One Last Memory

Throughout the years watching Neville Longbottom has become my hobby. My wife will tell you it is my favorite hobby; however, she has always been jealous of our friendship, especially the carefree manner in which it developed. Watching Harry Potter was my hobby during my years at Hogwarts. It was hard to watch Harry Potter without seeing Longbottom, especially during seventh year.

I have no way of knowing what led Potter and Longbottom to become the inseparable duo that they did during the first weeks of seventh year. I never dared to ask; now it is too late. I watched the elaborate dance they shared among each other. I saw many shy glances, simple touches, and to this day I swear I bore witness to their first kiss, a moment I felt an emotion I am certain I had not been trained to feel but will never forget. It felt as if I was intruding but watching the two of them together felt so right. Much in the way their relationship seemed.

The weeks that followed were when the true turmoil began. The war had long since begun and as my time at Hogwarts was nearing an end I no longer had the luxury of not choosing sides. In the end, I went with Dumbledore's Army. In the end, I was forced to do the thing I swore I wouldn't since he denied my hand in first year, I became friends with Potter.

After spending the month following seventh year in a safe house with Longbottom, Granger, and Potter there was nothing left for us to be but friends. The animosity was cleared and a new, tentative understanding had been reached. Within a year those who had survived the war in our year were friends, we had created a bond that only those who battle together can. Then Harry Potter died, he was nineteen.

I'm not sure how we didn't lose Neville that day, but that was the day I transferred my fascination from Harry to Neville. It took me years to figure out that Neville was the one part of Harry that remained alive. I have never in my life seen such devotion and I will never pretend to understand how Neville has been able to endure everything his life has given him. He is much stronger than I ever would have guessed.

He survived Harry's death although he never fully recovered. We could never get him to move on and I could never completely understand why. I know no one could have replaced Harry but surely companionship of a lover of some sort would have been better than solitude, but Neville swore it would cheapen the memories.

I tried to get him to leave the small house he had always called home; it was much too small for him. It wasn't until earlier this week I understood why he always turned down my offers to take up residence in the manor. That small house feels much more like a home then the manor could ever hope to. And despite Harry having died thirty years ago you can still somehow feel his presence, as if he's been alongside Neville in spirit all along. And because he's Harry Potter, I wouldn't be surprised if he has.

Because watching Neville was my favorite hobby I was the only who was not surprised when he gave up his struggle. His fight had been long gone and I'm surprised he lived as long as he did. Despite popular assumption there are some illnesses even wizards cannot heal. Neville was never destined to make it to old age, had Harry been at his side maybe things would have been different. But a part of him died the day Harry did and for too many years he lived in a grief very few could see, let alone recognize.

We laid Neville Longbottom to rest today, next to Harry Potter, where those who knew him know he belongs, with exactly thirty years between their deaths.