harry potter fic: long live all the magic we made
long live all the magic we made. harry potter. neville longbottom/ginny weasley. 1805 words. pg. A student asks him once, "Are you married?"
XIV
A student asks him once, “Are you married?”
Neville has grown old without even realizing it, and his hair is starting to gray. Hogwarts is the best home he’s ever known, and he loves his students.
There is a Fanged Geranium, potted in ceramic and tucked neatly into the crook of his arm, that Neville almost drops. The purple plant snaps at the air, agitated, and Neville places it on his desk. He brushes the dirt off his hands.
“Yes,” he says. His lips are half-smiling and his heart can’t catch up. But he is not thinking of Hannah.
XIII
"Give our love to Uncle Neville," she yells to her children, and means it so desperately her throat aches.
XII
Hermione hands her a cup of tea in a chipped mug. Ginny curls her feet underneath her and sips, slowly.
She asks, “Do you ever feel like we don’t know how to do anything right now?”
Ginny has two children at home and Harry already wants a third. Her days are filled with dirty diapers and bottles and baby talk. She loves her children, oh god does she love them, but she always wanted more for herself.
Hermione purses her lips. “I think,” she starts, “I’ll always need to get used to being a wife and a mother.” Her cheeks are rosy and her hair is shorter than Ginny’s ever seen it.
Ginny sips her tea while Hermione looks on, understanding, and Ginny hates it when Hermione’s such a smart arse.
Xi
He runs into Hannah in Diagon Alley.
Hannah says, “I always had a crush on you, Nev. Seems silly that I never told you.”
So he asks her out, and that’s that.
He doesn't love her quite like Ginny, but he does love her. Happiness is a choice, Gran used to yell if he complained. Neville has always listened to his Gran, after all.
X.
Gran dies three years after The End.
She goes quietly, in her sleep, and that makes Neville’s throat burn more than anything else. He cries every night for a week and feels too alone.
Ginny sends an owl first. There is a note; Neville tries to open it too fast and tears the corner.
It says -
Neville,
I’m so sorry. Really. If there is anything you need -
Love, Ginny
Neville presses the letter flat once, then twice against his desk before curling it up again. He thinks, a little late, Gin and fixes himself a drink.
After his third Firewhiskey the sight of the letter had filled him up so tightly with feelings that he scribbled I need you on a leftover Herbology paper. He slurred, to the Potter’s! loudly at his owl, Paul, who stared at him unblinking and didn’t move.
(He was thankful for that, in the morning, and fed Paul three extra mice.)
Ginny comes to the funeral in a black dress that is just a little too short for a funeral. Her legs look miles long and she kisses his cheek three times throughout the entire day.
“Oh, Neville,” she says when she greets him. Neville has been crying non-stop and knows he looks like hell. Her voice cracks. He mutters, “Thanks for coming,” but doesn’t look at her.
She sighs once and reaches out to fix his tie, her fingers lithe as she undoes the knot and fashions it into something much prettier. She rests a hand over the newly done tie and presses her forehead against his shoulder for a moment.
Harry brings a casserole and Ginny chokes out a laugh when he gives it to Neville.
“Harry made it,” she explains with her mouth turned up slightly, “so I don’t know if you actually want to eat it, but.”
“It’s the thought that counts,” Neville replies with his mouth in a set line.
Harry pats Neville on the back and says, “That’s exactly what I was trying to tell our Ginny here,” with a cautious smile.
IX
Ginny’s hands fist in his sweater, head on his shoulder, and she thinks Neville, please but she’s not sure what she’s wishing for.
Neville sighs, head tilted back and away from her. Ginny tries not to think of how much she’s hurting him.
His hands are splayed on her back, big as plates it seems, and his apartment is dusty. They are standing in front of the bed, Ginny’s back to it, and she wants him to do something.
Neville kisses the top of her head and lets go. He says, “Go back to Harry, Gin,” in a voice that breaks her heart.
She is halfway out the door when he says, “This isn’t fair.”
Ginny has always known that - from the moment she kissed him in the Room of Requirement and her stomach dropped into her shoes. She’s never pretended she deserved this. She feels trapped in her life and Neville is always in her thoughts.
She shifts her weight from foot to foot, whispers a brief, “I’m sorry,” and closes the door.
The truly terrible thing is that she’s never quite sure she loves Neville or if she loves how he sees her. He called her wondrous once, and a warrior, and a goddess. Harry kisses her before he leaves every morning and only sees a wife.
James kisses her when she gets home, open-mouthed and wet. His fingers curl into her hair and she shifts him onto her hip gently before setting him down to start dinner.
VIII
At the wedding, he sits in between Seamus and Dean. Lavender sits on Seamus’ left. Luna’s hand is threaded into Dean’s. She leans over, and whispers, “Did you know weddings heal souls? Isn’t that the most wonderful thing you’ve ever heard?” Dean looks at her like she’s the brightest thing in the room.
(Her dress was bright yellow and she wore big gold earrings in the shape of hearts, so she is the brightest thing in the room, but still.)
Neville swallows hard and wishes he was more like Luna.
At the reception, Ginny pulls him out on the dance floor with an airy laugh. Harry’s dancing with Hermione, slow and sure.
He places a hand at the small of her back and Ginny smiles at him.
“You look beautiful,” he says softly. Ginny murmurs her thanks and clears her throat.
“You don’t step on my toes anymore,” she teases. Neville doesn’t hear the sadness in her voice, but he’s never been the greatest with details.
“I’ve grown up a little since then,” he shrugs. It makes Ginny’s breath catch in her throat and she almost trips. Ginny says, “I know that,” and then the song ends.
VII
If she loves Neville more, with more of her, more knowledge of who she is, more than some silly little dream she’s been holding on to since she was ten, then she certainly still loves Harry.
She figures it’s probably the same way he feels about Hermione - all those long hugs and lingering gazes. Ginny’s never been anyone’s fool, but she will gladly be a martyr.
The wedding won’t be for Harry and her; this much she knows.
VI
Ginny says, “I’m sorry,” and follows it with a sigh.
Neville rocks back on his heels and doesn’t know what to say.
There’s silence, for a moment, before Neville remembers the kind of person he’s turned into. He hasn’t had a problem fighting for what he wanted in a while.
“This is a mistake,” he says with one hand gripped around her wrist. Ginny looks up in surprise. He’s not sure why that hurts him.
“This is a mistake,” he repeats, a little surer. “And you know it.”
Ginny hates it when people tell her what to do - it burns at her skin and sets her teeth on edge. She rips her wrist out of his grasp and stares at Neville in disbelief.
“Don’t you dare, Neville!”
Ginny can remember loving Harry as long as anything else and smothers the bit of her that believes Neville’s right. Her right hand feels heavy.
He shouts, “You’ll only ever get to be Mrs. Harry Potter with him, you know!”
Ginny slaps him across the face so hard he staggers back a couple steps, his right cheek on fire. She’s shaking, tears in her eyes and can’t think of anything to say.
Neville knows Ginny better than a lot of things, so he lets her storm off with fire in her eyes and a false sense of independence.
V
“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” Neville says quietly. The Room is fairly empty, her mending hammocks and him organizing medical supplies. Today, she has a large, yellow bruise dancing its way up her leg. Neville’s nose is broken.
Ginny’s head snaps up and her eyes go wide.
He smiles gently at her, reaches out his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
She kisses him first and tries desperately not to feel guilty.
IV
Neville has two fractured ribs and a black eye. Ginny dabs firewhiskey on his cuts and giggles when he winces.
“Honestly, Neville,” she sighs and then stops herself. Her fingers tighten around his wrist and she shakes her head as if to empty it of whatever she was thinking.
Neville feels it too, the heavy absence of Gryffindor’s heroes, and plants a kiss to her forehead. Ginny stays like until all of a sudden she is kissing him, fingers curling into his hair. He’s so surprised his eyes are open, brows knit gently, and he thinks kiss her, you idiot to himself.
Ginny breaks it off after a moment. She sags into herself and whispers, “I’m sorry, Neville. I shouldn’t have done that.”
He says, “Trust me, that’s okay,” and she gives a watery laugh.
They fall asleep in the same hammock that night, Ginny’s face pressed tight against Neville’s chest. He stays up longer than usual, one hand tangled in the ends of her hair when he finally does.
III
In the Room of Requirement, Ginny walks around with her hair fire-bright and tied up too loose. Neville passes time staring at the line of her neck, the determined set of it and the way it arches if she ever laughs.
II
Sometime, between fifteen and sixteen after puberty’s kicked his arse, Neville walks through the halls without tripping. He shaves once a week, smoothly, and sometimes puts cologne on. He feels a little more solid in his own body, like it’s something he finally owns.
Ginny says, “Looking good, Neville.” She waggles her eyebrows and Neville’s heart soars. She has one arm locked around Dean’s waist.
I
Neville nudged Ron at the feast at the beginning of second year. Ginny Weasley walked into the hall carefully, towards the back. Her eyes were large and shining. Neville stared, quite obviously.
“Is that your sister?” he asked quietly.
Ron looked at him like he was crazy. “Uh, yeah,” he managed before turning around and complaining to Hermione about how hungry he was.
Ginny Weasley sat tall and proud on the stool and Neville felt a swell of pride as Gryffindor claimed her for their own. She was pretty, then, even if no one else could tell. Neville thought of himself as an expert at seeing things everyone else ignored.
Wow, he thought when she sat down at the other end of the table. And then he thought, wow again because he didn’t have anything else to say.
I'm pretty sure that might've been terrible but I had to write something and I've had the worst writer's block EVER, so. I hope everyone enjoys it and then writes Harry Potter fic and/or leaves recs because it's all I want to read right now.
XIV
A student asks him once, “Are you married?”
Neville has grown old without even realizing it, and his hair is starting to gray. Hogwarts is the best home he’s ever known, and he loves his students.
There is a Fanged Geranium, potted in ceramic and tucked neatly into the crook of his arm, that Neville almost drops. The purple plant snaps at the air, agitated, and Neville places it on his desk. He brushes the dirt off his hands.
“Yes,” he says. His lips are half-smiling and his heart can’t catch up. But he is not thinking of Hannah.
XIII
"Give our love to Uncle Neville," she yells to her children, and means it so desperately her throat aches.
XII
Hermione hands her a cup of tea in a chipped mug. Ginny curls her feet underneath her and sips, slowly.
She asks, “Do you ever feel like we don’t know how to do anything right now?”
Ginny has two children at home and Harry already wants a third. Her days are filled with dirty diapers and bottles and baby talk. She loves her children, oh god does she love them, but she always wanted more for herself.
Hermione purses her lips. “I think,” she starts, “I’ll always need to get used to being a wife and a mother.” Her cheeks are rosy and her hair is shorter than Ginny’s ever seen it.
Ginny sips her tea while Hermione looks on, understanding, and Ginny hates it when Hermione’s such a smart arse.
Xi
He runs into Hannah in Diagon Alley.
Hannah says, “I always had a crush on you, Nev. Seems silly that I never told you.”
So he asks her out, and that’s that.
He doesn't love her quite like Ginny, but he does love her. Happiness is a choice, Gran used to yell if he complained. Neville has always listened to his Gran, after all.
X.
Gran dies three years after The End.
She goes quietly, in her sleep, and that makes Neville’s throat burn more than anything else. He cries every night for a week and feels too alone.
Ginny sends an owl first. There is a note; Neville tries to open it too fast and tears the corner.
It says -
Neville,
I’m so sorry. Really. If there is anything you need -
Love, Ginny
Neville presses the letter flat once, then twice against his desk before curling it up again. He thinks, a little late, Gin and fixes himself a drink.
After his third Firewhiskey the sight of the letter had filled him up so tightly with feelings that he scribbled I need you on a leftover Herbology paper. He slurred, to the Potter’s! loudly at his owl, Paul, who stared at him unblinking and didn’t move.
(He was thankful for that, in the morning, and fed Paul three extra mice.)
Ginny comes to the funeral in a black dress that is just a little too short for a funeral. Her legs look miles long and she kisses his cheek three times throughout the entire day.
“Oh, Neville,” she says when she greets him. Neville has been crying non-stop and knows he looks like hell. Her voice cracks. He mutters, “Thanks for coming,” but doesn’t look at her.
She sighs once and reaches out to fix his tie, her fingers lithe as she undoes the knot and fashions it into something much prettier. She rests a hand over the newly done tie and presses her forehead against his shoulder for a moment.
Harry brings a casserole and Ginny chokes out a laugh when he gives it to Neville.
“Harry made it,” she explains with her mouth turned up slightly, “so I don’t know if you actually want to eat it, but.”
“It’s the thought that counts,” Neville replies with his mouth in a set line.
Harry pats Neville on the back and says, “That’s exactly what I was trying to tell our Ginny here,” with a cautious smile.
IX
Ginny’s hands fist in his sweater, head on his shoulder, and she thinks Neville, please but she’s not sure what she’s wishing for.
Neville sighs, head tilted back and away from her. Ginny tries not to think of how much she’s hurting him.
His hands are splayed on her back, big as plates it seems, and his apartment is dusty. They are standing in front of the bed, Ginny’s back to it, and she wants him to do something.
Neville kisses the top of her head and lets go. He says, “Go back to Harry, Gin,” in a voice that breaks her heart.
She is halfway out the door when he says, “This isn’t fair.”
Ginny has always known that - from the moment she kissed him in the Room of Requirement and her stomach dropped into her shoes. She’s never pretended she deserved this. She feels trapped in her life and Neville is always in her thoughts.
She shifts her weight from foot to foot, whispers a brief, “I’m sorry,” and closes the door.
The truly terrible thing is that she’s never quite sure she loves Neville or if she loves how he sees her. He called her wondrous once, and a warrior, and a goddess. Harry kisses her before he leaves every morning and only sees a wife.
James kisses her when she gets home, open-mouthed and wet. His fingers curl into her hair and she shifts him onto her hip gently before setting him down to start dinner.
VIII
At the wedding, he sits in between Seamus and Dean. Lavender sits on Seamus’ left. Luna’s hand is threaded into Dean’s. She leans over, and whispers, “Did you know weddings heal souls? Isn’t that the most wonderful thing you’ve ever heard?” Dean looks at her like she’s the brightest thing in the room.
(Her dress was bright yellow and she wore big gold earrings in the shape of hearts, so she is the brightest thing in the room, but still.)
Neville swallows hard and wishes he was more like Luna.
At the reception, Ginny pulls him out on the dance floor with an airy laugh. Harry’s dancing with Hermione, slow and sure.
He places a hand at the small of her back and Ginny smiles at him.
“You look beautiful,” he says softly. Ginny murmurs her thanks and clears her throat.
“You don’t step on my toes anymore,” she teases. Neville doesn’t hear the sadness in her voice, but he’s never been the greatest with details.
“I’ve grown up a little since then,” he shrugs. It makes Ginny’s breath catch in her throat and she almost trips. Ginny says, “I know that,” and then the song ends.
VII
If she loves Neville more, with more of her, more knowledge of who she is, more than some silly little dream she’s been holding on to since she was ten, then she certainly still loves Harry.
She figures it’s probably the same way he feels about Hermione - all those long hugs and lingering gazes. Ginny’s never been anyone’s fool, but she will gladly be a martyr.
The wedding won’t be for Harry and her; this much she knows.
VI
Ginny says, “I’m sorry,” and follows it with a sigh.
Neville rocks back on his heels and doesn’t know what to say.
There’s silence, for a moment, before Neville remembers the kind of person he’s turned into. He hasn’t had a problem fighting for what he wanted in a while.
“This is a mistake,” he says with one hand gripped around her wrist. Ginny looks up in surprise. He’s not sure why that hurts him.
“This is a mistake,” he repeats, a little surer. “And you know it.”
Ginny hates it when people tell her what to do - it burns at her skin and sets her teeth on edge. She rips her wrist out of his grasp and stares at Neville in disbelief.
“Don’t you dare, Neville!”
Ginny can remember loving Harry as long as anything else and smothers the bit of her that believes Neville’s right. Her right hand feels heavy.
He shouts, “You’ll only ever get to be Mrs. Harry Potter with him, you know!”
Ginny slaps him across the face so hard he staggers back a couple steps, his right cheek on fire. She’s shaking, tears in her eyes and can’t think of anything to say.
Neville knows Ginny better than a lot of things, so he lets her storm off with fire in her eyes and a false sense of independence.
V
“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” Neville says quietly. The Room is fairly empty, her mending hammocks and him organizing medical supplies. Today, she has a large, yellow bruise dancing its way up her leg. Neville’s nose is broken.
Ginny’s head snaps up and her eyes go wide.
He smiles gently at her, reaches out his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
She kisses him first and tries desperately not to feel guilty.
IV
Neville has two fractured ribs and a black eye. Ginny dabs firewhiskey on his cuts and giggles when he winces.
“Honestly, Neville,” she sighs and then stops herself. Her fingers tighten around his wrist and she shakes her head as if to empty it of whatever she was thinking.
Neville feels it too, the heavy absence of Gryffindor’s heroes, and plants a kiss to her forehead. Ginny stays like until all of a sudden she is kissing him, fingers curling into his hair. He’s so surprised his eyes are open, brows knit gently, and he thinks kiss her, you idiot to himself.
Ginny breaks it off after a moment. She sags into herself and whispers, “I’m sorry, Neville. I shouldn’t have done that.”
He says, “Trust me, that’s okay,” and she gives a watery laugh.
They fall asleep in the same hammock that night, Ginny’s face pressed tight against Neville’s chest. He stays up longer than usual, one hand tangled in the ends of her hair when he finally does.
III
In the Room of Requirement, Ginny walks around with her hair fire-bright and tied up too loose. Neville passes time staring at the line of her neck, the determined set of it and the way it arches if she ever laughs.
II
Sometime, between fifteen and sixteen after puberty’s kicked his arse, Neville walks through the halls without tripping. He shaves once a week, smoothly, and sometimes puts cologne on. He feels a little more solid in his own body, like it’s something he finally owns.
Ginny says, “Looking good, Neville.” She waggles her eyebrows and Neville’s heart soars. She has one arm locked around Dean’s waist.
I
Neville nudged Ron at the feast at the beginning of second year. Ginny Weasley walked into the hall carefully, towards the back. Her eyes were large and shining. Neville stared, quite obviously.
“Is that your sister?” he asked quietly.
Ron looked at him like he was crazy. “Uh, yeah,” he managed before turning around and complaining to Hermione about how hungry he was.
Ginny Weasley sat tall and proud on the stool and Neville felt a swell of pride as Gryffindor claimed her for their own. She was pretty, then, even if no one else could tell. Neville thought of himself as an expert at seeing things everyone else ignored.
Wow, he thought when she sat down at the other end of the table. And then he thought, wow again because he didn’t have anything else to say.
I'm pretty sure that might've been terrible but I had to write something and I've had the worst writer's block EVER, so. I hope everyone enjoys it and then writes Harry Potter fic and/or leaves recs because it's all I want to read right now.