FIC: Selfish (Neville/Harry-ish, PG)
Title: Selfish
Author: Anj (anjenue)
Pairing: Neville/Harry-ish, Neville/Snape if you squint
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~3700
Summary: Neville is very good at getting what he wants.
A/N: Happy belated birthday to Neville and Harry! I started out with the intention of writing an utterly porntastic fic, and instead I got...this. DH-compliant, mostly gen, character study-type fic about moving on and adjusting to life After. Spoilers for DH!
'Neville.'
Neville looks up, eyes simultaneously bright and dark beneath half-lowered lashes as Harry approaches him, feeling awkward. There are a million strangers there, and Harry knows Snape would be extremely displeased to have his funeral turned into a press event, but despite being the hero of the wizarding world (or, as he keeps trying to convince everyone, one of the heroes), Harry has no control over these things. The one thing he can feel grateful for is the fact that Snape's already been interred, so he can almost convince himself that it's not Snape's funeral that's being marginalised so much as that the funeral itself is symbolic of many other things, all the other people who died, everyone who suffered, all the things they've had to deal with these past several years. The end of an era.
His fingers almost stray to his scar, but he catches himself, well aware of the gaggle of reporters watching him. Watching the two of them, together. The Boy Who Lived and the Resourceful Gryffindor! the headlines would scream. Harry doesn't understand the need for titles and epithets when their names would do just as well, but then, he's never thought much of the press anyway.
'Harry.' Neville stands, brushing dirt off his jeans, and Harry catches sight of the little flowering plant, freshly buried in the dirt by Snape's grave. It's so typically Neville to bring a plant instead of flowers that Harry almost laughs past the lump in his throat. Instead, he reaches out to take Neville's hand, ignoring the cascade of flashes from around them.
'I never um...I never got a chance to say thank you,' he says, letting go of Neville's hand and running his fingers through his hair. 'For, you know...doing what I asked you to do. For everything, really. None of this would've been possible if you hadn't...'
Neville smiles. 'I had a good example to follow,' he replies, holding Harry's gaze until Harry feels the back of his neck start to heat. 'Everything that we did while you were gone...between the DA and the Department of Mysteries and...and what happened last year, we were sort of inclined that way already. So when our time came, we didn't have to think about it, you know? It just sort of came naturally. And nothing else seemed to matter, because we knew what we had to do.' He pauses, studying Harry's face. 'You should have seen Colin,' he adds, and it's almost a whisper. 'They had to drag him off kicking and screaming, and then he managed to get back anyway, even though...'
'Yeah,' Harry says when Neville trails off. He remembers all too well the sight of Colin's limp body in Neville's arms, and feels a sudden wave of regret that he couldn't have been there to protect them all, however impossible he's learned now that it is to do everything himself.
They're silent for a few minutes. Harry studies the stubble of Neville's hair, that's finally starting to grow back. He knows there are spells for that, potions that Neville can take to speed the process, but Neville wanted to let it grow naturally. To remember, he said with a wan smile half-obscured by the burns marring his face. The burns have healed now, but Harry imagines he can still feel that too, just as much as Harry can feel the ghost-pain needling at his forehead.
'That was really great,' he says finally, when the silence becomes too much to bear. 'That you managed to get the sword, I mean. I still wasn't quite sure how it worked, even after Dumbledore explained it to me, but it makes more sense now. Wasn't really any other way to get it back from the goblins, I imagine. That was fast thinking.' The especially when your head was on fire bit goes unsaid.
Neville chuckles. 'The Sorting Hat helped me,' he says, shrugging. 'I didn't have to ask for specifics.'
'Well, but...it's like the Room of Requirement again,' Harry protests. 'Even if you didn't know what you were looking for, you wanted it enough that you got it anyway, yeah?'
Neville's smile shifts, and Harry blinks at the unfamiliar look in Neville's eyes. 'Well, yes,' he replies in an odd voice. 'I've always been good at getting what I want.'
Neville stares at Harry steadily, not offering any more than that, and Harry feels the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and his cheeks start to heat. Suddenly, he's all too aware of the reporters hanging on their every word, and he clears his throat, offering his hand again. 'Well, thank you,' he says a bit abruptly, and manages a smile. Neville takes his hand, squeezes it jovially, but doesn't take his eyes off Harry's face.
'We should have a drink sometime,' Harry says, drawing his hand back and shoving it into his pocket. 'When things have calmed down a bit.'
'We should,' Neville agrees in that same tone.
Feeling awkward, Harry opens his mouth as if to say something else, closes it again, offers Neville a sheepish smile. 'I'll see you around then.'
A flash blinds him as he walks away.
+
'That's not right. He was always irritated, not constipated.' Harry rolls his eyes as he watches the artist work, wondering why the Ministry couldn't have commissioned someone who had, oh, actually known Snape rather than just a random artist. Granted, he is very good, but Harry's spent the majority of the afternoon fixing his misconstrued notions of what Snape had been like, aided (after a fashion) by Dumbledore's portrait. Of course, Dumbledore's idea of help is always so full of whimsy that it usually does more harm than good. Headmistress McGonagall has been stopping by from time to time to lend her two cents as well, and Harry has it on good authority that this painter had also gone through rigorous lecturing by the entire Malfoy family - considering that, it's almost a miracle he's still here. Even if Lucius Malfoy doesn't have quite the sway he used to, he's still a formidable man.
Harry sighs, reaching absently for the tin of lemon drops. Dumbledore twinkles at him. Harry scowls.
'I'm going for a walk,' he informs the painter, and does exactly that. Hogwarts is still in a bit of a shambles, though the restoration crew is working overtime in order to have it refinished by the start of the next term. But aside from a few run-ins with Peeves, it seems to be going smoothly, and Harry finds himself wondering how things will be different now that the threat of Voldemort is no longer hanging over everyone's head. He tries to imagine Hogwarts without Dumbledore, without Snape, and finds that he can't. It's not Hogwarts anymore, at least not his Hogwarts. Hermione's words come floating back to him, just for a year, Harry, so we can finish our NEWTs, and he shakes his head. They all have plenty of job offers already, of course - killing a Dark Lord, either directly or indirectly, seems to be all one needs on one's resumé to get ahead in life. Even if Hermione still wants the NEWT scores to hang on her wall, Harry thinks that for him, coming back here would do him more harm than good.
'Knut for your thoughts.'
Harry looks up to see Neville, blue robes covered in potting soil, brandishing his wand in gloved fingers.
'Neville.' Harry smiles, though his chest tightens at the sight of him. 'I heard you were here. Helping reconstruct the greenhouses, was it?'
'Yes.' Neville grins. 'And Profes-- Headmistress McGonagall asked me to take over the Herbology position while Professor Sprout is recovering. They didn't want to bring in someone else, since it's likely it'll only be temporary, so even though I don't have the training...'
'That's great, Neville.' Harry sees the pleasure on Neville's face and it warms him. Maybe things haven't turned out as well for everyone, but at least they're starting to go back to normal. Aside from the Order of Merlin hanging on the wall of his flat and the reporters he's now learnt to mostly ignore, he can almost forget some days. The key word, of course, is almost - he doesn't think the dreams will ever quite go away, and the scar seems to be there to stay, contrary to what Hermione had suggested about it fading with Voldemort's demise; but on top of that, he doesn't want to forget. He owes it to them not to forget, after all, to Sirius and Remus and Fred and Tonks and Colin and Snape. To his parents. To Dumbledore.
'It is.' Neville twirls his wand between his fingers, a surprisingly graceful act for someone reputed to be clumsy. Harry supposes a lot of that was lack of confidence though, and Neville seems to have been cured of that. The set of his shoulders and the cast of his jaw speak of someone who's far outgrown his awkward phase; the look in his eyes says something even more.
Harry clears his throat. 'You uh... You weren't kidding about getting what you want, were you?'
Something flickers deep in Neville's gaze, and Harry looks away, suddenly uncomfortable.
'I wasn't,' Neville agrees, and turns to leave.
'Hey,' he calls over his shoulder, lifting a hand. 'We still need to have that drink. You should stop by sometime after the repairs are done.'
'Sure,' Harry calls back, aborting his wave as his fingers curl in against his palm.
+
'Thank you for agreeing to do this, Mr Potter.'
Harry chuckles. 'I'm not your student anymore,' he says. 'You can call me Harry.'
Headmistress McGonagall blinks at him as if he's speaking Mermish, and then her stern mouth curves into a hint of a smile and she nods. 'Very well. Harry. The children have been speaking of nothing but since they heard you were coming.'
'Oh, I'm sure.' Harry laughs. 'Ron's been speaking of nothing but since he heard you managed to convince Malfoy. Hermione said he barely slept last night - something about how he'd been waiting for years to see this.'
McGonagall surprises him, and, it would seem, herself, with a bark of laughter. 'Yes, well, the animosity between you two is something of a legend, as is that between Mr Malfoy and Mr Weasley, so I'm hardly surprised.'
'Don't remind me.' Harry grins, though the mention of Malfoy has him fingering his wand anyway. It's an automatic reflex now, and it'll take his body awhile to adjust to the fact that Malfoy isn't just out to get him like he'd always believed.
'Well, I'll leave you here for now. I trust you remember your way around sufficiently well?'
Harry pauses at the top of the stairs and nods. 'Two o'clock you said?'
'That's correct.' McGonagall smiles, looking a bit misty. 'It's too bad Albus couldn't be here to see his Army reinstated.'
'It's hardly a repeat of the DA,' Harry protests, but feels his throat tighten just a bit as well. 'It's more like...duelling club. Without Lockhart.'
'Och, don't remind me.' McGonagall's face is the picture of disgust, and Harry can't help but laugh out loud.
'Since Malfoy's the flamboyant one, would that make you Snape then?'
Harry jumps, startled, and spins around to see Neville, carrying what looks like a grumpy cactus. McGonagall disappears discreetly with a quick nod to Neville, which he returns without looking away from Harry.
'There's worse people to be,' Harry says, too slowly, and Neville snickers.
'I dunno about that,' Neville returns, but his smile softens and Harry knows he's teasing.
'I'm serious! Maybe I should invest in some high-collared multi-buttoned black robes, hm?'
Neville switches the pot he's carrying to his other arm, brandishes his wand, and, before Harry can make a sound of protest, Transfigures Harry's clothing.
'Oi!' Harry's grinning though, both impressed and amused. He lifts a hand to his neck, tugging at the scratchy wool. 'These chafe!'
'Little wonder he was so grumpy then, hm?' Neville laughs and starts walking, and Harry falls into step with him without thinking about it. 'I always used to wonder about that when I was sitting in Potions class. It was like...a defense mechanism or something. The part of my brain that wasn't taken up by sheer abject terror was wondering, "Gee, those can't possibly be comfortable, can they?"'
'They're not,' Harry snorts. 'You should try them and see.'
'Maybe I will,' Neville returns, looking at Harry over his shoulder, and the back of Harry's neck prickles at the non-laughter in Neville's eyes. For all that he looks playful and full of humour, there's something else there as well, and Harry's robes start to feel that much more constrictive.
It's strange, Harry thinks as he follows Neville in silence to god-knows-where. The dreams have finally started to abate; his scar doesn't hurt anymore; the press attention has died down; things are starting to settle into place for all of them. And yet he's still...edgy about something. He hasn't missed the anxious looks Hermione throws him sometimes over supper, or the flicker of darkness in Ron's eyes - they've all been changed, he knows, Hermione by the torture, Ron by the psychological warfare Voldemort wrought on him, never mind the attack he suffered at the DoM what seems like a lifetime ago. He's seen Draco around sometimes too, and he looks somehow...smaller, like he's shrunk in on himself a bit. Ginny still has nightmares sometimes, but whenever Harry wakes her, she doesn't want to talk about it. None of them want to talk about it, in fact. Unlike Harry, they seem to want to just...put it behind them. Hermione's running full speed ahead with her newest project, Ron spends most of his time with George at the shop, Ginny decided not to go back to Hogwarts and is instead pursuing a career in Quidditch. They're all moving on, and he can't begrudge them that, not after everything they've suffered.
But Neville...somehow, there's something different about Neville. He saw it before, on Neville's face, when he thought he was going to his death and he wanted Neville to tie up the loose ends for him - it feels more like looking into a mirror these days, and Harry is hard-pressed to remember the clumsy, shy boy that Hermione Petrified on their way to meet a three-headed dog, all those years ago. There's quiet strength behind those still-boyish features, and just his gaze says more than anyone else is willing to.
'Do those robes induce brooding as well?'
Harry blinks, then chuckles, ducking his head. 'Sorry about that,' he says, embarrassed by Neville's amusement. 'Just...being back here...'
'Lot of memories, yeah?' Neville's tone is sympathetic, and a warm hand comes to rest on his shoulder. 'I understand. The first time the Headmistress asked me back here, I wanted to run the other way, screaming. I didn't think I'd ever be able to set foot in this place again. There's something...fundamentally disturbing about a place that can stay so much the same and yet be so different all at once, don't you think? It's almost worse seeing the place fixed up as good as new.'
Harry nods, pressing his lips together. It's as if Neville has taken the words right out of his mouth, and that is just as disturbing to him as the tumultuous feelings that have been needling at him since he set foot on the grounds. Neville's gaze burns a hole in the top of his head, and he runs his fingers through his hair, awkward.
Neville squeezes his shoulder and then lets go with a soft, gentle laugh. 'You look like you could use that drink now, Harry,' he says, and nudges Harry's arm with his own. 'Thinking about it takes a lot out of me too.'
'Do you think about it a lot?' The question falls from Harry's lips before he can stop it, and then it's too late to take it back even if he wanted to.
Neville's smile fades, and that odd look is back, the one that makes Harry's spine tingle. This time, though, he leans into it, letting it envelop him, holding Neville's gaze as intently as Neville is holding his. Harry imagines that if he'd ever mastered Legilimency, this is what it would feel like.
'Every day,' Neville murmurs, and Harry lets out the breath he hadn't realised he was holding.
'Yeah,' Harry agrees quietly. 'Me too.'
Neville opens his mouth to say something else, then changes his mind, looks away, starts to walk again. His shoulder brushes Harry's as he moves past him, and he turns his head to give Harry a small, reassuring smile.
Harry follows him.
They head up another staircase, through an archway, and down a short hall. Neville comes to a halt in front of Harry at what is presumably the entrance to his rooms; Harry peers around him, and bites down on his tongue in surprise.
'Mister Potter, do cease your undignified ogling. Have you no respect for the dead?'
'P--Professor.' Harry stares, barely aware of Neville moving aside so he can see better. 'What...what are you...'
Snape's eyes narrow, and he glares at Harry disapprovingly. 'I suppose that is your idea of a joke, Longbottom,' he scowls, waving his hand in a way that encompasses all of Harry's body. Harry blinks, puzzled, and then flushes dark as he remembers the Transfigured robes.
Neville grins. 'Apparently not,' he says, 'since you're not laughing.'
'Yes, well, that would require that the joke be amusing,' Snape retorts, but the thin lips twitch, and since when were Neville and Snape in the habit of teasing each other?
'Professor...what are you doing here?' The question is impertinent, and Harry half-expects Snape to say that, judging by the look on his face, but he merely sighs and shifts against what looks to be...come to think of it, a very Snape-like chair. Certainly moreso than the one in the portrait Harry oversaw.
'Longbottom,' he says in a tone that might have been scathing had Harry not known just how scathing Snape could sound, 'is a maudlin idiot.'
Snape offers nothing further, and Neville laughs at the confusion on Harry's face. 'It's quiet in this part of the castle,' he says, 'unlike in the Headmistress' office. Professor Dumbledore has a tendency to lead the other paintings in a rousing chorus of The Five-Feathered Phoenix at all hours of the night, and Professor Snape...'
'What he means to say,' Snape clarifies with ill-concealed impatience, 'is that he had another frame installed here so that I might only have to deal with one nincompoop instead of thirty-eight.'
Chuckling, Neville adds, 'The "maudlin idiot" part comes from the fact that--'
'--that's what you are?' Snape cuts him off, raising a brow.
'Yes, but aside from that,' Neville says, now laughing outright. 'The fact that I made him tell me what sort of setting he wanted so that he wouldn't be bored, and had him oversee the painting, and made sure it was all to his specifications before hanging it.'
Snape snorts, but the black eyes gleam (or at least as much as they can in a painting), and Harry blinks, wondering if he's going mad or if that was actually approval he was seeing.
'Aside from the steady stream of insults though,' Neville adds, 'we talk about the war a lot too. He says I'm more sentimental than Professor Dumbledore, but at least I don't start detailing the positive properties of lemon drops at odd intervals, and so...'
'You talk about the war?' Harry doesn't know why this surprises him so much; maybe he'd expected that Snape would want to leave that all behind him now that he'd fulfilled his duty. But the absolutely withering look Snape throws him says "of course, you puerile fool" as clearly as if Snape had roared them into his ear.
Neville smiles and shrugs. 'Things don't resolve themselves that easily,' he says. 'Not even when you die. Death is just...how did you put it, Professor? A bump in the road?'
'I hardly believe I used such a crude metaphor,' Snape returns, 'but yes, that was the gist of it.'
'And you know how hard it is to find someone who actually wants to talk about it.' Neville's stare is sharp, like it can cut straight to Harry's soul, and it is all Harry can do not to wince. Neville eyes him for a moment longer, and then smiles almost teasingly. 'But I told you I was good at getting what I wanted, didn't I?'
Harry watches his gaze flicker again, the incisiveness tempered by something...inviting, and suddenly, the pieces click into place.
'I imagine it helps,' he says slowly, 'when what you want isn't ever just for you.'
They stare at each other for a moment, and then Neville laughs, his gaze softening. 'It certainly makes things easier,' he agrees. 'Conviction tends to be so much stronger when it has the weight of several behind it.'
'Isn't that the truth?' Harry grins, feeling like the weight on his shoulders has abated somewhat. There's nothing more difficult than being selfish - every time he's tempted, he remembers what happened with Sirius and how things could have been different if he'd stopped thinking about what he wanted, or with Ron and Hermione and everyone else and how "needing to do this alone" could very well have ended in tragedy. He remembers Snape's memories, the things that carried him through to the end, and how they might have been selfish at first, but by the end, they were anything but. He remembers the look on Neville's face when he asked him to finish it, not for his benefit, but for everyone else.
And now he sees the truth in Neville's eyes: it's okay to be selfish, when it's not just about yourself anymore. It might be selfish to want to remember, but not when those around you want to be reminded.
Snape snorts again. 'You're both maudlin idiots,' he says, tone rife with disgust, and leaves the frame with a dramatic swirl of billowing robes. Harry can almost hear the snap of fabric as Snape stalks out of the painting, and the memory of it is so vivid that his breath catches in his throat.
Neville chuckles and reaches for the frame, pulling it back to reveal the entrance to his chambers. 'It takes one to know one,' he murmurs with a cheeky grin. 'He'll be back soon enough. Meanwhile, how about that drink?'
'That,' Harry replies, moving past Neville and brushing their shoulders together, 'is exactly what I want.'
Author: Anj (anjenue)
Pairing: Neville/Harry-ish, Neville/Snape if you squint
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~3700
Summary: Neville is very good at getting what he wants.
A/N: Happy belated birthday to Neville and Harry! I started out with the intention of writing an utterly porntastic fic, and instead I got...this. DH-compliant, mostly gen, character study-type fic about moving on and adjusting to life After. Spoilers for DH!
'Neville.'
Neville looks up, eyes simultaneously bright and dark beneath half-lowered lashes as Harry approaches him, feeling awkward. There are a million strangers there, and Harry knows Snape would be extremely displeased to have his funeral turned into a press event, but despite being the hero of the wizarding world (or, as he keeps trying to convince everyone, one of the heroes), Harry has no control over these things. The one thing he can feel grateful for is the fact that Snape's already been interred, so he can almost convince himself that it's not Snape's funeral that's being marginalised so much as that the funeral itself is symbolic of many other things, all the other people who died, everyone who suffered, all the things they've had to deal with these past several years. The end of an era.
His fingers almost stray to his scar, but he catches himself, well aware of the gaggle of reporters watching him. Watching the two of them, together. The Boy Who Lived and the Resourceful Gryffindor! the headlines would scream. Harry doesn't understand the need for titles and epithets when their names would do just as well, but then, he's never thought much of the press anyway.
'Harry.' Neville stands, brushing dirt off his jeans, and Harry catches sight of the little flowering plant, freshly buried in the dirt by Snape's grave. It's so typically Neville to bring a plant instead of flowers that Harry almost laughs past the lump in his throat. Instead, he reaches out to take Neville's hand, ignoring the cascade of flashes from around them.
'I never um...I never got a chance to say thank you,' he says, letting go of Neville's hand and running his fingers through his hair. 'For, you know...doing what I asked you to do. For everything, really. None of this would've been possible if you hadn't...'
Neville smiles. 'I had a good example to follow,' he replies, holding Harry's gaze until Harry feels the back of his neck start to heat. 'Everything that we did while you were gone...between the DA and the Department of Mysteries and...and what happened last year, we were sort of inclined that way already. So when our time came, we didn't have to think about it, you know? It just sort of came naturally. And nothing else seemed to matter, because we knew what we had to do.' He pauses, studying Harry's face. 'You should have seen Colin,' he adds, and it's almost a whisper. 'They had to drag him off kicking and screaming, and then he managed to get back anyway, even though...'
'Yeah,' Harry says when Neville trails off. He remembers all too well the sight of Colin's limp body in Neville's arms, and feels a sudden wave of regret that he couldn't have been there to protect them all, however impossible he's learned now that it is to do everything himself.
They're silent for a few minutes. Harry studies the stubble of Neville's hair, that's finally starting to grow back. He knows there are spells for that, potions that Neville can take to speed the process, but Neville wanted to let it grow naturally. To remember, he said with a wan smile half-obscured by the burns marring his face. The burns have healed now, but Harry imagines he can still feel that too, just as much as Harry can feel the ghost-pain needling at his forehead.
'That was really great,' he says finally, when the silence becomes too much to bear. 'That you managed to get the sword, I mean. I still wasn't quite sure how it worked, even after Dumbledore explained it to me, but it makes more sense now. Wasn't really any other way to get it back from the goblins, I imagine. That was fast thinking.' The especially when your head was on fire bit goes unsaid.
Neville chuckles. 'The Sorting Hat helped me,' he says, shrugging. 'I didn't have to ask for specifics.'
'Well, but...it's like the Room of Requirement again,' Harry protests. 'Even if you didn't know what you were looking for, you wanted it enough that you got it anyway, yeah?'
Neville's smile shifts, and Harry blinks at the unfamiliar look in Neville's eyes. 'Well, yes,' he replies in an odd voice. 'I've always been good at getting what I want.'
Neville stares at Harry steadily, not offering any more than that, and Harry feels the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and his cheeks start to heat. Suddenly, he's all too aware of the reporters hanging on their every word, and he clears his throat, offering his hand again. 'Well, thank you,' he says a bit abruptly, and manages a smile. Neville takes his hand, squeezes it jovially, but doesn't take his eyes off Harry's face.
'We should have a drink sometime,' Harry says, drawing his hand back and shoving it into his pocket. 'When things have calmed down a bit.'
'We should,' Neville agrees in that same tone.
Feeling awkward, Harry opens his mouth as if to say something else, closes it again, offers Neville a sheepish smile. 'I'll see you around then.'
A flash blinds him as he walks away.
+
'That's not right. He was always irritated, not constipated.' Harry rolls his eyes as he watches the artist work, wondering why the Ministry couldn't have commissioned someone who had, oh, actually known Snape rather than just a random artist. Granted, he is very good, but Harry's spent the majority of the afternoon fixing his misconstrued notions of what Snape had been like, aided (after a fashion) by Dumbledore's portrait. Of course, Dumbledore's idea of help is always so full of whimsy that it usually does more harm than good. Headmistress McGonagall has been stopping by from time to time to lend her two cents as well, and Harry has it on good authority that this painter had also gone through rigorous lecturing by the entire Malfoy family - considering that, it's almost a miracle he's still here. Even if Lucius Malfoy doesn't have quite the sway he used to, he's still a formidable man.
Harry sighs, reaching absently for the tin of lemon drops. Dumbledore twinkles at him. Harry scowls.
'I'm going for a walk,' he informs the painter, and does exactly that. Hogwarts is still in a bit of a shambles, though the restoration crew is working overtime in order to have it refinished by the start of the next term. But aside from a few run-ins with Peeves, it seems to be going smoothly, and Harry finds himself wondering how things will be different now that the threat of Voldemort is no longer hanging over everyone's head. He tries to imagine Hogwarts without Dumbledore, without Snape, and finds that he can't. It's not Hogwarts anymore, at least not his Hogwarts. Hermione's words come floating back to him, just for a year, Harry, so we can finish our NEWTs, and he shakes his head. They all have plenty of job offers already, of course - killing a Dark Lord, either directly or indirectly, seems to be all one needs on one's resumé to get ahead in life. Even if Hermione still wants the NEWT scores to hang on her wall, Harry thinks that for him, coming back here would do him more harm than good.
'Knut for your thoughts.'
Harry looks up to see Neville, blue robes covered in potting soil, brandishing his wand in gloved fingers.
'Neville.' Harry smiles, though his chest tightens at the sight of him. 'I heard you were here. Helping reconstruct the greenhouses, was it?'
'Yes.' Neville grins. 'And Profes-- Headmistress McGonagall asked me to take over the Herbology position while Professor Sprout is recovering. They didn't want to bring in someone else, since it's likely it'll only be temporary, so even though I don't have the training...'
'That's great, Neville.' Harry sees the pleasure on Neville's face and it warms him. Maybe things haven't turned out as well for everyone, but at least they're starting to go back to normal. Aside from the Order of Merlin hanging on the wall of his flat and the reporters he's now learnt to mostly ignore, he can almost forget some days. The key word, of course, is almost - he doesn't think the dreams will ever quite go away, and the scar seems to be there to stay, contrary to what Hermione had suggested about it fading with Voldemort's demise; but on top of that, he doesn't want to forget. He owes it to them not to forget, after all, to Sirius and Remus and Fred and Tonks and Colin and Snape. To his parents. To Dumbledore.
'It is.' Neville twirls his wand between his fingers, a surprisingly graceful act for someone reputed to be clumsy. Harry supposes a lot of that was lack of confidence though, and Neville seems to have been cured of that. The set of his shoulders and the cast of his jaw speak of someone who's far outgrown his awkward phase; the look in his eyes says something even more.
Harry clears his throat. 'You uh... You weren't kidding about getting what you want, were you?'
Something flickers deep in Neville's gaze, and Harry looks away, suddenly uncomfortable.
'I wasn't,' Neville agrees, and turns to leave.
'Hey,' he calls over his shoulder, lifting a hand. 'We still need to have that drink. You should stop by sometime after the repairs are done.'
'Sure,' Harry calls back, aborting his wave as his fingers curl in against his palm.
+
'Thank you for agreeing to do this, Mr Potter.'
Harry chuckles. 'I'm not your student anymore,' he says. 'You can call me Harry.'
Headmistress McGonagall blinks at him as if he's speaking Mermish, and then her stern mouth curves into a hint of a smile and she nods. 'Very well. Harry. The children have been speaking of nothing but since they heard you were coming.'
'Oh, I'm sure.' Harry laughs. 'Ron's been speaking of nothing but since he heard you managed to convince Malfoy. Hermione said he barely slept last night - something about how he'd been waiting for years to see this.'
McGonagall surprises him, and, it would seem, herself, with a bark of laughter. 'Yes, well, the animosity between you two is something of a legend, as is that between Mr Malfoy and Mr Weasley, so I'm hardly surprised.'
'Don't remind me.' Harry grins, though the mention of Malfoy has him fingering his wand anyway. It's an automatic reflex now, and it'll take his body awhile to adjust to the fact that Malfoy isn't just out to get him like he'd always believed.
'Well, I'll leave you here for now. I trust you remember your way around sufficiently well?'
Harry pauses at the top of the stairs and nods. 'Two o'clock you said?'
'That's correct.' McGonagall smiles, looking a bit misty. 'It's too bad Albus couldn't be here to see his Army reinstated.'
'It's hardly a repeat of the DA,' Harry protests, but feels his throat tighten just a bit as well. 'It's more like...duelling club. Without Lockhart.'
'Och, don't remind me.' McGonagall's face is the picture of disgust, and Harry can't help but laugh out loud.
'Since Malfoy's the flamboyant one, would that make you Snape then?'
Harry jumps, startled, and spins around to see Neville, carrying what looks like a grumpy cactus. McGonagall disappears discreetly with a quick nod to Neville, which he returns without looking away from Harry.
'There's worse people to be,' Harry says, too slowly, and Neville snickers.
'I dunno about that,' Neville returns, but his smile softens and Harry knows he's teasing.
'I'm serious! Maybe I should invest in some high-collared multi-buttoned black robes, hm?'
Neville switches the pot he's carrying to his other arm, brandishes his wand, and, before Harry can make a sound of protest, Transfigures Harry's clothing.
'Oi!' Harry's grinning though, both impressed and amused. He lifts a hand to his neck, tugging at the scratchy wool. 'These chafe!'
'Little wonder he was so grumpy then, hm?' Neville laughs and starts walking, and Harry falls into step with him without thinking about it. 'I always used to wonder about that when I was sitting in Potions class. It was like...a defense mechanism or something. The part of my brain that wasn't taken up by sheer abject terror was wondering, "Gee, those can't possibly be comfortable, can they?"'
'They're not,' Harry snorts. 'You should try them and see.'
'Maybe I will,' Neville returns, looking at Harry over his shoulder, and the back of Harry's neck prickles at the non-laughter in Neville's eyes. For all that he looks playful and full of humour, there's something else there as well, and Harry's robes start to feel that much more constrictive.
It's strange, Harry thinks as he follows Neville in silence to god-knows-where. The dreams have finally started to abate; his scar doesn't hurt anymore; the press attention has died down; things are starting to settle into place for all of them. And yet he's still...edgy about something. He hasn't missed the anxious looks Hermione throws him sometimes over supper, or the flicker of darkness in Ron's eyes - they've all been changed, he knows, Hermione by the torture, Ron by the psychological warfare Voldemort wrought on him, never mind the attack he suffered at the DoM what seems like a lifetime ago. He's seen Draco around sometimes too, and he looks somehow...smaller, like he's shrunk in on himself a bit. Ginny still has nightmares sometimes, but whenever Harry wakes her, she doesn't want to talk about it. None of them want to talk about it, in fact. Unlike Harry, they seem to want to just...put it behind them. Hermione's running full speed ahead with her newest project, Ron spends most of his time with George at the shop, Ginny decided not to go back to Hogwarts and is instead pursuing a career in Quidditch. They're all moving on, and he can't begrudge them that, not after everything they've suffered.
But Neville...somehow, there's something different about Neville. He saw it before, on Neville's face, when he thought he was going to his death and he wanted Neville to tie up the loose ends for him - it feels more like looking into a mirror these days, and Harry is hard-pressed to remember the clumsy, shy boy that Hermione Petrified on their way to meet a three-headed dog, all those years ago. There's quiet strength behind those still-boyish features, and just his gaze says more than anyone else is willing to.
'Do those robes induce brooding as well?'
Harry blinks, then chuckles, ducking his head. 'Sorry about that,' he says, embarrassed by Neville's amusement. 'Just...being back here...'
'Lot of memories, yeah?' Neville's tone is sympathetic, and a warm hand comes to rest on his shoulder. 'I understand. The first time the Headmistress asked me back here, I wanted to run the other way, screaming. I didn't think I'd ever be able to set foot in this place again. There's something...fundamentally disturbing about a place that can stay so much the same and yet be so different all at once, don't you think? It's almost worse seeing the place fixed up as good as new.'
Harry nods, pressing his lips together. It's as if Neville has taken the words right out of his mouth, and that is just as disturbing to him as the tumultuous feelings that have been needling at him since he set foot on the grounds. Neville's gaze burns a hole in the top of his head, and he runs his fingers through his hair, awkward.
Neville squeezes his shoulder and then lets go with a soft, gentle laugh. 'You look like you could use that drink now, Harry,' he says, and nudges Harry's arm with his own. 'Thinking about it takes a lot out of me too.'
'Do you think about it a lot?' The question falls from Harry's lips before he can stop it, and then it's too late to take it back even if he wanted to.
Neville's smile fades, and that odd look is back, the one that makes Harry's spine tingle. This time, though, he leans into it, letting it envelop him, holding Neville's gaze as intently as Neville is holding his. Harry imagines that if he'd ever mastered Legilimency, this is what it would feel like.
'Every day,' Neville murmurs, and Harry lets out the breath he hadn't realised he was holding.
'Yeah,' Harry agrees quietly. 'Me too.'
Neville opens his mouth to say something else, then changes his mind, looks away, starts to walk again. His shoulder brushes Harry's as he moves past him, and he turns his head to give Harry a small, reassuring smile.
Harry follows him.
They head up another staircase, through an archway, and down a short hall. Neville comes to a halt in front of Harry at what is presumably the entrance to his rooms; Harry peers around him, and bites down on his tongue in surprise.
'Mister Potter, do cease your undignified ogling. Have you no respect for the dead?'
'P--Professor.' Harry stares, barely aware of Neville moving aside so he can see better. 'What...what are you...'
Snape's eyes narrow, and he glares at Harry disapprovingly. 'I suppose that is your idea of a joke, Longbottom,' he scowls, waving his hand in a way that encompasses all of Harry's body. Harry blinks, puzzled, and then flushes dark as he remembers the Transfigured robes.
Neville grins. 'Apparently not,' he says, 'since you're not laughing.'
'Yes, well, that would require that the joke be amusing,' Snape retorts, but the thin lips twitch, and since when were Neville and Snape in the habit of teasing each other?
'Professor...what are you doing here?' The question is impertinent, and Harry half-expects Snape to say that, judging by the look on his face, but he merely sighs and shifts against what looks to be...come to think of it, a very Snape-like chair. Certainly moreso than the one in the portrait Harry oversaw.
'Longbottom,' he says in a tone that might have been scathing had Harry not known just how scathing Snape could sound, 'is a maudlin idiot.'
Snape offers nothing further, and Neville laughs at the confusion on Harry's face. 'It's quiet in this part of the castle,' he says, 'unlike in the Headmistress' office. Professor Dumbledore has a tendency to lead the other paintings in a rousing chorus of The Five-Feathered Phoenix at all hours of the night, and Professor Snape...'
'What he means to say,' Snape clarifies with ill-concealed impatience, 'is that he had another frame installed here so that I might only have to deal with one nincompoop instead of thirty-eight.'
Chuckling, Neville adds, 'The "maudlin idiot" part comes from the fact that--'
'--that's what you are?' Snape cuts him off, raising a brow.
'Yes, but aside from that,' Neville says, now laughing outright. 'The fact that I made him tell me what sort of setting he wanted so that he wouldn't be bored, and had him oversee the painting, and made sure it was all to his specifications before hanging it.'
Snape snorts, but the black eyes gleam (or at least as much as they can in a painting), and Harry blinks, wondering if he's going mad or if that was actually approval he was seeing.
'Aside from the steady stream of insults though,' Neville adds, 'we talk about the war a lot too. He says I'm more sentimental than Professor Dumbledore, but at least I don't start detailing the positive properties of lemon drops at odd intervals, and so...'
'You talk about the war?' Harry doesn't know why this surprises him so much; maybe he'd expected that Snape would want to leave that all behind him now that he'd fulfilled his duty. But the absolutely withering look Snape throws him says "of course, you puerile fool" as clearly as if Snape had roared them into his ear.
Neville smiles and shrugs. 'Things don't resolve themselves that easily,' he says. 'Not even when you die. Death is just...how did you put it, Professor? A bump in the road?'
'I hardly believe I used such a crude metaphor,' Snape returns, 'but yes, that was the gist of it.'
'And you know how hard it is to find someone who actually wants to talk about it.' Neville's stare is sharp, like it can cut straight to Harry's soul, and it is all Harry can do not to wince. Neville eyes him for a moment longer, and then smiles almost teasingly. 'But I told you I was good at getting what I wanted, didn't I?'
Harry watches his gaze flicker again, the incisiveness tempered by something...inviting, and suddenly, the pieces click into place.
'I imagine it helps,' he says slowly, 'when what you want isn't ever just for you.'
They stare at each other for a moment, and then Neville laughs, his gaze softening. 'It certainly makes things easier,' he agrees. 'Conviction tends to be so much stronger when it has the weight of several behind it.'
'Isn't that the truth?' Harry grins, feeling like the weight on his shoulders has abated somewhat. There's nothing more difficult than being selfish - every time he's tempted, he remembers what happened with Sirius and how things could have been different if he'd stopped thinking about what he wanted, or with Ron and Hermione and everyone else and how "needing to do this alone" could very well have ended in tragedy. He remembers Snape's memories, the things that carried him through to the end, and how they might have been selfish at first, but by the end, they were anything but. He remembers the look on Neville's face when he asked him to finish it, not for his benefit, but for everyone else.
And now he sees the truth in Neville's eyes: it's okay to be selfish, when it's not just about yourself anymore. It might be selfish to want to remember, but not when those around you want to be reminded.
Snape snorts again. 'You're both maudlin idiots,' he says, tone rife with disgust, and leaves the frame with a dramatic swirl of billowing robes. Harry can almost hear the snap of fabric as Snape stalks out of the painting, and the memory of it is so vivid that his breath catches in his throat.
Neville chuckles and reaches for the frame, pulling it back to reveal the entrance to his chambers. 'It takes one to know one,' he murmurs with a cheeky grin. 'He'll be back soon enough. Meanwhile, how about that drink?'
'That,' Harry replies, moving past Neville and brushing their shoulders together, 'is exactly what I want.'