Scattered

She tilted her head back and smiled, whispering, as her dark eyes slid closed, "Neville..."

He glanced around around but they were alone; there was no one watching. Her body was pressed up against his and her hands were clutching his shoulders, pulling him down to her mouth. His heart was racing and the blood was pounding through his veins, his body wanting -- very much -- what he wasn't sure his heart was ready for.

In that moment of hesitation, he remembered something Ginny Weasley had said to him once, late at night in the common room, the two of them alone on the sofa while the others were whispering in a corner, making plans, sharing secrets.

"You know, Neville," Ginny had said suddenly, staring into the fire with a determined look on her face. "One of my dormmates was singing this song the other day, some Muggle song. She's got a pretty bad voice," she'd added with a grimace, "but the words of the chorus, she kept singing them over and over again, and they've kinda stuck with me."

"Yeah?" he'd said, confused.

"'If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with.'" Ginny had headed for the staircase, giving Neville one long last look before going up to her room. "I think that's some advice I'm going to take."

Neville remembered.

Four hours earlier.

"I'll stay home," Ron said. He looked and sounded determined.

Hermione shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous. You're going."

"No, I'm not. I'm staying here with you."

She sighed. "Ron, as soon as you three walk out the door, I'm going upstairs, putting on some pajamas and going to sleep. I'm tired. That's all. I stayed up too late last night finishing that book and then I did a double shift at the library, and I just want to sleep. I'm sorry to miss the big night out, but you all will be fine without me."

"I'd rather keep you company," Ron said stoically.

"While I sleep? Unlike some people, I'm not much of a conversationalist when I'm not awake."

Ron looked puzzled. Neville felt himself blush and turned away.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron said.

"You keep mumbling something about a broomstick in your sleep. How am I supposed to know what it means?" Hermione shot back, rolling her eyes.

Neville snuck a look at Ron and was unsurprised to see his friend's ears had turned a brilliant red -- matching not just his hair but, currently, his face as well.

Bill coughed politely. "Not that this isn't fascinating for the rest of us," he said, lounging against the door, "but getting back to the subject at hand -- Hermione, you sure you don't feel up to coming to the pub with us? I really think you'd enjoy hearing this band, Neville and I thought they were great when we heard them last week."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, really. I'm just too tired, and I've got a bit of a headache started already. I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not. We'll miss you, but you should get some rest. Watch the telly for awhile, and have something to eat before you turn in."

"That sounds good."

"Alright then," Bill concluded, and opened the door. "Let's go, boys."

Neville took a hesitant step towards Bill, but Ron was between them, frowning down at Hermione, trapping Neville where he was. He considered going all the way around through the kitchen but that felt foolish, so he waited, awkwardly.

"I don't like leaving you here alone," Ron said in a low voice.

"I'm perfectly safe here. Safer here than out there, if you want to look at it that way," Hermione argued. Ron still hesitated, scowling down at her. She sighed. "Don't worry about me so much, Ron. Go. Have fun. I'll be here when you get home."

Neville couldn't see Hermione's face but her voice was soft and she placed her hand lightly on Ron's chest as she spoke. The tall redhead -- brunet, now, in preparation for leaving the safehouse -- took a deep breath and his expression softened. Neville knew he should look away but couldn't, so he watched as Ron trailed his fingers down the side of Hermione's face, leaned in and kissed her softly on her forehead.

"I'll hold you to that," Ron murmured, and Neville turned away, finally, at the raw emotion in his friend's voice.

Bill coughed again and, as if a spell had been broken, everyone was bustling about getting ready; Hermione wished them all well and even Ron seemed to be in a better mood. They traipsed down the front steps, Hermione locking the door carefully behind them.

"Wait until you hear this band," Bill was saying enthusiastically. "Amazing stuff. The lead singer's this gorgeous waif type, terrific voice." He grinned impudently at Ron. "Gorgeous for those of us still shopping around, that is."

Ron swatted his older brother on the shoulder but said nothing. Neville smiled a little, thinking of all the times, back at Hogwarts, when someone had even so much as hinted that Ron and Hermione were more than just friends, how Ron had always quickly and firmly and all-too-vehemently told them how completely daft the very idea was. Things sure have changed, Neville thought.

They turned from their own street to a busier, less residential section. "How far away is this place?" Ron asked.

"Just a few blocks," Neville replied. "It's the pub with the pictures of all the football players on the walls, right?"

"Right," Bill replied. "The one with the barman who tells bad jokes, not the one with the cute barmaid you like."

Ron laughed. "What barmaid? Neville, you holding out on me? You know, it sounds to me like you two have spent a lot more time in pubs than you've let on."

"Hey, you were always welcome to join us," Bill said, and shot his brother a grin.

"Yeah, yeah," Ron agreed amicably. "You lush."

Neville quickly interjected, "Bill doesn't drink."

Ron stopped briefly and gave first Neville and then his brother a strange look. "What? Since when?"

"Someone's got to stay sober, and Neville's always three sheets to the wind," Bill replied casually.

Neville felt his face go red. "I'm not, really, that's not true," he couldn't help sputtering. Okay, the one time he'd had a few too many. But it wasn't a habit or anything. "Ron, he's exaggerating."

"I am exaggerating," Bill admitted with another grin. "But it's okay. Listen, you're both of age, at least as far as the wizarding world is concerned. There's no harm in having a pint or two."

"Then how come you don't?" Ron asked.

Bill shrugged. "I think it's better, considering our circumstances, if one of us stays on his toes. Consider me the designated driver of the group."

"Designated what? Driver? Who's driving anything?"

"It's a Muggle thing, little brother. You wouldn't understand."

Neville reached the pub first and held the door open for his friends. They trailed in, Ron looking around at everything with interest.

Bill waved at the barman and offered to get their first round of drinks. "I'll find you in the crowd."

Neville glanced over at Ron and gestured towards the stage. "Come on," he said, and led the way towards the growing group of people standing below a slightly raised area. The band had just finished their first song and everyone was cheering and yelling. Neville did indeed give the lead singer an appreciative look; she really was gorgeous, in her own way.

"That the bird you were talking about?" Ron asked, loudly.

Neville nodded. "Well, or Bill was, really."

They carefully pushed their way slightly towards the front. "Not your cup of tea, huh?" Ron asked over his shoulder.

Neville shrugged. She was pretty, alright, but one unreachable girl in his life was enough.

Bill joined them, balancing their three drinks. Neville quickly relieved him of one and Ron took the other; Bill was drinking something clear and fizzy.

"Okay then, but there's plenty of other girls here," Ron said, loudly now as the band started playing again. He took a long sip. "Wow, that's good."

"What are you going on about?" Bill asked.

"Neville's social life," Ron replied. "I'm trying to help him find the girl of his dreams."

Bill shook his head and turned away, giving his attention back to the music.

"Fine then, don't help a friend in need," Ron called after him. "Don't worry, though, Nev, I won't let you down."

"That's not necessary," Neville said. "Really. I'm not looking to meet anyone, I just like the band."

Ron laughed. "Suit yourself. But," he added, nearly yelling to be heard over the music, "there's nothing like it."

He forced himself to laugh in return and was relieved when Ron finally decided to split his attention between the band and the beer he was drinking, and dropped the subject.

Neville tried to forget about everything they'd been talking about -- he'd been looking forward to hearing this band play again, Bill was right, they were fantastic. And he'd really felt great during last week's show, in the middle of the crowd, just there and not thinking about everything that was going on, or worrying...He wanted that feeling again, that total distraction from life. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to stop thinking about what Ron had said... and, about the one thing he'd been struggling with, silently, all summer.

Neville grabbed Bill's shoulder and leaned in, "I'll be right back," he said. Bill nodded and Neville began working his way through the crowd. It thinned out towards the back; the bar itself and the tables surrounding it were near-empty. He slid onto a stool and waved off the barman; he'd barely touched his drink, as it was.

Ron's words echoed in his head. He had a point, and he'd meant well. The problem was, Neville had already found the girl of his dreams. It was just that, deep down, he knew she belonged with someone else.

Neville remembered being terrified, that first day at Hogwarts. He'd never gone anywhere without his Gran before. He'd grown up with a nanny and then a tutor, and he'd never played much with other children. A cousin or two, near enough to his age, maybe a few times a year at the holidays and such, the occasional small relative of one of his grandmother's friends -- that was it, really.

Gran had prepared him for Hogwarts right from the start, though, from before he could even really remember. She'd told him to study hard with his tutor, to learn how to respect his elders, to obey the rules scrupulously, and, of course, she'd made it very clear just what she expected of him, at school. He was to be a model student, with excellent grades and the pride of all his teachers. He was not to waste his time with silly distractions like Quidditch. He was to meet every social standard of respectability -- but always, to remember what was important. Who he was, who his parents had been, and what he was expected to be.

Whatever that was.

The Hogwarts Express had been a terrifying experience, that first day. So many people, jostling each other in the hallways and cramming into compartments, lugging their trunks about, laughing, talking, waving goodbye. Gran had brought him to the station, showed him where to go and then left with nothing more than one last warning about not letting her down. He'd stumbled about, trying to find a quiet place to sit and blend in and not feel so self-conscious, and he'd been so worried and anxious, he'd lost track of Trevor. Trevor, his first and only pet and cherished friend.

He'd been standing there, lost and forlorn, not sure what to do, where to begin, wishing he'd never gotten on the train in the first place, when she'd appeared. She was small, that had been his first impression, shorter than he was, just a girl his own age. But she'd asked matter-of-factly, just like an adult, if he needed help, and when he'd told her he'd lost his pet frog, she'd frowned, looked determined and said, "Don't worry. We'll find him in no time."

Trevor didn't turn up until they reached the castle (and at the worst possible moment, of course) but Neville still remembered that Hermione Granger had been the first person he'd ever spoken to at Hogwarts, the first friend he'd made. The first girl who'd considered him worth talking to, and had cared enough to go stomping off down the train's corridor in search of a missing frog.

The years went by and Neville had made other friends; his dormmates, Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Harry... even Harry Potter was his friend. Gran had been thrilled, but Neville didn't like Harry because he was famous. He liked him because he was, well, the opposite of a celebrity, really. He wasn't arrogant and proud and snobbish, he was just a boy his own age. And sure, a lot of fantastic things happened to Harry, and he was a great wizard and all, really, much more powerful and skilled than any of them, and certainly more than Neville would ever be. But it didn't matter, because Harry was a good friend. Ron was the same: he had this huge family, everyone knew the Weasleys, his brothers were all legendary, practically, at Hogwarts. But Ron didn't act stuck-up or exclusive or anything like it. He was funny, and he yelled a lot and Gran (who very much approved of Neville making friends with the youngest Weasley boy, as well) would have been horrified at his lackadaisical studying habits, and he played Quidditch and he was Harry Potter's best friend -- and he was Neville's friend as well.

Harry, Ron, Ginny... even Luna, though Neville still found her rather strange... they were all his friends, and he sometimes still got a bit of a thrill, thinking how lucky he was to have become part of their circle. Not because it made him feel popular -- Neville would never really know what that felt like -- but because it made him feel so accepted. He was still awkward and bumbling sometimes, but they never seemed to care. It was fantastic.

Over and above it all, though... there was Hermione. Always his friend, always willing to help him out with homework or a difficult spell. Always including him, matter-of-factly. Even first year, when she'd Petrified him to keep him from following them when they were sneaking out of the common room that night, she'd taken the time to come to him, later, and apologize. She'd explained that she just didn't want him to get in trouble by following them, but Neville hadn't been able to hide the fact that it still stung, being excluded that way.

He still remembered how she'd paused and then taken his hand -- the warm, serious pressure as she spoke so earnestly, looking straight into his eyes. "Neville, you know what? You're right to feel angry with me," she'd said. "I know what it's like to be left out and left behind, and I hate it. There really was no helping for it, at right that moment. But I promise you, we'll never leave you out of anything again."

They had, though, he knew. There were things that Harry, Ron and Hermione didn't share with anyone else, not even Ginny, Ron's sister. They were... different, the three of them. Nothing could come between them, not even fights over mysterious broomsticks and Triwizard tournaments and famous Quidditch players. In the end, they came back to each other and no one else.

But in a way, Hermione had kept her promise. They never left Neville out of anything that was bigger than the three of them again. They brought him into their world, and Neville learned what it was to belong, truly, for the first time in his life. Because of Hermione.

He'd had a crush on her from the very first day, of course. It hadn't gone away throughout those first few years at Hogwarts, not in the least bit. In fourth year he'd gathered up the courage to ask her to the Yule Ball, sure she'd say no... but hoping, just a little bit, that she might say yes, if only because he was her friend. When she'd declined he'd wanted to melt into the floor, but Hermione must have seen the misery on his face. She wished she could go with him, really, she'd said. But she'd already said yes to someone else. Well, of course she had. He'd waited too long: a girl like Hermione wasn't going to be available forever. He'd actually felt a bit better, knowing she hadn't turned him down, exactly, and when she'd suggested he ask Ginny, he'd thought it was a good idea. Ginny was fun, and she was happy to be able to go to the ball, and they had a great time.

Hermione danced with him, once. He knew he was a terrible dancer and he must have stepped on her feet a handful of times, but she'd laughed and said she didn't care. He smiled, remembering how pretty she'd looked that night.

Neville took a slow sip of his beer, but he found he wasn't especially interested in drinking tonight. He turned in the direction of the stage and watched the crowd, spotting Ron's currently dark-headed form weaving his way back to the bar.

"What are you doing back here?" Ron asked too loudly, used to shouting over the music. Neville winced a bit. "It's great in there!"

"Just taking a break," Neville said vaguely.

Ron grinned. "I'm here for drinks." He caught the barman's eye and ordered two pints and another club soda for Bill.

"Actually, I'm still good," Neville said, gesturing to his glass.

"Shoot. Well, I'll just polish 'em both off myself," Ron said with a shrug. "Come on, let's go back."

"I'll be right behind you," Neville said.

He didn't follow, though. He watched Ron push his way back into the crowd and he sighed, thinking back to fourth year, when his crush had first begun to seem what it really always was -- hopeless.

Neville hadn't witnessed the infamous fight between Ron and Hermione, the night of the Yule Ball, but he'd certainly heard about it. Everyone in Gryffindor had, everyone in their year and most others, really. Ron having a jealous fit over his best friend dating Viktor Krum -- he could shout at everyone that he wasn't jealous all he liked, but no one was buying it, least of all Hermione -- that alone fueled the rumor mill for months.

Ron fancied Hermione. It was obvious to everyone, to all the boys in their dorm, to Harry, even to Ginny, who frequently cursed her thickheaded brother for being a dense prat (to use her own words). Because the only person who didn't seem to realize the truth was Ron himself; either that, or he was determined for some strange unfathomable Ron-reason to deny it. Neville couldn't understand. No one had ever asked him if he'd fancied Hermione. He'd have been a bit embarrassed if they had, he'd reckoned, but he wouldn't have been able to deny it.

Neville had held out just a little bit of hope, though. Hermione wasn't so clear with her own feelings. Sometimes she didn't seem to like Ron very much at all. And Neville knew that she'd never had much interest in Viktor Krum, really (she'd told Ginny all about it, right from the start) and that she wasn't lying to Ron when she said they were just friends. Neville allowed himself to continue daydreaming, a little, that maybe, just maybe, someday... someday, maybe when he was just a bit older and more sure of himself and a little bit better at some things and not such a mess at others... just maybe he'd ask Hermione on a date, and just maybe she'd say yes.

After the Department of Mysteries, he'd finally been determined to take action. They'd all almost died, after all. Sirius had died. Hermione had been hurt badly, and so had Neville, and Ron, and Harry... Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to wait too long, really, for anything. Maybe it was time to act -- before it was too late.

But in sixth year... in sixth year, that's when he'd known it was never going to be. He hadn't waited too long, not now and not back in fourth year. Rather, it had always been too late, ever since that first day on the Hogwarts Express when Hermione had gone looking for his frog. Ever since the moment she'd turned away and opened that compartment door and found Harry Potter sitting there... and Ron Weasley.

And now they were all here together, far away from everything they'd ever known, at war, in hiding, in danger. And Ron and Hermione, he knew, were closer than they'd ever been. And that's exactly how things were meant to be, he thought, and finally without even the slightest trace of bitterness.

Neville stood, thinking it was past time for him to go back to the crowd and his friends, and to stop dwelling on the past. He turned from the bar and abruptly collided with a brown-haired girl carrying a full glass. He jumped back, quickly, and the beer sloshed harmlessly to the floor between their feet.

"I'm sorry!" he exclaimed, mortified.

The girl just laughed and rolled her eyes. "You're sorry? I'm the world's biggest klutz, you don't have anything to feel sorry for, believe me."

He shook his head. "No, no, it was my fault, I'm sure of it. Let me get you another drink."

She smiled. "Well... okay. But only if you stay here and have another with me," she said, gesturing to his half-empty glass.

Neville blushed. She was petite and friendly-looking, with curly bangs and shoulder-length hair and a big smile, and his tongue felt too heavy and thick to be able to form coherent sentences; he was going to make a fool out of himself, here, he just knew it. "If you like," he managed finally. "But you don't have to sit here and talk to me, really. You're probably just being nice."

She laughed again. "No, I'm taking advantage of you, actually, and you'll be the one being nice." Neville didn't know what to say. "I'm tired of standing," she added finally, waving towards the crowd. "It's a good show but I'd like to sit here for a bit, and some company would keep me from looking silly."

"Why would you look silly?" he couldn't help asking.

"Oh, you know, sitting at the bar alone."

He looked down at his feet, feeling as foolish as he'd expected to, and in record time.

"No, no, it's different for girls," she rushed to say, sensing his discomfort. "A bloke can sit at the bar all by himself and look perfectly natural and at ease. A girl feels silly. I don't know why."

"I don't either," Neville said with some relief. Somehow, knowing she felt awkward too made him feel better. He ordered another pint from the barman and decided to try one of Bill's club sodas himself.

"I'm Megan," she said, sitting on the stool next to him.

"Neville," he told her.

"Do you go to university here?" she asked.

He nodded quickly. "Yes. Well, starting next year, really. I just moved here with my, um, friends. What about you?"

"I live here. I mean, not at the pub, obviously. In the neighborhood, I mean," she said with a nervous laugh. "Grew up here, actually. I've got another year before I start university, but I might go away, I'm not sure yet."

"Sure," Neville said. "It's a big decision." He wasn't really sure if that was true, but it sounded vague enough.

They sat in silence for a few moments, with Neville racking his brain, trying to think of something else to talk about. He was afraid of making a blunder, bringing up something that Muggles didn't generally talk about in pubs.

"Have you heard them play before?" he asked.

"What do you think of the band?" she said, at exactly they same time.

They stared at each other and Megan laughed. Neville found he couldn't help but grin in return.

"Deserter! So THIS is where you've been all this time!" a much-too-loud voice shouted in his ear. Neville leaned back and found Ron at his side, skin flushed and hair wild. Bill came up behind his brother, shaking his head in mock dismay.

"No tolerance, this one," he said. "Wondered where you got to, Nev."

"Sorry. This is, um, Megan," he said.

Ron's face lit up like a Christmas tree and he got a mischievous look his eyes, making him look eerily like the twins for the first time Neville could ever remember. "Megan. Very nice to meet you. I'm Ron. This is Bill. Neville, tell us all about your new friend."

"Well--"

"Nice to meet you both," Megan said nervously. "Neville, I didn't mean to keep you from your friends. He was just being polite and keeping me company," she said to Bill.

Ron grinned. "He's a polite young man, our Neville, but I'm sure that wasn't the only reason."

Neville felt a wave of embarrassment and gave Bill a pleading, desperate look.

"I think that's our cue to get you on your way home, Ronald," Bill said immediately. "Megan, it was very nice meeting you. Neville, we'll see you at home. You've got your key, right?"

"Yes. Thanks."

Ron looked stubborn. "We're not leaving yet, are we? Let's stay awhile longer."

Bill laughed. "Oh, if we stay, you'll just get even more inebriated. And I don't think Jane would be too happy about that, do you?"

Ron blanched. "Probably not." He seemed to think hard for a second and then abruptly became oddly determined, heading straight for the door. "Let's go," he yelled.

Bill and Neville shared a look and, with a final wave to both Megan and Neville, the elder Weasley trailed after his now-focused but still slightly unsteady-on-his-feet brother.

Neville sat back down and looked at Megan. She was smiling uneasily. "I'm not sure I understood that," she said. "Those are the friends you moved here with?"

"They're brothers," he explained.

"Ah. And Jane? Who's that?"

"Jane is Ron's... girlfriend." He paused for just a moment and then pushed on. "Ron and Jane and I, we've been friends a long time. We're all living with Bill now, at his place. While we go to university."

Megan nodded. "Oh, I see. Well, your friends must make a nice couple."

"Really? Why do you say that?" Neville couldn't help asking.

She shrugged. "I don't know, really. Maybe it was the look on his face when he was thinking about her, after -- Bill, was it? -- said her name. Just something you could see there, you know?"

Neville nodded.

"Listen to me, telling you about your own friends," Megan said self-consciously.

"No, you've got it right," he told her, and she smiled.

He took a sip of his drink (and grimaced; the stuff tasted horrible) and they settled into silence again, a little less uncomfortable than it had been before. Still, though, he wanted to spend more time with Megan and didn't want her to get bored and leave, so he tried to think of something, anything to talk about...

"What are you going to study? You know, at university?"

Well, it was something, alright. Something he knew anything about, though, would have been better. "Oh, the usual things, I guess. The, you know, required stuff."

She nodded. "Sure, but... what do you like, I mean."

Neville thought for a moment. "Well... I like... plants, actually."

Megan leaned closer, interested. "Botany?"

"Yes."

She grinned immediately. "I adore gardening. Plants, flowers, making things grow... finding out the properties of everything in my garden..."

"You have a garden of your own?" Neville asked.

"A small one, I've been growing just the basic kind of things for years. But I've been branching out recently..."

Neville lost track of time as they traded stories back and forth. He had to be careful not to inadvertently mention any magical plants, but there was plenty of common ground, no pun intended: things that grew in the earth fascinated them both. He'd never met anyone, not even at Hogwarts, who'd shared his interest -- no one except Professor Sprout, and he'd mourned for her on so many levels in the past few weeks. The loss of the one person he could share all of this with had been just one small aspect of his grief, and with Megan, now, he had to hold back so much of what was truly amazing about the plants he loved... It wasn't perfect, but it was like a balm to his soul, bringing a little relief after a month of dull loneliness.

The pub began to empty out around them. Several friends of Megan's had stopped by at one point, much in the same way Ron and Bill had earlier. She even endured a bit of the same gentle ribbing and seemed as embarrassed as he had been. He smiled shyly at her teasing friends and agreed, readily, that he would be happy to walk Megan home.

The night air was cool and he knew Megan was cold; Neville wished he had a jumper on, to offer her, or that he could simply conjure her one, but that was out of the question, of course. They walked briskly instead, reaching her house a bit sooner than Neville would have wished.

Megan stood on the front steps in front of him, the porch light behind her creating a halo around her head and casting long heavy shadows from them both across the lawn. She smiled up at him shyly. "I had a really wonderful time tonight," she said.

"Me too."

She moved closer to him and he felt himself drawn to her, physically, as if to a magnet "I've never met anyone like you," she whispered, looking up at him with something like... admiration... attraction... longing... in her eyes.

His heart was beating wildly as he looked down at her, wanting so badly, all of the sudden, something he'd only ever wanted with one other person before. Another he knew, deep down, he still loved.

But... "If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with," Ginny had told him years ago, and he'd watch her take her own advice, make herself happy until Harry finally sat up and noticed she'd been there the whole time. Neville had once thought that perhaps he'd wait for Hermione instead, that he was happy enough being her friend to live with just dreaming about a day that would, admittedly, most likely never come.

The time for those kinds of dreams had passed, though. Hermione wanted Ron, and Neville wanted, more than anything, for Hermione to be happy. And he knew that Ron, his friend, was going to spend the rest of his life making sure she was. And he could accept that.

Megan tilted her head back and smiled, whispering, wonderingly, as her dark eyes slid closed, "Neville..."

He knew he'd never stop loving Hermione. But it was never meant to be, and it was past time he started living life instead of watching it go by. He slid his hand into Megan's thick brown hair and smiled, and, lowering his lips to hers, followed Ginny's advice.