Fic: At Least One Third Luck
Title: At Least One Third Luck
Summary: Hannah's life after the war has its ups and downs, but she might just have a ticket to the future.
Characters/Pairings: Hannah/Neville
Genre: Romance, Fluff, I guesss
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for uh slight swearing I guess
Word Count: 1,157
The thing about time is that nothing is ever clear cut. Everything is fluid and changing, events interlinked and entwined. The start and the end of the war aren’t absolutes as much as they are arbitrary and individual. For Hannah, the start of the war was when her safe existence in the Hufflepuff common room was ripped to shreds by the death of her mother. And she supposes that for Harry Potter himself, the first and the second war was never really two separate things. Objectively, the war ended when Voldemort fell. Individually, it hasn’t ended for most of them if only because it still hurts in so many ways.
Hannah feels that most of the time her life really is rather nice. It is - she’s not making it up. She’s still alive, she has a job working at the newly reopened Florean Fortescue’s and when she meets Ernie at the pub, she laughs so hard that her stomach aches and the corner of his eyes crinkle in that way that’s always made her heart so fond because he’s her best friend and he has crinkly eyes. So really, her life is rather nice. But then there are the nightmares that wake her in a cold sweat, the knowledge that she never finished Hogwarts and the crippling feeling of loss.
(She doesn’t know what loss she feels so keenly, exactly. Maybe it’s the loss of her mother, maybe it’s the loss of her innocence or maybe it’s the loss of her N.E.W.T year. Or maybe it’s all of them, because really: that would make sense.)
She sees a Mind Healer at St. Mungo’s because one day she stopped being afraid of being too weak and started being strong enough to ask for help. It lifts something from her shoulders - something heavy and indefinable that’s been there for months, maybe even years, maybe even before there was a reason to feel that way. She feels lighter, happier, and less guilty. It’s weird how it is: how bad she’s felt about being alive and happy sometimes, when it feels like she should use every waking moment mourning what she’s lost.
So that’s why she’s there (on that day, at that exact time, on that exact floor) when the door swings open and she nearly barrels straight into another person, only finding herself standing because arms have reached out to hold her in place. She looks up and it’s a familiar face, a face that makes her think “Hogwarts!” and a nostalgic smile tugs at her lips almost a little painfully.
“Neville!” she says, beaming. “It’s Hannah.”
“Hi,” he says, his lip quirking slightly as he lets go of her arms. “Yeah, I recognise you.”
They begin walking together towards the lifts by some silent agreement.
“Oh good, you never know right? I mean, Hogwarts feels like ages ago and you know, we change a little even though it might not be much, and, yes,” she babbles, biting down on the inside of her cheek to stop the words.
His smile grows even wider and if it hadn’t been Neville she might have felt a little mocked. “After I saw you send three Death Eaters off a bridge in one blow, I think it’d be kind of hard to forget your name, actually.”
“Ah, well,” she mutters, feeling her cheeks heat a little. “That was an accident, mostly.”
“Really. You accidentally threw three Death Eaters off a bridge?”
“Yes,” she admits, smiling a bit sheepishly. “It was a very skillful way of accidentally killing Death Eaters, though. It was at least twenty five percent planned.”
Neville throws his head back, laughing heartily, and Hannah briefly wonders if she’s ever heard him laugh like that before. It’s not that they’ve ever really interacted that much, but whenever they had, he’d always been fairly quiet and almost guarded.
When he winks at her, she’s even more caught off guard and she’s mortified to feel a blush creeping up in her cheeks. “If you promise you won’t tell anyone, I’ll admit that killing Nagini was at least one third luck.”
“Then we’ve just got to be supremely lucky, don’t we?”
“Apparently we are,” he says.
The ride in the lift is quiet and all the words that seemed to have tumbled out of her earlier seem to be stuck in her throat now. She can’t think of a single thing to say because for some reason she keeps replaying Neville winking at her and what the fuck is up with that exactly? Throwing a look at him out of the corner of her eyes, she shuffles a little in place.
“It was nice seeing you again, Hannah,” Neville says as they step out of St. Mungo’s at the same time.
“Yeah, you too,” she answers quietly to his back.
***
It’s a busy few days at the Ice Cream Parlour and yet Hannah’s had so much time to think about Neville that for a moment she’s afraid that she’s somehow summoned him when he suddenly stands next to her at the till.
“Neville!” she blurts before she can stop herself and then looks down at her hands in an attempt to gather her wits.
“Hey, Hannah. Do you have any plain chocolate?”
She looks up and forces herself to smile. Her co-worker, Rose, gives her a strange look and Hannah realises she hasn’t actually answered his question.
“Oh! Yes, we do. What size do you want?”
“Medium’s fine,” he says and she can feel his eyes on her as she works quickly, used to the routines to the point where she barely has to think about it now.
“There you go, that’s 5 sickles,” she says, trying to keep her hand steady as she holds the ice cream out.
“Thanks.”
She waits for him to move out of the line, but he stands there looking lost for a moment and she tries not to fidget. Looking at him becomes difficult and her eyes dart around to the point where she’s sure she looks completely ridiculous.
“So, uhm, Hannah,” Neville says, his voice wavering slightly. “Do you think our luck’s run out?”
Her breath hitches as she looks up at him, searching his face for… she’s not sure what, exactly.
“No,” she says truthfully, “I don’t think it has.”
The beaming smile he gives then makes her smile back without even thinking about it and she doesn’t even care that the person behind Neville in line is shuffling impatiently. He slips a note out of his pocket and she takes it, cradling it carefully in her hand as if it’s her ticket to the future.
Ing//Puff//39
Summary: Hannah's life after the war has its ups and downs, but she might just have a ticket to the future.
Characters/Pairings: Hannah/Neville
Genre: Romance, Fluff, I guesss
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for uh slight swearing I guess
Word Count: 1,157
The thing about time is that nothing is ever clear cut. Everything is fluid and changing, events interlinked and entwined. The start and the end of the war aren’t absolutes as much as they are arbitrary and individual. For Hannah, the start of the war was when her safe existence in the Hufflepuff common room was ripped to shreds by the death of her mother. And she supposes that for Harry Potter himself, the first and the second war was never really two separate things. Objectively, the war ended when Voldemort fell. Individually, it hasn’t ended for most of them if only because it still hurts in so many ways.
Hannah feels that most of the time her life really is rather nice. It is - she’s not making it up. She’s still alive, she has a job working at the newly reopened Florean Fortescue’s and when she meets Ernie at the pub, she laughs so hard that her stomach aches and the corner of his eyes crinkle in that way that’s always made her heart so fond because he’s her best friend and he has crinkly eyes. So really, her life is rather nice. But then there are the nightmares that wake her in a cold sweat, the knowledge that she never finished Hogwarts and the crippling feeling of loss.
(She doesn’t know what loss she feels so keenly, exactly. Maybe it’s the loss of her mother, maybe it’s the loss of her innocence or maybe it’s the loss of her N.E.W.T year. Or maybe it’s all of them, because really: that would make sense.)
She sees a Mind Healer at St. Mungo’s because one day she stopped being afraid of being too weak and started being strong enough to ask for help. It lifts something from her shoulders - something heavy and indefinable that’s been there for months, maybe even years, maybe even before there was a reason to feel that way. She feels lighter, happier, and less guilty. It’s weird how it is: how bad she’s felt about being alive and happy sometimes, when it feels like she should use every waking moment mourning what she’s lost.
So that’s why she’s there (on that day, at that exact time, on that exact floor) when the door swings open and she nearly barrels straight into another person, only finding herself standing because arms have reached out to hold her in place. She looks up and it’s a familiar face, a face that makes her think “Hogwarts!” and a nostalgic smile tugs at her lips almost a little painfully.
“Neville!” she says, beaming. “It’s Hannah.”
“Hi,” he says, his lip quirking slightly as he lets go of her arms. “Yeah, I recognise you.”
They begin walking together towards the lifts by some silent agreement.
“Oh good, you never know right? I mean, Hogwarts feels like ages ago and you know, we change a little even though it might not be much, and, yes,” she babbles, biting down on the inside of her cheek to stop the words.
His smile grows even wider and if it hadn’t been Neville she might have felt a little mocked. “After I saw you send three Death Eaters off a bridge in one blow, I think it’d be kind of hard to forget your name, actually.”
“Ah, well,” she mutters, feeling her cheeks heat a little. “That was an accident, mostly.”
“Really. You accidentally threw three Death Eaters off a bridge?”
“Yes,” she admits, smiling a bit sheepishly. “It was a very skillful way of accidentally killing Death Eaters, though. It was at least twenty five percent planned.”
Neville throws his head back, laughing heartily, and Hannah briefly wonders if she’s ever heard him laugh like that before. It’s not that they’ve ever really interacted that much, but whenever they had, he’d always been fairly quiet and almost guarded.
When he winks at her, she’s even more caught off guard and she’s mortified to feel a blush creeping up in her cheeks. “If you promise you won’t tell anyone, I’ll admit that killing Nagini was at least one third luck.”
“Then we’ve just got to be supremely lucky, don’t we?”
“Apparently we are,” he says.
The ride in the lift is quiet and all the words that seemed to have tumbled out of her earlier seem to be stuck in her throat now. She can’t think of a single thing to say because for some reason she keeps replaying Neville winking at her and what the fuck is up with that exactly? Throwing a look at him out of the corner of her eyes, she shuffles a little in place.
“It was nice seeing you again, Hannah,” Neville says as they step out of St. Mungo’s at the same time.
“Yeah, you too,” she answers quietly to his back.
***
It’s a busy few days at the Ice Cream Parlour and yet Hannah’s had so much time to think about Neville that for a moment she’s afraid that she’s somehow summoned him when he suddenly stands next to her at the till.
“Neville!” she blurts before she can stop herself and then looks down at her hands in an attempt to gather her wits.
“Hey, Hannah. Do you have any plain chocolate?”
She looks up and forces herself to smile. Her co-worker, Rose, gives her a strange look and Hannah realises she hasn’t actually answered his question.
“Oh! Yes, we do. What size do you want?”
“Medium’s fine,” he says and she can feel his eyes on her as she works quickly, used to the routines to the point where she barely has to think about it now.
“There you go, that’s 5 sickles,” she says, trying to keep her hand steady as she holds the ice cream out.
“Thanks.”
She waits for him to move out of the line, but he stands there looking lost for a moment and she tries not to fidget. Looking at him becomes difficult and her eyes dart around to the point where she’s sure she looks completely ridiculous.
“So, uhm, Hannah,” Neville says, his voice wavering slightly. “Do you think our luck’s run out?”
Her breath hitches as she looks up at him, searching his face for… she’s not sure what, exactly.
“No,” she says truthfully, “I don’t think it has.”
The beaming smile he gives then makes her smile back without even thinking about it and she doesn’t even care that the person behind Neville in line is shuffling impatiently. He slips a note out of his pocket and she takes it, cradling it carefully in her hand as if it’s her ticket to the future.
Ing//Puff//39