Cry

He stands alone, at the back of the crowd as usual. Even today, he's still an afterthought. It bothered him once, but he has grown up. There are worse things than being an outsider.

saveyourselfNevillei'llreallybefinegobeforetheykiss--

He shakes his head. No, not now. The Healers had said that the flashbacks were only to be expected, but he still had to go to St. Mungo's every week to "chat" with one of them.

Sometimes he wishes he hadn't fought, and whenever he does, he sees Harry. Harry lying on the ground covered in blood and dirt, Harry standing back up because they had to win. It was not a war they could lose.

Then he feels ashamed. The flashbacks, the nightmares, they're simply the price he pays for winning.

Harry, up at the altar, finishes his speech, and Hermione bursts into tears, wailing like a banshee.

Someone steps up next to him. "Ronald was a good man," she says, in a vague tenebrous voice.

He turns his head to look at Luna Lovegood. Her hair is finally growing back, he notices, though it's tightly braided. Her gray eyes are dry. Some people think she's incapable of crying, that nothing touches her deeply enough to make her cry.

She can cry.

herfaceisstreakedwithdirtandtearsandsheyellsitagain,expectopatro--

He's never forgiven himself for leaving Luna alone with the Dementors. It doesn't matter that she's still alive and still has her soul. She almost didn't make it.

She looks at him, a spark of curiosity shining in her eyes. "What's wrong, Neville?" she asks, and slips her hand into his. "I know you're not thinking about Ronald."

He wants to ask how does she know this, but Luna's always right about him. She's right about most people. "I shouldn't have left you."

She smiles, a small smile but it lights up her face. "Don't be silly. I'm fine."

Someone in front of them turns to glare at them. "Shush! Don't you realize this is a funeral?"

Neville doesn't recognize him, but then again he doesn't recognize most of the people here. Most of them are important politicians or the like, come to honor a fallen hero they've never met.

Luna says, "That's Rudolf Fregdorr. My father ran a piece on him a few years ago. He owns an illegal graphon breeding outfit."

Despite himself, Neville smiles. Hermione is still bawling over her husband's death, but somehow this funeral is less grim, now that Luna's here.

she'slyingonthehospitalbedsunlightstreamingthroughthewindowandshetellshim,i'mstillalive,i'mstillalive

After the service, they walk up to Ron's coffin together, still hand in hand. Hermione wipes away her tears when she sees them.

"I didn't think you came," she whispers, her hand on her belly. Luna walks over to her and says, "If you or your baby ever need anything, you can call on me."

She's changed so much. She's not as vague or dreamy as she used to be, and it scares him. If Luna, unmovable Luna, was marked so by the war, what's happened to him?

The Final Battle, the Minister calls it. It wasn't final, not at all. Ron was killed in a battle with a Death Eater just last week. They're still fighting the war, and no one cares anymore, because Voldemort is gone.

Bellatrix Lestrange is still alive. He killed her husband in the Final Battle, he drove Godric Gryffindor's sword through Rodolphus' chest. He watched him die, and he doesn't regret it.

Of all the things he's seen, all the things he's done, killing Rodolphus Lestrange is the only one that doesn't haunt his dreams.

He knows that before the war, he would have been terrified of killing someone, even someone like the Lestranges. So that much of him's changed.

Harry is looking at him funny now. "Are you all right, Neville?"

No, he's not all right. He's a murderer.

shelookslikeanangelandthenheknowshelovesher,buttodayhekilledamanandtomarrowhe'llkillanother

Luna answers for him. "None of us are, Harry." Her voice is sharp, and the look she gives Harry is hard and cold. "No one who fought with you is."

Harry looks bewildered, unnerved by this strange new Luna. Hermione's face is hurt confusion. "What do you mean, Luna?" She sounds like a teacher trying to understand the imaginary friend of a preschooler, Neville decides.

"We've killed people, Hermione. We've watched our friends be killed. We can't sleep at night because the only dreams we have are memories of the last battles. It will take a long time before we're all right again."

The war drove Luna out of her shell, he realizes. We are too young to have been through anything that we've been through, and what's happened to her broke apart the walls she had to protect herself. There's usually some emotion in her voice, now, not just the serenity there was before.

How old is she? he wonders. He thinks he's twenty, but he can't be sure anymore. He feels like he's lived lifetimes.

GO!sheyells,hervoicefilledwithpowerandshepusheshimaway

Harry and Hermione are still looking hurt, so Neville tugs Luna's elbow. "Let's go get something to drink," he says.

She lets him pull her down away from them, outside into the sunshine.

"What was that?" he says.

Luna looks away from him, bows her head. "I shouldn't have...." She trails off, and lifts up her head. There are tears in her eyes. "It's my birthday," she murmurs. "I shouldn't have to go to a funeral on my birthday."

A tear falls from her eye, and on an impulse Neville pulls her close to him. She wraps her arms around him.

He shouldn't have left her. He opens his mouth to say so, but she speaks first, her voice soft and wavery. "I don't mind that you left me there. Just please, don't leave me again."

When they kiss, her mouth is salty with tears.