A Quiet Life

A Quiet Life

By Cindale

Chapter 1

"To what do I owe this rude interruption?" growled Professor Severus Snape as he leaned over to glare into his fireplace.

Neville Longbottom resisted rolling his eyes at the man who had intimidated him so much when he was in school and forced his expression to be serious. He knew the Potions Master would not respond positively to any reminder that he was no longer Neville's greatest fear. "I wondered if you had heard from Remus today - how the Wolfsbane Potion worked."

"Impatient boy - you could have waited until my classes were finished before pestering me." Neville had to struggle even harder to keep a straight face. At twenty-three, he was hardly a boy, though he could sometimes be accused of being impatient. "If you must know now, Lupin contacted me earlier to say that he's feeling only slightly tired, and plans to take his wife to that infernal party tonight."

"That's excellent!" said Neville, momentarily forgetting his resolve to act solemn. "So the new aconite appears to be calming his transformations?"

"Only time will tell whether your new form of aconite will benefit or kill a werewolf, but the early results do appear to be promising." Snape grimaced as if he hated to encourage Neville in the least, but Neville was very pleased by the backhanded complement, which was very high praise indeed coming from the Potions Master.

"When you were in school," Snape continued, "I would have never believed you could develop something so potentially useful. At times, I am tempted to suspect you might not be the same person."

Neville fought to keep his expression neutral, reminding himself that there was no way Snape could know what else he had been experimenting with. The time would come when he would need the help of the Potions Master, but he wasn't ready to share his secret quite yet.

"I was always good in Herbology," said Neville with a shrug, which was difficult to accomplish in the Floo.

"Well, now you know Lupin is fine, so leave me in peace! I have a class in twenty minutes!"

"Thank you Professor," Neville called after Snape as the perpetually grumpy man turned and walked away.

"Who were you talking to?" Rose asked. Rose Zeller had apprenticed under a Master Herbologist for a year, as he had, and then had come to work as his assistant at the Ministry-sponsored Research Centre.

Neville stood and dusted his trousers with his hands. "Snape," he said, his lips threatening to curl into a grin.

"I can't believe you work with him," said Rose. "I was so scared of him in school."

"I was too," said Neville, remembering his boggart from third year with a grimace. "He's not so bad, really."

"Is he going to the ball?"

"Snape hates parties," Neville said with a laugh, "but I'm sure he'll be there. He worked too closely with the new Minister during the war to ignore the invitation."

"I wish I were going," Rose said with a heavy sigh, turning back to her pruning.

Neville picked up his own shears and began pruning the plants on the other side of the table, watching the woman covertly as he snipped. Rose was a joy to work with, brilliant and eager to learn, but she seemed to hold a strange fascination for those who had fought in the war, including him. He often wondered if her apparent admiration for him was a result of his brilliance in his chosen field or the fact that the wizarding world considered him a "war hero."

Neville suppressed a sigh as Rose's pruning slowed in direct proportion to the growing dreaminess in her eyes. He had an invitation to the ball, of course, but no date. It would obviously make her happy to go and rub elbows with the "crème de la crème" of wizarding society.

"Do you want to go?"

Rose snapped out of her faraway gaze and shrugged, her pruning accelerating. "Sure, doesn't everyone?"

"No," said Neville, swallowing. It wasn't a real date; why was he so nervous? "I mean, I don't have a date - do you want to go with me?"

"Are you serious?" she practically screamed, dropping the shears.

"Well - sure - you can just walk in with me - you don't have to stay with me."

"But will you introduce me to some of your friends?"

"Well - sure if you want..."

"Oh, Neville! I'll get to meet the new Minister and Harry Potter and Ron and Hermione Weasley and Dean Thomas and Draco Malfoy... What will I wear?" The words flew from her lips so fast that Neville didn't even catch all the names she listed.

"Just wear dress robes." He set his shears down carefully and walked around the table to join her. "Look," he said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder, "it's really no big deal. I just got an invitation because I used to room with the new Minister's son. I'll get you in the door and then you can meet anyone you want."

"That's not true," she said, her eyes wide with admiration. He hated when people looked at him that way, as if he had done something worthy of respect. "You'll always be invited to these things because you're one of the 'Gryffindor Three'."

There it was, the title that he hated, possibly more than anything else. It was the title that reminded him that not all of the "Three" survived. He didn't deserve the title of a war hero. He had thought he would get used to it over time, but had found that he still cringed when he heard it just as he had the first time, almost six years before.

Neville took a deep breath to prevent himself from shouting at Rose, and then said, "Please don't use that title. The 'three' are only 'two' and there are many others who fought in that battle." Rose's eyes widened and filled with tears which only frustrated Neville further; he had tried to keep his tone gentle, but it had to be said. He took another deep breath and returned to his side of the table. "Write down your address for me, and I'll pick you up at half seven, okay?"

When he looked up again, she was giving him a trembling smile, and he suppressed a sigh of relief. He hated it when women cried.

******************************

Neville Apparated directly into his bedroom, feeling the anti-Apparation wards open and close around him as if he were sliding through a short, narrow tube. Harry had developed this particular ward and he and Ron had installed it for him. It was keyed to only allow Apparation in by Neville, though anyone could Apparate out. Harry and Ron were certainly good at what they did; Neville had never had any problem with the wards in the four years he had lived in his flat. It was good to have friends who were Aurors.

Without any hesitation, he walked directly to the plants in the corner of the room and picked up the watering can that was charmed to always be full. "How have you been today?" he said to the closest, largest plant, stroking a leaf fondly. "You're looking well. Would you like a drink?" He poured just the right amount of water into the pot and moved on to the next one.

Neville talked to each plant in turn, touching them gently and watering them. An outside observer would have probably thought him daft, but he truly didn't care. He loved each and every one of his plants, and sometimes he wondered why it was acceptable to talk and coo at an animal but not a plant.

When he had finished with the plants, he washed his hands carefully in the bathroom, and then rummaged in his wardrobe for his dress robes. He eyed the robes critically; they were clean, but a bit rumpled. Neville had never quite gotten the hang of ironing charms, so he carried the robes into the bathroom and charmed them to hover in the air while he showered, hoping the wrinkles would fall out when confronted with the steam.

As he washed away the day's soil and sweat, his mind wandered to his closest friend. Dean had refused to tell him who he was taking to the ball, saying he wanted to surprise him. It must be someone he knew, or Dean would have simply said that he didn't know her.

A little smile played on his lips as it often did when he considered the irony of their friendship. It didn't seem possible for two people to be more different. Dean Thomas was tall, thin, and dark while Neville was short, stocky, and pale. Dean had managed to kill every plant Neville had given him and was completely baffled by Neville's research. Dean was very successful in his career as an art designer with a wizard advertising firm, while Neville could hardly draw a stick figure. Dean was smooth with the ladies and flirted with almost every one he met, while Neville tended to be awkward around woman and shied away from situations where he might be forced to talk to them. Dean was Muggle-born, and had never even heard of the wizarding world until he had received his Hogwarts letter; Neville's parents were both wizards and he had grown up without any knowledge of Muggle technology.

Despite their differences, the two men had a bond that was forged through seven years of rooming together in school and the loss of their close friend, Seamus Finnigan. True, Seamus's death had been harder on Dean, as he had been closest to him, but both Neville and Dean had fought with him in that terrible final battle, and both had been by his side when he had fallen.

Another thing Neville and Dean had in common was their disgust with the label of "war hero." Neville, Dean, and Seamus had been dubbed the "Gryffindor Three" because someone had snapped a photograph of them leading the students into the Battle of Hogwarts with their wands drawn. The photograph had appeared in the Daily Prophet the next day and had circulated to almost every major wizarding newspaper around the world, becoming an icon of the final battle, and making the three famous. Neville didn't think he would ever become reconciled to his celebrity, and he knew Dean felt the same.

Really, the similarities Neville and Dean shared were more important and went much deeper than their differences. Dean was the only one who knew about Neville's greatest fear, and Dean had told Neville once that he was the only one who understood his grief about Seamus. They both still had occasional nightmares about the war, and they were both grateful to have each other to confide in, since talking about the dreams sometimes seemed to hold them at bay for a time.

Neville turned off the water, towelled himself dry, and inspected his dress robes. Maybe Rose could do a quick ironing charm when he arrived at her flat. He walked into his bedroom, still towelling his hair, and his eyes fell on the picture of his parents on his nightstand, reminding him that he needed to drink his tea before the ball. He dressed quickly in the simple black slacks and white shirt he would wear under his robes, and padded barefoot into the kitchen.

As he waited for the kettle to steam, he talked gently to one of the plants he had crossbred himself before gently clipping a sprig and putting it into his cup. He added tea, boiling water, and a little honey to sate his hunger; he didn't want to eat dinner before the ball since he knew he would snack on hors d'oeuvres while he was there. He sipped the steaming liquid slowly, leaning against the counter and letting his mind wander from the herb in his tea to the new breed of aconite he had developed. He was suddenly eager to talk to Remus about his transformation, and resolved to seek him out as soon as he could.

The telephone rang, startling him out of his reverie and causing him to slosh a little tea on his white shirt. He wandered around the flat, trying to follow the sound of the ring, wondering where he had left the infernal thing this time. At least with a Floo call there was never any doubt about where to answer it. Why on earth had he let Dean and Harry talk him into getting the blasted thing?

He finally found the telephone in his study on the computer desk and stabbed at the buttons. "This is Neville," he said, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice.

"Wotcher, mate," said Dean's voice. "So, did you manage a last minute date?"

"Actually, I'm taking Rose Zeller from work."

"Really? You've never mentioned her before. Is she cute?"

Neville considered that. She had been working with him for a couple of months now, but he hadn't really considered her looks. She was very enthusiastic about their work and a very competent Herbologist, and that's what he valued most in a co-worker. He realized he was still thinking of her as a co-worker, despite the fact that they were going on a date, even though it wasn't a real date.

Was she cute? Rose had blonde hair that she always wore in a bun or ponytail of some sort, presumably to keep it out of her face. Neville supposed she had a nice face, attractive now that he thought about it, but it really wasn't appropriate for him to think of her in that fashion as long as he was her supervisor.

"I guess so. It's not really a date - I just asked her because it was obvious she wanted to go. Watch out - I know she wants to meet all the 'war heroes'." Neville could clearly picture the grimace that was surely on his friend's face.

"Speaking of," said Dean, "that's why I called. I heard they're having us parade in front of the press as we arrive, like at the bloody Oscars in the States. Be sure to bring your best smile."

"Oh, Merlin, are you serious?" Neville groused, disgusted. "Can't we Apparate directly in?"

"Nah - security you know. It'll be okay. I'm sure they'll have wards up to keep the photographers from actually touching us. And besides, I think my date will enjoy it."

"Who are you bringing, anyway?" Neville asked for at least the twentieth time, trying to remember who he had been talking about most frequently lately.

"You'll see," said Dean with a laugh. "I'd better ring off - I've got to pick her up soon. See you there."

Neville punched the button to end the call, absently setting the telephone down by the computer again, completely forgetting his frustration at not being able to find it before. He glanced at the clock and realized he had to pick up Rose soon.

He drank his tea as he finished dressing, thinking about the evening ahead. He wished he could be like Rose, an outsider, relatively untouched by the war and never considered a "hero." He realized, however, that like Dean's mysterious date, Rose would probably thoroughly enjoy their arrival.

******************************

The Ministry building had been rebuilt as soon as the war was over, financed by assets seized from the Death Eaters. They had opted to build above the ground instead of below, and the result was bigger and much more opulent than before. The ten-story brick building featured stone gargoyles across the summit whose faces seemed to resemble past Ministers of Magic. The two-story high entrance was recessed behind eight white marble columns. Neville had been told that Muggles saw an ordinary office building instead, and that it was charmed to repel curiosity and salesmen.

A narrow burgundy carpet had been laid which started at the entrance, extended down the black marble staircase, and continued to a point in the middle of the street. The pathway created by the carpet was lined by torches hovering in the air just higher than a man's head. It would have been a beautiful scene if not for the crush of reporters lining the path.

The street had been blocked (Neville thought he saw a sign declaring a gas leak) to allow guests to Apparate just beyond the end of the carpet and parade down the path for maximum exposure to the journalists. Neville found himself idly wondering if he could covertly charm the torches to float a few feet lower, just enough to scare the reporters away, not to burn them, of course. Thankfully, the media representatives were confined behind an invisible barrier which lined the carpet, but it didn't prevent clouds of photographic purple smoke from drifting over the pathway.

He was right about Rose's reaction to their entrance. She beamed as they walked from the Apparation point to the Ministry building as if she were walking to her own coronation. Neville plastered a smile on his face and struggled not to grimace at the idiotic questions that were thrown his way.

"Mr. Longbottom, how did it feel to kick Voldemort's arse?" asked one reporter. Neville wanted to scream that Harry did that, not him.

"Mr. Longbottom, how did you get to be on a first name basis with the Boy Who Lived?" That reporter just hadn't done his research.

"Mr. Longbottom, why haven't you settled down yet? You are seen in the company of Mr. Thomas quite often - are you two a couple?" That was the first time Neville had heard that particular question, and he wasn't sure whether to be insulted on behalf of Rose or amused by it - he knew Dean would think it was funny, though.

They finally reached the door and Neville hurried inside, pulling Rose along with him. As they waited in the queue to present their invitations to the grumpy-looking doorman, Rose leaned toward him and asked, "You hate that, don't you? Why?"

Neville sighed, knowing she meant the questions and the attention. "You know, if a reporter would sit down with me calmly and ask me questions about my research, I would be thrilled. It's ridiculous - I'm working on things that could benefit all of Wizardkind, and all they can ask me about is my love life and something that happened six years ago. How would you feel?"

Rose widened her eyes as if affronted. "I'm sorry," Neville said quickly in a gentler tone, even though he actually felt impatient, "but can you imagine? I would give almost anything to be a nobody." She nodded at him, but there was no comprehension in her eyes. Neville suppressed a sigh; she was blinded by the apparent glamour of the fame, and had no concept of what he had paid for it.

Dean hurried up to them as soon as they were admitted, leading a woman with long brown hair...

"Lavender!" Neville exclaimed as she embraced him enthusiastically. He untangled himself from her arms and said, "I thought you were in the States."

"Came back about three weeks ago, and ran into Dean at the L. C."

Neville shot Dean a puzzled look and his friend mouthed, "The Leaky Cauldron."

"He told me all about this big party, and I couldn't resist the invitation," Lavender continued. "I'm sure mine got lost on its way overseas. Anyway, can you imagine Arthur Weasley being Minister of Magic? I would have never thought a Weasley..."

"Hey mate," Dean interrupted, "introduce us to your date."

Neville made the introductions quickly, suddenly eager to get away from Lavender.

"Zeller," said Lavender, staring appraisingly at Rose. "Your name sounds familiar."

"I went to Hogwarts," said Rose. "Hufflepuff, started in 1995. I know who you are, of course. You fought in the Battle of Hogwarts."

"Yes, I did, I got the Order of Merlin for it!" said Lavender, her expression brightening. She took Rose's arm. "Come on," she said, "I'll introduce you to some of the others. I know them all, of course..."

As the two women walked into the ballroom, Neville wondered why on earth Dean had invited Lavender Brown.

"We had a couple of drinks at the Leaky Cauldron, and inviting her just seemed like the thing to do," Dean said as if reading Neville's mind. "God! I forgot how horrible she was."

"She wasn't always horrible," Neville said, his mind drifting to the time they had dated during their sixth year at Hogwarts. She had seemed pleasant at the time, but now that Neville thought about it, she had spent a lot of time pumping him for information about the battle at the Department of Mysteries at the end of his fifth year.

Neville had been so lost in thought that he hadn't realized that he and Dean were about to enter the ballroom. "Oi, mate," he said, stopping suddenly, "we'd best not walk in together."

"Why?"

"The reporters were just asking me if you and I are a couple. I don't think we need to add any fuel to that rumour."

Dean laughed, as Neville had known he would. "I have half a mind to drag you out there for a snog, right in front of all of them."

"Well, you're right about that," Neville said screwing up his face in exaggerated disgust. "You certainly only have half a mind." He hurried into the ballroom before Dean could retaliate.

The ballroom took up the entire ground floor and could be divided to accommodate smaller parties and meetings. It was decorated in burgundy and gold tonight, which made Neville think of Gryffindor. Five crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the largest and most ornate in the centre of the room. Neville had heard that the largest chandelier was actually powered by electricity, a nod to the new Minister's obsession with Muggle technology, but he doubted the rumour was true.

Neville searched the room with his eyes, seeking Remus and Petunia Lupin. He spotted Rose dancing with Draco Malfoy and cringed.

Harry claimed that Malfoy had helped him defeat Voldemort, and he knew he should be grateful for that, but he still couldn't get past the way the git had treated him in school. It should have helped that Harry believed in him, had even gone before the Wizengamot to defend him, but even Harry's endorsement couldn't make Neville like the abrasive man.

Neville spotted the Lupins across the ballroom and started toward them. As he walked, he noticed Ron and Hermione dancing a little awkwardly due to Hermione's swollen abdomen, looking into each other's eyes as if they were the only ones in the room. Neville smiled and wondered if he would ever feel that way about another human being.

As he passed the refreshment table, he spotted Theodore Nott chatting up a woman he didn't know. Nott was a former schoolmate that Neville preferred to avoid; even Draco Malfoy hated him. His father had escaped prosecution after the war by fleeing the country, but Neville felt that Nott might as well have been a Death Eater, too. Neville was comforted by the fact that his family's entire fortune had been seized by the Ministry. Theodore, however, had managed to avoid employment by charming women from influential families, most of them much older.

When he reached the spot where the Lupins had been standing, they were gone. Neville looked around, frustrated, and saw that they were dancing. The Lupins were another couple who were very obviously in love. It had always seemed oddly appropriate to Neville that Remus had married Harry's aunt since he had been like a father to Harry during his most difficult years. As he watched them glide effortlessly across the room, he realized his questions about Remus's health had been answered; the werewolf was obviously feeling quite well. He could Floo him tomorrow and question him further.

Neville filled a plate at the refreshment table and turned to watch the dancers. He wondered, as he had many times before, how Harry could be so graceful on a broom and so awkward on the dance floor. Ginny didn't seem to mind, though; she gazed up at him with her eyes full of love. Neville couldn't help wondering if they would ever marry.

He remembered a time about two years before when Dean had asked Harry why he didn't marry Ginny. Dean was frustrated because Harry wouldn't join them in chatting up three women at the pub where they had stopped to get a drink. He told Harry he might as well be married since he was acting like it. Harry had said, "I love Ginny, and I would never do anything to betray her. But I'm not ready to get married. Everyone expects me to marry her, and I've spent my entire life doing what everyone else expects. I'm sure I'll marry her someday, but I'm going to do it on my terms, and in my own timing. Ginny accepts this, and to be honest, it's really no one else's business but ours." Neville supposed if Harry and Ginny were happy with their arrangement, it didn't really matter what anyone else thought.

"I can't believe that one of the most eligible bachelors at this ball is not dancing!" exclaimed Lavender right next to him, causing him to jump, and a couple of prawns to fall from his plate. "Come on," she continued. "Let's dance, and you can tell me what you've been up to over the last couple of years."

Lavender, however, chatted about New York the entire time they danced. After awhile Neville simply smiled and nodded, and reminded himself never prattle on this much about his research.

"Ooh - there's Harry and Ginny," Lavender said, and Neville had to stifle a sigh of relief that she had changed the subject. "Are they ever going to get married? I wonder if they'll swap - I want to dance with Harry. Let's ask them."

She took the lead and danced them over to the couple. "Ginny," she said when they were within shouting distance, "can I borrow your boyfriend for teeny bit? I want to catch up."

"Er - sure," Ginny said, releasing Harry with obvious reluctance. Harry gave Ginny a glance that reminded Neville of a man about to be tortured, and then plastered on a smile as he whirled off with Lavender. Ginny stared after them with an unreadable expression, and Neville wondered if he should ... sure, why not?

"Miss Weasley," he said, "would you like to dance?"

Ginny turned to face him and grinned, obviously amused. "Certainly Mr. Longbottom," she answered, imitating Neville's formal tone. "As long as you don't stand on my feet."

Neville smiled and took her into his arms, maintaining as much distance between them as possible. "I'm a little better since Hogwarts," he said with mock dignity, remembering the Yule Ball in his fourth year.

"Don't worry - I'm used to it. Harry's a horrible dancer."

Neville agreed, but he hated to say anything negative to Ginny about her boyfriend. "I guess I should thank you for helping me get away from Lavender," he said instead, and immediately felt terrible for saying such a thing, but Ginny's smile grew wider and a little mischievous.

"Anything to help Harry have a good time. Seriously, though," she said, her expression sobering, "he hates these things."

"Yeah, I do, too," Neville agreed. "It's bad enough that I don't dance well. But people I don't know always want to take pictures of me and talk to me just because of something I did six years ago. I know it's even worse for Harry."

"Yeah," said Ginny in a sympathetic tone. "It's been that way for Harry most of his life."

Neville nodded, having nothing to say to that, and then asked Ginny if she would be playing Quidditch again this year.

"Yes - I got promoted to first reserve Chaser this year! They're going to pay me for second reserve Seeker, too, so I've finally quit my job at Gringotts."

"That's great, Ginny!" said Neville, feeling genuinely happy for her. He knew she loved Quidditch, a passion he could never quite understand. He enjoyed watching it, of course, but couldn't fathom why people would want to fly around on brooms. Neville preferred having both feet firmly planted on the ground.

Ginny chattered about the Appleby Arrows for awhile, and then Neville told her a little about his work with Snape on the Wolfsbane Potion.

"That's right - last night was the full moon, wasn't it?" said Ginny. "I talked to Remus earlier - he looks tired, but otherwise none the worse for wear."

Talk of Remus led into pleasant reminiscences from their years at Hogwarts, and Neville actually felt a twinge of regret when the dance ended and Harry claimed his girlfriend. Thankfully, Lavender had gone to find Draco Malfoy and did not ask Neville to dance again.

Neville danced with a few other women, but spent most of his time hovering along the wall watching the others and trying to go easy on the delicious champagne and hors d'oeuvres. After a couple of hours had passed and he was beginning to feel very relaxed, it occurred to him that he should probably dance with his "date" at some point. He sought her out and managed to catch her between war heroes. "You know, I think the only celebrity you haven't danced with tonight is your date," he said in a teasing tone.

"That's not true," Rose said with a laugh. "I haven't danced with the Minister, and I don't think anyone can pry Ron Weasley away from his wife."

Neville spent his dance with Rose alternatively annoyed and amused as she told him stories he knew well, but that she had heard from other points of view. Thankfully, very few of them had to do with the war; apparently his friends were as reluctant to talk about it as he was, because he doubted she had really understood that he hated discussing it.

As the dance ended, Neville said, "I think I'm going to leave soon - I need to go into the Centre early tomorrow. Are you ready to go?"

"Are you joking?" Rose asked in apparent shock as she released him and took a step back. "I could stay for hours!" She smiled at him, but her eyes were already shifting around, probably searching for her next dance partner. "Thank you for bringing me, Neville, I'm having a marvellous time. Go on without me - I can see myself home." Her grin turned into a smirk as she continued, "Or maybe I won't have to."

Neville raised an eyebrow, but only said, "Thanks for coming with me," even as she turned away. He smiled affectionately at her back, shook his head slightly, and went off to congratulate the new Minister and his wife.

As he walked out the door of the Ministry building into the crisp September night, a small sound caused him to look back. There appeared to be a figure cowering in an alcove near the door. Neville looked up and down the deserted street, wondering idly if he should take a closer look, and then wondering why he was even considering it; he had to be to work early the next morning. Just as he was going to Apparate home, however, the large, bright moon emerged from behind a cloud, and Neville saw the unmistakable glint of red hair on a form too small to belong to a man. "Ginny?" he called out.

The figure buried her head deeper into her arms, as if trying to hide from his sight. Neville walked over to her, crouched down, and gently touched her shoulder. "Ginny?" he repeated more softly.

"Oh, Neville," she whispered through quiet sobs as she buried her head in his robes, pulling him down to his knees in an uncomfortable kneeling position. He patted her back awkwardly as she sobbed uncontrollably into his robes, cursing himself inwardly for pausing in the first place. Crying women were just impossible to deal with!

Finally the sobs slowed, and he asked quietly if she wanted him to go get Harry. To his complete astonishment, she started bawling more violently than before. Was it possible that Harry was the problem?

"What's wrong?" he demanded, trying to use a gentle tone, but he was beginning to be alarmed. "Has something happened to Harry?"

She gasped and snivelled a few more times, obviously trying to control herself, and finally said, "No - Harry's fine - now. He won't be tomorrow, after I kill him."

"Er - that might not be such a good idea, Ginny," Neville said, trying to pull Ginny away from him so he could look at her face. "I've heard the Ministry frowns on murder these days. And think of the scandal it would cause to the new Minister if his daughter did something so ... violent." Neville had meant to try to lighten the mood, but only got a raised eyebrow for his efforts.

"Never mind," said Ginny, wiping her eyes and starting to get to her feet, causing Neville to sit back on his haunches. "I'll kill him right now."

"No!" Neville protested, grabbing Ginny's arm to prevent her from standing. "Go home, get some sleep, you'll feel better about it in the morning."

To his horror, her bottom lip started to tremble violently and the tears began afresh. "No," she gasped, "it won't be better - it'll never be better."

Neville wondered what on earth could drive Ginny Weasley into such despair. He had always thought of her as a strong woman; even as a teenager she had always seemed older, more mature than the other girls. It was almost frightening to see her in such anguish, and he wanted desperately to stop it.

"Come on, Ginny - I'll take you home."

"NO!" she shouted. "I can't go home!" Neville stood up anyway and pulled her to her feet. She allowed him to help her up, but then jerked her arm out of his grasp. "Don't you see? I can't go home - Harry broke it off with me! We're finished!"

Neville stared at her in shock. How was that possible after all this time? Harry had said he loved her! Of course, that had been two years ago...

"I'm sorry you had a fight," Neville said, "but I think you both just need some sleep." He felt stupid as soon as the words came out of his mouth; hadn't he suggested sleep before? He couldn't, however, think of any other advice to offer, and he didn't want Ginny to go back into the ballroom and make a scene.

"It wasn't a fight," Ginny said, absentmindedly brushing off her robes. "We've argued a bit in the past, but never like this. He said..." she stopped as her lip began to tremble again. "Merlin - I can't even say it! He said he..." she took a deep breath, "he said there's someone else."

Neville felt his jaw drop open in disbelief. After a moment, he felt anger bubbling up in his chest, anger against Harry and his betrayal of Ginny. He had said he would never betray her. How could he do this?

He forced his mouth to close, stepped closer to her, and gently wrapped his arms around her. "I am so sorry, Ginny," he murmured into her hair. The gentle trembling of her body told him that she had started crying again. He couldn't leave her like this, and she obviously couldn't go home to Harry's flat. She wouldn't want to go to her parents' home; he imagined that could be quite humiliating, not to mention that it would put a damper on the new Minister's evening. Ron and Hermione were out of the question; even though Hermione was Ginny's closest friend and Ron was her brother, they were also Harry's best friends, which could make explanations quite awkward.

Neville made a sudden, if rather unwise, decision. "Come on - I'll take you home."

"I told you - I can't..." she muttered into his chest.

"I mean to my flat. You can kip there tonight. We'll sort all this out tomorrow."

She drew back enough to look him in the eye. "Are you sure?" she said with a wary expression.

"Of course," he said brightly, though he suddenly wasn't sure at all. "It's fine - I have two bedrooms." He pulled her close and said, "I'll Apparate us to my front door, okay?" Ginny nodded, and in the next instant they were standing on Neville's welcome mat. He waved his wand to open the door and untangled himself from his houseguest as they made their way into his home.

Ginny had never been in his flat before. Neville found that he was a bit self-conscious about all the plants and research materials lying around, but Ginny didn't seem to notice as Neville quickly showed her the kitchen and then the study.

"This isn't a bedroom," Ginny protested. "Where will I sleep?"

"You can sleep in my bed," said Neville. "I can transfigure one of these chairs into a small bed, or I can kip on the sofa."

"I hate for you to give up your bed," she said. "I can sleep on the sofa - it's no problem. I just appreciate you letting me stay here." She paused for a moment and her eyes filled with tears again. "I didn't know what to do. Thank you."

Neville gestured as if to brush away her words; he had only done what any friend would have done, and he really didn't want her to start crying again. "It's okay. You can stay as long as you want. We'll figure out a better sleeping arrangement tomorrow if we need to. For tonight you sleep in my bed - no arguments."

"Okay," she said with a sigh. "I'm too knackered to argue anyway."

She followed him into the bedroom. "Bathroom and toilet are through there," he said, indicating the door. He opened the wardrobe, intending to pull out a spare blanket, but Ginny touched his arm, and he turned to face her.

"Thank you again," she said with a wobbly smile. "I really appreciate this." She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed, and he automatically embraced her shoulders in return. Then she pulled back slightly, and he was surprised to see an odd, almost predatory expression in her eyes. "You know, your bed is big enough for two. There's no reason for you to sleep on the sofa." Neville knew there were a hundred reasons for him to sleep on the sofa, but he was having trouble remembering them as she leaned closer to his face. "I told Harry I wanted someone else, too," she whispered. "It was a lie. I didn't want him to know how badly he was hurting me. But you could make it true."

Suddenly her lips were on his, and it was nothing like their kisses when they had dated at Hogwarts, which had been gentle and tentative. This was hot and demanding. Neville found his mind emptying of every thought except how his body was responding to Ginny's lips and groping hands. In some distant part of his mind Neville realized they were moving towards the bed and that there was probably some reason they shouldn't be doing this.

Something on the floor caught his foot, causing him to stumble and break the kiss and also causing his head to clear. Ginny giggled as she sat on the bed and reached out to pull him closer, but he grabbed her wrists to stop her.

"No, Ginny," he said in what he had hoped would be a firm voice, but it came out more as a tremor. "This is wrong. We can't do this."

"What's wrong with it?" said Ginny, twisting her wrists around to grab his hands and tugging him toward her. "I'm not dating anyone, and you're not, are you?"

"This is not about you and me, this is about revenge, and I won't have any part of it," Neville said, pulling his hands out of her grip.

"Who cares?" said Ginny. "I can tell you want me, and I want you. What difference does it make why?"

"You don't want me at all, Ginny. You want Harry. And this isn't the way to get him back."

"I don't want him back! I want to move on! That's what I'm trying to do here, move on! This has NOTHING to do with Harry!" Her eyes filled with tears and threatened to spill over.

"Even if that were true, it's much too soon," said Neville. "I refuse to take advantage of you."

"Quit being such a noble Gryffindor, Neville. I can take care of myself!" She was obviously struggling not to cry, but quickly losing the battle. "If you don't want me, just say so!" She lay on the bed with her back to him and curled her body into a ball, as if instinctively trying to protect her heart. Her shoulders shook violently with her silent sobs, and Neville felt his anger melt into compassion.

He went to the wardrobe, retrieved a blanket, and draped it carefully over her. Then he knelt beside the bed, leaned close to her ear, and said, "Ginny, you are a beautiful woman, and you deserve to be loved and treasured."

"If - if that's so," she gasped around her sobs, "wh - why doesn't anyone - want me?"

Neville's heart broke a little at her desperate question, and for a brief moment he considered making love to her just to comfort her. He had never really thought about it since school because she had been Harry's girlfriend, but she had a beautiful face, an athletic body, and a graceful manner that was very appealing. He imagined that he would take great pleasure in making love to her, but he knew that in the morning they would both regret their actions. What Ginny really needed was a friend, not more confusion.

He gently touched her shoulder and she rolled over to face him. His heart melted a little more when he saw her red, blotchy, tear-stained face. He brushed her hair out of her eyes and said, "Personally, I think Harry's barking mad to give you up. But you deserve to be treated with respect. No matter how we tried to justify it, you would always think of this as a pity shag, and I would always wonder if you were thinking of Harry the whole time. We would both regret it in the morning, and it might ruin our friendship."

Ginny stared at him for a moment and finally nodded. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"No worries," Neville said, unable to help a grin. He pulled the blanket up to her chin and said, "I'll be in the living room. Just call if you need anything, okay?"

"Neville?" Ginny said with a sniffle.

"Yes?"

Her eyes filled with tears again, and she said in a tiny voice that he almost didn't hear, "Don't leave me?"

He stared into her eyes, which began to spill over again, wondering what to do. Was she trying to seduce him again? He didn't know how long he could resist if she got too insistent; it had been hard to say no before.

Finally, he decided that she had no ulterior motive. He grabbed another blanket out of the wardrobe and crawled in beside her, still dressed in his shirt and slacks. She snuggled close and buried her head in his shoulder, and he gently stroked her hair until she stopped shaking and fell asleep.

*******************************************

It had been a long time since Neville had awoken to a presence in his bed, and he was a bit startled for a moment. The events of the night before came rushing into his mind as he stared into Ginny's peaceful, sleeping face, lovely in the morning light despite the lingering blotchiness from crying. He slithered out of bed gently so he wouldn't wake her, quietly grabbed a change of clothes out of the wardrobe, and padded into the kitchen to make breakfast. He had planned to go into work first thing this Saturday morning, but it occurred to him that it might be courteous to offer his houseguest breakfast first.

Ginny hadn't made an appearance by the time Neville had changed clothes and eaten his own breakfast, so he prepared a tray for her and carried it to his room, pushing the door open with his foot. "Morning," he said as she blinked at him in confusion and pulled herself into a sitting position. "Hungry?" He put the tray in front of her and watched the emotions play across her face. Her confusion changed to comprehension and sadness as she presumably remembered about Harry, but then her cheeks reddened as if she had been sunburned and she pulled the blanket up over her head.

"I am so sorry, Neville," she said, her voice muffled by the blanket.

Neville pulled the blanket away from her and smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. "Forget it - you were distraught."

"Merlin - I can't believe I threw myself at you like that! What must you think of me?" She pulled the blanket over her head again.

Although he realized the question was meant to be rhetorical, Neville thought about it for a moment. He was surprised at Ginny's actions the previous night, both because it seemed out of character for her and because the only women who had ever tried to seduce him before were motivated by his "war hero" status. He knew from experience, however, that extremely stressful situations could cause people to do uncharacteristic things.

"Really - it's okay, Ginny," he said sitting on the bed beside her. He found that he really didn't think any less of her, and he was actually starting to feel stupid about his own behaviour the night before. First, he had almost given in and taken advantage of her, and then he had given her silly platitudes that probably sounded insincere. All he wanted to do was forget the whole thing ever happened, but Ginny was having none of it.

"Can you ever forgive me?" she asked, pulling the blanket down just far enough for him to see her eyes.

"There's nothing to forgive. Like I said, you were distraught. I know you wouldn't normally do that. Really, let's just forget it." He pushed the tray a little closer. "Come on out and eat."

"What is that?" she said, letting the blanket fall, which revealed her severely rumpled dress robes.

"A bran muffin."

"Muffin? That's not a muffin!"

"It's what the Americans call a muffin, apparently. They usually have fruit in them, but this kind is supposed to be especially good for you."

She picked up the brown lump and sniffed it. "Did you make it?"

"Yes, actually," Neville said, feeling himself reddening slightly. Not many people knew he could cook.

"Then I'll try it." She took a tentative bite and rolled the morsel in her mouth thoughtfully. "Hmmm... I think it's pretty good, actually. And I probably should be eating stuff like this instead of eggs and bacon since I'll be in training in a few days."

Neville was unable to suppress a grin at her praise of the muffin, but he decided to turn the conversation to more practical matters. "When do you leave?"

"Wednesday."

Neville nodded, realizing suddenly that he was nervous about what he was about to propose. "Do you want to stay here?" he blurted before could think about it too much and change his mind. Ginny dropped the muffin and stared at him. "I mean - it's only a few days before you leave - and you can't really go back to your flat - I mean Harry's flat - I mean, unless you're going to make up with him..."

"I'm not going to say another word to that bastard for the rest of my life if I can avoid it," she said in a low voice which was more alarming than if she had shouted.

"Well, I just wanted you to know that you're welcome to ..."

"That's okay," Ginny interrupted. "I can't really afford my own flat on my Quidditch salary yet, but Mum and Dad have plenty of room. I appreciate the offer, though."

Neville nodded, knowing he should be relieved that she wouldn't be staying, but surprised that he actually felt a vague sense of disappointment. Ginny continued to chew on the muffin and the silence grew awkward. Finally, Neville said, "I've got to go to work for awhile. You can Floo me at the Research Centre if you need anything. If you're still here when I get back, I'll make you some lunch." Confident that he had now fulfilled all his duties as a host, he rose from the bed and started to exit the room.

"Thanks, Neville - for everything."

He turned back to give her a smile. "No worries."

********************************************

Neville loved going to the Research Centre on Saturdays when very few people were there; he was able to concentrate more easily without interruptions, and he could talk to the plants freely without the other scientists thinking he was mental. Even though most of the staff didn't work on weekends, Neville went in every day to check his plants. He always had at least one experiment that was at a delicate stage.

He wished for the hundredth time that he could Apparate directly into his laboratory, but Apparition disturbed the air and the magical aura around the plants. So Neville Apparated to the front door of the facility and let himself in with his wand, his mind busy thinking about which plants needed attention that day. He had almost made it all the way down the corridor to his laboratory when he realized that something had been not quite right when he walked in. Sighing to himself, he doubled back to the foyer and gasped at the sight before him.

A man was lying on the floor, obviously dead, his eyes frozen wide in a look of terror.