shiiki
in
shiikifics
FIC: Looking Forward (Neville, Gen)
Title: Looking Forward
Author: shiiki
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Neville Longbottom, Hannah Abbott, Gen (Neville/Hannah if you squint)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Word Count: 954
Summary: Right after the Final Battle, the DA get drunk. Fortunately for Neville, Hannah's experienced in taking care of hangovers.
Notes: Written for magikcat112's prompt: Neville and Hannah and Firewhiskey.
When it's all over and he can rest at last without worrying about the Carrows or Death Eaters or even cryptic messages about killing giant snakes, Neville finds that he can't sleep.
He's not the only one. As the Great Hall empties, students and adults either returning home or heading to the dormitories, which Professor McGonagall has opened up, Neville finds himself surrounded by all the surviving members of the DA. Judging from their expressions, they're experiencing the same explosion of mixed feelings.
They've won, actually won, which should call for a real celebration, yet they've lost as well, so many friends whom they will always mourn. Still, the occasion calls for something, and as the leader Neville dimly recognises that he ought to take charge.
Proving this point, he gets up and Dumbledore's Army looks to him, expectantly waiting to follow his lead.
The Room of Requirement would be the best place to go, but it's all the way up on the seventh floor and most of them are too physically tired to climb all the way up. In the end, they end up in the Hufflepuff common room, which is as cosy as anything the Room would provide anyway. Somehow Seamus and Ernie have managed to procure a whole crate of Firewhiskey and they end up throwing back shot after shot, toasting every single one of their fallen comrades.
The alcohol sears painfully down Neville's throat at first but it goes down easier with every toast. They drink to Colin, who snuck back to help and paid dearly for it. Neville remembers the light, broken body he carried in from the battlefield and his tears flow freely. They drink to Dean, and Seamus's howl of anguish at losing his best friend -- just as he'd returned again -- hurts them all. They drink to Susan, to Terry, to Michael, to Daphne, to Lavender.
After they exhaust the list of school-age members, they continue: 'Fred,' Ginny throws in, choking a bit on the name. Someone follows up with 'Professor Lupin,' which brings up more tears from everyone. A few of the Hufflepuffs add 'Cedric Diggory!' to the mix and they're off on another roll of continuous toasts, this time with names going far beyond yesterday's battle. Somewhere between 'Dobby the house-elf!' -- Neville thinks that came from Luna -- and the name after that, Neville's whiskey-fogged brain finally gives in to exhaustion and he slips into unconsciousness.
When he wakes up, his body is warm and comfortable. His head, however, feels as though a herd of Erumpents have thundered through it. Or possibly it could be the after-effects of a Crucio combined with a head bashing by the Carrows. For one panicked moment, he thinks it was all a dream, from battle to victory. Immediately he's on his feet, alert, the blanket covering his body sliding to the floor.
Then he takes in the state of the room: various members of the DA sprawled on the couch, the armchairs, or the carpet; empty Firewhiskey bottles packed neatly into a crate; a hand holding out a glass of murky brown liquid towards him.
'Oh!' gasps Neville. His legs wobble under him; he falls back onto his makeshift bed for the night.
'Your head must be feeling pretty horrible,' says Hannah. 'This should help.'
Neville accepts the glass and downs its contents, grimacing at the taste. Hannah's right, though. After the mixture chugs thickly down his throat, the pounding in his head eases to a dull throb, allowing him to think more clearly.
'Thanks,' he says. 'Who'd've thought a hangover would feel the same as the morning after detention?' He grins wryly and glances at Hannah. 'How come you don't look half as bad?'
Hannah laughs. 'I stuck to water. Someone had to take care of you lot once you got going.'
The blanket pooled around his feet and the pillow behind his back suddenly take on a new significance; he realises he has no memory of them being there before this morning. (Or is it afternoon? he wonders, noticing the sunlight streaming fiercely through gaps in the Hufflepuff curtains behind him.) A quick look around the common room confirms that everyone who crashed her has been set up with blankets or cloaks; pillows or cushions.
'Hannah, did you sleep at all? You didn't have to do this -- we wouldn't have noticed -- you should have got some rest --'
'Relax, Neville!' she cuts him off mid-fret. 'I slept, of course, right after I conjured everything. And I just got up before you -- you lot've been out for quite a while, you know -- and thought I'd better brew the potion.'
'Still ...'
'I've had practice. Did I ever tell you that I worked in my father's pub last year? You know, after Mum ... well, Dad needed my help. I may not be all that talented, but I do know what to do when people get drunk.'
'But you are talented ...' protests Neville. 'You were brilliant this year.'
'So were you.' Hannah's eyes crinkle at him. 'I guess we both showed them, didn't we?'
'We did.' He tries to think of everything they did over the past year and it's quite overwhelming. Already it seems like a distant dream. One long yesterday which is finally over, with tomorrow stretching out long and promising before them. 'Where do we go from here?' he wonders.
'Wherever we want, I reckon!' says Hannah, throwing her arms wide as though to describe the enormity of their future.
She looks like a flower, newly sprung from a bud, face turned towards the sun. Looking at her round, beaming face, Neville can't help thinking that the future they fought for is bound to be beautiful.
Author: shiiki
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Neville Longbottom, Hannah Abbott, Gen (Neville/Hannah if you squint)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Word Count: 954
Summary: Right after the Final Battle, the DA get drunk. Fortunately for Neville, Hannah's experienced in taking care of hangovers.
Notes: Written for magikcat112's prompt: Neville and Hannah and Firewhiskey.
When it's all over and he can rest at last without worrying about the Carrows or Death Eaters or even cryptic messages about killing giant snakes, Neville finds that he can't sleep.
He's not the only one. As the Great Hall empties, students and adults either returning home or heading to the dormitories, which Professor McGonagall has opened up, Neville finds himself surrounded by all the surviving members of the DA. Judging from their expressions, they're experiencing the same explosion of mixed feelings.
They've won, actually won, which should call for a real celebration, yet they've lost as well, so many friends whom they will always mourn. Still, the occasion calls for something, and as the leader Neville dimly recognises that he ought to take charge.
Proving this point, he gets up and Dumbledore's Army looks to him, expectantly waiting to follow his lead.
The Room of Requirement would be the best place to go, but it's all the way up on the seventh floor and most of them are too physically tired to climb all the way up. In the end, they end up in the Hufflepuff common room, which is as cosy as anything the Room would provide anyway. Somehow Seamus and Ernie have managed to procure a whole crate of Firewhiskey and they end up throwing back shot after shot, toasting every single one of their fallen comrades.
The alcohol sears painfully down Neville's throat at first but it goes down easier with every toast. They drink to Colin, who snuck back to help and paid dearly for it. Neville remembers the light, broken body he carried in from the battlefield and his tears flow freely. They drink to Dean, and Seamus's howl of anguish at losing his best friend -- just as he'd returned again -- hurts them all. They drink to Susan, to Terry, to Michael, to Daphne, to Lavender.
After they exhaust the list of school-age members, they continue: 'Fred,' Ginny throws in, choking a bit on the name. Someone follows up with 'Professor Lupin,' which brings up more tears from everyone. A few of the Hufflepuffs add 'Cedric Diggory!' to the mix and they're off on another roll of continuous toasts, this time with names going far beyond yesterday's battle. Somewhere between 'Dobby the house-elf!' -- Neville thinks that came from Luna -- and the name after that, Neville's whiskey-fogged brain finally gives in to exhaustion and he slips into unconsciousness.
When he wakes up, his body is warm and comfortable. His head, however, feels as though a herd of Erumpents have thundered through it. Or possibly it could be the after-effects of a Crucio combined with a head bashing by the Carrows. For one panicked moment, he thinks it was all a dream, from battle to victory. Immediately he's on his feet, alert, the blanket covering his body sliding to the floor.
Then he takes in the state of the room: various members of the DA sprawled on the couch, the armchairs, or the carpet; empty Firewhiskey bottles packed neatly into a crate; a hand holding out a glass of murky brown liquid towards him.
'Oh!' gasps Neville. His legs wobble under him; he falls back onto his makeshift bed for the night.
'Your head must be feeling pretty horrible,' says Hannah. 'This should help.'
Neville accepts the glass and downs its contents, grimacing at the taste. Hannah's right, though. After the mixture chugs thickly down his throat, the pounding in his head eases to a dull throb, allowing him to think more clearly.
'Thanks,' he says. 'Who'd've thought a hangover would feel the same as the morning after detention?' He grins wryly and glances at Hannah. 'How come you don't look half as bad?'
Hannah laughs. 'I stuck to water. Someone had to take care of you lot once you got going.'
The blanket pooled around his feet and the pillow behind his back suddenly take on a new significance; he realises he has no memory of them being there before this morning. (Or is it afternoon? he wonders, noticing the sunlight streaming fiercely through gaps in the Hufflepuff curtains behind him.) A quick look around the common room confirms that everyone who crashed her has been set up with blankets or cloaks; pillows or cushions.
'Hannah, did you sleep at all? You didn't have to do this -- we wouldn't have noticed -- you should have got some rest --'
'Relax, Neville!' she cuts him off mid-fret. 'I slept, of course, right after I conjured everything. And I just got up before you -- you lot've been out for quite a while, you know -- and thought I'd better brew the potion.'
'Still ...'
'I've had practice. Did I ever tell you that I worked in my father's pub last year? You know, after Mum ... well, Dad needed my help. I may not be all that talented, but I do know what to do when people get drunk.'
'But you are talented ...' protests Neville. 'You were brilliant this year.'
'So were you.' Hannah's eyes crinkle at him. 'I guess we both showed them, didn't we?'
'We did.' He tries to think of everything they did over the past year and it's quite overwhelming. Already it seems like a distant dream. One long yesterday which is finally over, with tomorrow stretching out long and promising before them. 'Where do we go from here?' he wonders.
'Wherever we want, I reckon!' says Hannah, throwing her arms wide as though to describe the enormity of their future.
She looks like a flower, newly sprung from a bud, face turned towards the sun. Looking at her round, beaming face, Neville can't help thinking that the future they fought for is bound to be beautiful.