ll see things that I don’t want to see.”
“Drink some chamomile tea with honey,” said her sweet voice.
He hadn’t even heard her and Luna enter the room.
“That’s what I do when I can’t sleep. Decaf of course,” she added as an afterthought, with another sweet smile. “I’ll take your shift tonight if you want to try to get some sleep.”
She was so sweet, an angel really. “Th-thanks,” he stuttered. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Thank you,” he said, more firmly this time… , looking deeply into her eyes.
“No problem,” she replied warmly. “Just get some sleep. Well,” she sighed, “I better go get ready.” With that, she turned to leave.
After she had left the room, Neville sighed deeply
Luna and Ginny both looked at him.
“Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?” Luna said as she sat down next to him.
“Because every time I try to tell her, I get all tongue tied and start stuttering like an idiot,” he said frustrated. “Besides,” he softened his tone, “neither of us needs any distractions right now,” he said defeated.
“That’s just what Voldemort wants!” Ginny yelled, losing her cool. “We can’t stop living, stop loving just because it might actually make us happy!”
He had struck a nerve. Ginny and Harry had shared a strong, deep love, but he had pushed her away to ‘keep her safe’.
“Distraction or not, Neville, you’ve got to tell her how you feel, she went on.” If I’ve learned anything from this war,” she now had tears in her eyes, “it’s that you can’t worry about the what-if’s.” She placed her hand on his arm and looked pleadingly into his eyes. “You have to tell her how you feel. You may never get another chance,” she said desperately. Then she turned and ran from the room, crying.
He laid in his bed thinking about her. About what it would be like to love her freely, openly, without the confines of this bloody war. He thought about having her love in return and smiled. He didn’t know that he had fallen asleep among his pleasant thoughts, until he heard the ‘pop’ of someone Apparating into his bedroom. He knew that the wards placed on the house prevented anyone other than Order members to Apparate into the rooms. Still, this wasn’t a common occurrence and in the shock of waking from actual sleep, he was frightened.
“Who’s there?” he asked tentatively, gripping his wand tightly, his knuckles turning white. He heard the word “Lumos,” and a pale light entered the room.
It was Charlie Weasley. He didn’t have to speak; the expression on his face said everything. “The final battle has begun. We need you.”
There was another ‘pop’ and he was gone.
“Neville!” he heard his name and turned to see who the voice belonged to. He saw her running towards him, her long hair sweeping behind her. She ran straight to him, planting a passionate kiss on his lips. Was he imagining this, lost in one of his daydreams again? No, this was certainly no time for daydreams. This time she was real. At this realization, he began to kiss her in return, wrapping his arms around her petite frame. She pulled away, looking into his brown puppy-dog eyes. He stared deep into hers as she said in a shaky voice, “I just wanted you to know that I love you, Neville… Just in case I never get the chance to tell you again.”
Had he heard her right? She was in love with him?
“I-I love you too,” he stuttered. He couldn’t believe his ears. He had actually said it. The words that he had tried so many times to say. With that, they shared another passionate kiss. It was fireworks, chills, bells and whistles, and he swore to himself that if he survived this war, he was going to marry her.
She broke their kiss. Staring deep into his eyes, she said in a voice barely above a whisper, “Please be careful.”
He saw a single tear escape and run down her cheek. He wiped the tear away with his shaking hand. “I will. I promise,” he said as he pulled her onto one last sweet kiss. Then, he turned and was gone.
He heard her scream across the battlefield. Above all of the fighting, struggling and hexes being shouted, he heard her. The sound of her in pain hurt him deeper than any spell ever could have. Even the Killing Curse would have been preferred over living through her agony. He couldn’t help but look.
What he saw tore his insides apart. She had been fighting Bellatrix Lestrange. Somehow Lestrange had gotten the upper hand. His sweet angel was down on the ground, writhing in pain. No one was near to help her.
As he watched Bellatrix laughing manically, wand in hand, something inside him snapped. Bellatrix had tortured his mother and father to the brink of insanity, she had killed Harry’s godfather, Sirius Black, she had tortured and killed God knows how many others. She had caused so much pain, cost so many their happiness, and now she was hurting her, hurting his Grace.
He had no idea when his feet had started moving; he was running across the battlefield. He couldn’t see the flashes of green and red light from the misfired hexes, he couldn’t see the wounded and dead bodies scattering the ground; all he could see in his hatred was Lestrange. When he got within striking distance, he shouted the first spell that popped into his mind. “Avada Kedavra.”
She didn’t even see the shot that killed her. She was too busy torturing the pathetic soul under her wand. When the shot hit her, she had been cackling evilly. She stopped instantly, gasping for air. She felt a great pain in her chest. Her lungs were on fire and her heart felt like it was being ripped from her body.
She knew instantly what had happened. Someone had hit the great and powerful Bellatrix Lestrange with the Killing Curse. But who? You had to mean it for it to work. Who among Dumbledore’s feeble minions had the guts to send her to her grave?
Then she saw him, a fiery look of sheer hatred in his eyes. It was the Longbottom’s boy. She had tortured his parents and now he had become her downfall. With her last breath, she let out an angry scream and then she was gone.
Neville fell to the side of his sweet Grace. She was still convulsing in pain. He took her in his arms and pulled her close, rocking her gently as she wept.
For the first time, she felt something aside from her pain. She looked up and could barely make out the person holding her. “Neville?” she whispered and, at that, another wave of Bellatrix’s curse made her body convulse; she blacked out.
Neville had no idea how long he had been holding her. He never saw or heard anything. Suddenly, there was a monstrous cry that shook him from his trance and then… the fighting stopped.
Harry had defeated Voldemort with the help of Snape. Sending the final blow, Harry fulfilled the prophecy made so many years ago.
Not that each and every life lost for the triumph of good wasn’t a great loss, but compared to Voldemort’s followers, they were considerably well off.
Ron had lost an arm while defeating Pettigrew. Charlie had died at the hands of Dolohov. Firenze died protecting Hermione from an Unforgivable Curse. Dumbledore had died too, protecting Harry from Voldemort, giving him a shield of love, and Draco had been badly disfigured during his fight to kill his father. Other than that, everyone else escaped with only minor wounds.
On the other hand, nearly every one of the Death Eaters had been killed and the survivors who didn’t run to live a coward’s life, were quickly being taken to rot in Azkaban.
In the hospital wing, three days later, he sat by her bed. He had hardly moved in three long days. The dried blood from the cut on his brow still remained. He couldn’t bear to leave her side. What if she woke? What if she… died? All he could do was sit there, holding her hand, praying silently to anyone who would listen.
Most of The Order had gone, except for visitors coming and going. They had all been given anti-shock potions to help them cope. The only other member who remained in the hospital wing was Draco. His face had been mended, but it was no longer the flawless, aristocratic face he had had before the war. There was a deep scar above his right brow and another over the bridge of his nose and down over his cheek. He had been slipping in and out of consciousness. Every time he woke, he would pass out again from pain or exhaustion.
Ron had left the day before. Although he could not re-grow his arm, he had become quite skilled with his new magical one. Once he could grip, he had transfigured a simple gold band for Hermione, got down on his knee and asked her to marry him.
Everyone was pleased with the news. It was a nice step toward normalcy. Everyone agreed that Ron and Hermione were destined to be together and the war had taught everyone not to wait for love.
Harry and Ginny were also engaged. Harry had been exhausted after defeating Voldemort. He had slept for more than twenty-four hours. The moment he woke up and saw Ginny, sitting by his side, he had asked her, albeit very weakly, to marry him. She had thrown her arms around him with a sob and said yes many, many times. After that, Harry had smiled faintly and went back to sleep.
Tonks and Lupin had married that very night after the war. After everyone’s medical needs had been met, Minerva McGonagall had married them right there, in the hospital wing.
It was amazing how much happiness could come in the wake of a tragedy, but until she was awake, he could not, no matter how hard he tried, smile.
“Neville, why don’t you go get a shower and some rest?” It was Luna. He hadn’t even noticed her arrive. She went over to check Draco’s condition curiously, and then came back to him.
“No, I don’t want to leave her,” he said weakly.
“Go on Neville, I’ll stay with her and Apparate if anything happens,” she smiled. “Besides,” she said teasingly, “if she gets a whiff of you when she wakes, she might just black out again.”
He took his eyes from his angel and looked at Luna. “Do I really smell that bad?” he asked smiling.
“You could use a shower,” she said honestly.
He gave a nod and then turned to Grace, whispering in her ear, “I’ll be right back, Love, just going to freshen up a bit.” He took one last look at Luna, then Apparated home.
He was just going to take a quick shower and then return to the hospital, but the feeling of warm water running over his back caused him to take the longest shower of his life.
It’s over, he thought. So much of his life, it seemed, he had been preparing for the return of Voldemort. Now what? He stood under the water thinking about his options. He just didn’t know what he was going to do next, but he knew one thing; he wanted her to be by his side.
He shut off the water and wrapped in a towel. He went to his dresser, opened the second drawer and pulled out a burgundy box. He remembered as he felt the velvet under his touch, that his grandmother had placed it in his hand on her deathbed.
She had said in a weak voice, “This was your mother’s wedding ring. She would have wanted you to have it. Give it to someone special, dear.”
He had cried so hard when she passed. First his mother and father and now his Gran. He had felt so alone. After that, the Order had sort of adopted him.
He opened the small box and touched the ring. It was a gold band with a rather large opal set upon it. He examined it in the light. The stone sparkled blue and green, pink, orange and purple. It was a beautiful ring. He wished he could remember having seen it on his mother’s hand.
He dressed quickly, knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep, put the box in his pocket and Apparated back to the hospital.
When he returned, there was a crowd around Draco’s bed.
Luna had turned at the ‘pop’. “Draco finally woke up,” she said with a smile.
As though to prove the point, Draco groaned loudly. “I feel like my head got ripped off,” he whined.
“Almost correct…” Harry said as Madam Pomfrey began fawning over the blonde. “…but no cookie,” he finished, smiling.
“Sod off, Potter,” Draco said.
Harry smiled even wider. Over the years, they had reached a sort of truce. Malfoy, Draco that is, had become a rather good ally in the end. He, like Snape, had become a spy for the Order. He said he had realized after his initiation with Voldemort that he had chosen the wrong side. “Being foul and being evil, I’ve found, are two very different things,” he had told Dumbledore. Harry and many other Order members had thought Dumbledore had finally lost it, but, after willingly taking Veritaserum, Malfoy had proven his loyalty.
“You were hurt rather badly in the fight with your father,” Snape said.
At the mention of his father, Draco shot straight up, his eyes wide. “He didn’t get away, did he?” he nearly shouted.
Severus Snape smiled as he pushed Draco back down to the bed. “No, Draco,” he said softly, “you killed him with your last spell.” He had always thought of the blonde as a son and, having finally given up his father’s elitist ways, he was very proud of Draco.
Everyone had gone and Neville was once again alone in the hospital wing, resting on the edge of her bed. He heard a groan. He lifted his head.
Grace had finally started coming to. Neville watched as she furrowed her brow. Moaning lightly, she said, “Michael.”
What? Neville thought confused. Who is Michael? After all of this time waiting, he had hoped she would have wanted him by her side.
Suddenly, Grace snapped up. “Michael!” she cried desperately, gasping for breath. Her eyes went wide as she reached out her hand. He wasn’t there. It had been a horrible dream. She took a look around the room, slowly realizing where she was. Her eyes rested on Neville’s and she started to sob.
“Grace, please don’t cry,” he said very concerned. “Why are you so upset? Who’s Michael?”
At the mention of the name, she threw her arms around him and began to sob into his shirt.
Neville didn’t quite know what to do, so he just stroked her hair and said softly, “It’s gonna be ok. Shhhh.”
Slowly she began to quiet down. Still gripping his wet shirt, she said into his chest, “My brother, Michael… He was with me… He said he loved me, but he had to go…” Slowly she lifted her tear-filled eyes to meet his and took a shaky breath. “Michael died five years ago, before I came to Hogwarts. That’s why my parents left America.”
Neville was shocked that, for some reason, he hadn’t known this. “How?” he asked, quite dazed.
There was a long silence; she slowly closed her eyes and said, “He died in a car wreck. His best friend was a Muggle. Michael liked the feeling of the car going fast. They hit a patch of ice and flipped the car into a ditch.” She began to cry again. “Michael’s neck snapped. There was nothing anyone could do.”
Her last words were barely a whisper. She opened her eyes, tears streaming freely down her cheeks. “Oh, Neville,” she said looking into his eyes. He took her into his embrace tightly and kissed her head gently. She slowed her tears and, taking a deep breath, she said, “Sometimes I can feel his presence around me. He watches over me.”
They sat together for a long time, her in his embrace.
Neville heard a faint ‘pop’ and turned to see who it was. Madam Pomfrey had come to check on Grace. At the sight of her in Neville’s arms, she said, “Good heavens, she’s awake.” With that, she took to fussing over Grace. “Neville, go tell the others that she’s finally awake,” she ordered.
He stood slowly and, taking Grace’s hand in his, he said, “I’ll be right back, Love,” with a faint ‘pop’, he was gone.
Later that night, Madam Pomfrey released Grace into Neville’s care, giving him a long list of instructions.
There was a party held at Grimmauld Place, to celebrate that everyone had finally recovered, and to honour those who were lost.
Neville handed Grace a butterbeer as she learned of the events of the last few days. Harry told everyone how, with Snape’s help, he defeated Voldemort. She was told about Ginny and Harry’s engagement, then of Ron and Hermione’s. A smiling Luna informed her that Remus and Tonks were away on their honeymoon.
Then Neville pulled her aside and told her about his actions to save her from Bellatrix.
“I couldn’t bear to see you in pain,” he said emotionally, looking deep into her blue eyes. “Something snapped inside of me. I refused to lose one more person that I love to that awful woman.”
She looked into his eyes, hers becoming misty. “You really love me?” she asked with a little smile.
“Yes,” was his simple answer. “More than life itself.” He took her hand in his and, reaching into his robe, pulled out a little box. “I can’t imagine my life without you in it,” he said honestly.
He pulled her into the centre of the room, kissed her lips gently and got down on one knee.
Everyone stopped their chit chat and stared; you could hear a pin drop.
“This,” he said opening the box, “was my mother’s wedding ring.” He began to shake slightly. “She left it to me in the hope that I would one day give it to the love of my life.”
She began to tear up.
He took a deep breath, and then said, “Grace Adams, you are the love of my life. Will you do me the honour of becoming my bride?”
She smiled, tears falling down her cheeks. “I love you Neville Longbottom,” she cried as she knocked him to the ground, smothering him in kisses.
Everyone laughed and cheered as she said, “Yes! I will. I do. I love you. I love you. I love you.”