Amidst The Ashes

Chapter 7

Anticipation was something that Neville understood in a way few others did. His childhood had not been unhappy, though it had been lonely. Gran was stern and demanding. She 'did her best by the boy'. There were few children his age to play with, and the household had little time or patience for childish things. Neville, therefore, had learned to pursue quiet pastimes - plants, books, daydreams. He could count the holidays they had taken on one hand. Looking back what he remembered most, and what he grew to appreciate greatly, was the time before.

Golden to him, were those breathless days and hours before something wonderful happened. Neville, even as a child, had a unique sense of time. Once something began, it began to end. The first day of a holiday meant that the holiday was passing. It was not that he didn't enjoy good times, rather he knew both their worth and their rarity. He never wished for time to hasten him toward joy, but rather to savor the journey. Neville, therefore, was torn between wanting Charlie to come back and wishing to stop time and stay in this moment forever.

Love. Neville tried the word out - its taste, its feel, the weight of it on his tongue. Love. He had never really considered such a thing before. Not in relation to himself, at least. It really was like the books said. His head spun a bit and his skin tingled. The trees were greener, the air clearer. He stood for a long time staring at the valley and watching for a glimpse of red, unable and unwilling to tear the smile from his face.

After a while he looked around at the setting. The tall pines of old forest fell away behind and to the sides, and he gazed down into their haphazard shadowed passageways. This forest was enchanted - by time, distance and the earth magic of dragons. He was drawn to it.

He did not stray far from the path. There was vegetation here that Neville had never seen. Tiny white flowers bloomed on moss at the foot of one tall tree. Vines, weeds, and strange shrubs clustered at the edge of the trail - where light was able to reach them. When Charlie returned, he found Neville on his knees examining a blue-leafed vine that ran low along the ground.

"I don't know what that's called," Charlie told Neville, placing a hand on his shoulder. "The dragons give it to their little ones when they're ill. We've referred to it by the highly scientific name of 'that blue plant'."

Neville smiled and took Charlie's hand, using it to help him stand. "Can I take a sample? If it has healing properties it might be useful."

He stepped back to look at Charlie. The redhead was windblown. There were smudges on his face and dust on his boots. His jumper had pine needles on it. Some type of oil marred the leather near his left knee. He looked altogether remarkable. "Did you have fun?"

"Take anything you want. It was wonderful - something I really needed to do." Charlie brushed Neville's fringe back and kissed his forehead. "Thank you. Did you miss me?"

"Of course." Neville was still feeling unburdened and strangely self-assured. He took Charlie's hand and drew him back over to look down on the valley. "Yet you were where you belonged. This place is part of you."

The sun had slipped a bit, such that shadows were beginning to creep onward and grow longer. Charlie slid his fingers free of Neville's grasp and wound his arm around Neville's waist. He looked long at the valley before turning to lead Neville back down the mountain.

~~~~~~

It was warm in the cabin. Charlie had found Neville a pot and a trowel and they had made short work of retrieving a sample of the peculiar 'blue plant'. Now, Neville watched as Charlie pulled lunch from his knapsack.

Charlie waved Neville to a chair and rummaged in his cupboard. "I forgot to bring anything to drink so we'll have to settle for water."

"I like water." Neville accepted a dark blue plate and a matching mug. The dishes were earthenware; heavy and sturdy, but lovely in their own right.

Charlie passed Neville chicken, salad and hot rolls. They ate in silence for a while. Neville marveled at how comfortable he was. The food tasted amazing. He was quickly becoming used to everything tasting, smelling, feeling, being better whenever Charlie was around. He smiled broadly to himself and took a sip of his water, looking up to find the other man watching him.

"And you," Charlie said, apropos of nothing, "is there a place?"

Neville swallowed and raised an eyebrow at his companion. "Pardon?"

"A place. You mentioned my connection to these mountains, this valley, this place. Is there a place for you that holds a bit of your soul? That explains, in part, who you are?"

Neville put his mug back on the table, pursing his lips. "Um... I don't know if anything explains who I am, mostly because I'm not certain of that myself." He shrugged. "There are places that I love." Neville's voice trailed off, pictures playing on the screen of his mind. He smiled softly.

"Will you show me?"

~~~~~~~~

Neville had been somewhat reluctant to leave Charlie's hideaway in the mountains. It was cozy and warm - so far from anything he knew. While he'd been there he had almost forgotten the world, and his precarious place in it. They had apparated to the top of a little knoll. Down from it and across a small field wound a well-tended lane. There was only one residence in sight.

"There," Neville said, pointing to the large building surrounded by formal gardens. "Moorland Hall, my Gran's ancestral home. Mine as well, I suppose." The building was austere and formal looking. It was rectangular, old stone with thick windows and imposing eaves. Brown. There was no hint of ornamentation. Moorland Hall was grand in the way that only old buildings are. It had presence. Important things were to be discussed here. One would speak in quiet tones and wipe one's feet upon entering. The building itself demanded respect, coupled with, perhaps, the barest hint of fear.

The gardens surrounding the Hall were all enclosed by walls or hedges, neat squares or rectangles. Properly English. Neville enjoyed working in them, but they were as stern and unforgiving as his matriarchal relative. The gardens had to be just so. Neville had often thought that even the weeds were cowed by his Gran.

Neville stepped closer to Charlie, leaning his head against a broad shoulder. "I suppose it is terribly selfish of me, but I have no intention of taking you there today. Don't get me wrong, I love my Gran and appreciate all that she's done for me. The gardens are nice. The Hall is very proper. I'd like to show it all to you someday. Just not today. Today I don't want to share you." I also don't want to explain, and I don't want Gran to tell you, in the nicest possible way, all the many things that are wrong with me.

Charlie put both arms around Neville and hugged him. He rubbed one cheek against Neville's hair, and the younger man could feel him smiling. "I don't want to share either." They stood like that for a several minutes before Charlie pulled back a bit, looking closely at Neville and moving to cup his cheek with one hand.

"I also don't want to go anywhere that gives you that expression. You look melancholy and a bit wistful."

Tilting Neville's face up to meet his own, Charlie kissed him. When Neville finally moaned softly, Charlie released his mouth. Charlie kissed his eyelids, his nose, his forehead; his hand never leaving Neville's face.

"Smile," he said, running a thumb over Neville's bottom lip. "Show me something that makes you smile."

"Besides you, you mean?" Neville asked, leaning unashamedly against the redhead.

This question earned him another kiss. "Yes," said Charlie, "besides me."

~~~~~~~

Neville turned them both around, and he and his companion walked away from the house and toward a low-slung hill.

"The Hall is surrounded by moors on all sides. I'm sure that's where they came up with the inventive name for the building." Neville chuckled. "The Longbottoms are a very old family, proper and staid and completely unoriginal. My several-greats-grandfather used to raise sheep on the far pastures. Several other relatives were tied to finance in some fashion or other. My grandfather's father was apparently a bit of an alchemist, although what he did is never called that. He started a business with a friend of his, and to this day the family has fingers in metalworking companies that fabricate things for Muggle shipyards. It's all a bit over my head - apparently." If the last word held a hint of bitterness, Neville was not aware of this.

They climbed as they talked, following winding paths through the heather. The day was still sun-kissed with just a few high clouds scattered on the blue. The light was dappled by those wisps of moisture, and interesting shadows moved here and there across the landscape. Neville stopped talking as they reached the summit and paused to breathe in the scent. Earth, air, flower; mist and sunshine and a hint of decay. It was this smell that he associated, more than anything else, with home.

He took Charlie's hand and they strode down the rise and into the great expanse of wilderness that lay before them like a carpet. These moors had sheltered Neville as a young child when he had run to hide himself from grief. The heather and the grasses had soothed him when he needed a break from expectations. The rabbits and birds, even the insects, had listened to him when he spoke his dreams aloud, had become his first friends. He had woven fantasies and wishes into the curves of these hills; and he had hidden tears in the hollows. Neville found himself telling Charlie all of this; fearlessly pouring out his secrets as they wandered down the byways of his childhood.

"It looks bland and even forbidding sometimes, but it hides all kinds of amazing things." Neville and Charlie had come to the base of a huge bolder. It looked incongruous nestled there in a little hollow, licked by light green grass. Some ancient upheaval or long dead glacier must have placed it here. It was worn nearly smooth. Neville leaned against the rock, bracing his hands behind the small of his back.

"It's beautiful now with the heather in bloom, isn't it? Down in the swampy part, at the right time of year, you can find wild orchids. Gran used to send me off, about a mile to the north there, to gather Whinberries for tea. She still claims to this day that they make her eyesight better; and she could count your freckles at 100 yards so maybe it's true." Neville sighed contentedly and laid his head back against the warm stone.

Charlie moved close, facing Neville, side braced against the rock. "Just like you, Nev," he said seriously, "full of wonderful surprises."

Neville felt his face flush, but he realized that for perhaps the first time in his life he was flushing with pleasure rather than embarrassment. "How do you do that?" he asked. "How do you make me feel so good?"

Charlie shook his head and shrugged. "Do I? I'm glad."

There was a patch of land extending about four feet from the base of the bolder, where nothing but wild grasses grew. The gentle breeze carried their susurration, along with the chirping of birds and the mellow hum of insects. The sun was moving inexorably across the sky. It was warm and peaceful here.

Charlie pulled his cloak from his bag and spread it over the grass. He then lay himself down on the cloak, crossing his ankles and bending one arm up behind his head. He held out his other hand.

Neville looked for a long moment at the picture before him - the man he loved, in a place he loved, lying in the sunlight. There it was again, the juxtaposition of Charlie and sunshine. Neville grinned, took one step forward and allowed Charlie to draw him down onto the cloak.

Charlie enveloped him in his arms and Neville turned on his side, lying against Charlie and slipping his leg over one of Charlie's thighs. They kissed until both were breathless. There was deep passion in their movements, but neither of them was interested in moving things toward further intimacies.

Neville sucked in air and recaptured Charlie's mouth. Charlie was a symphony of textures and tastes, all blending into a seamless beautiful whole. Neville rubbed his tongue against patterns genetically engraved on Charlie's palate. He traced the line of his teeth, pressed against incisors to test their sharpness, skimmed the space between tooth and lip to feel smooth enamel. Neville tried to taste every corner of that mouth, to learn every crevice and curve by feel and to carve them into his memory. Charlie's tongue was invited in past ever more sensitive lips to make similar explorations.

Time passed in an endless wave of soft, slow, intimate kisses. Neville breathed in Charlie's breath as if he would steal bits of his soul for himself, and Charlie did the same. At one point Neville dared to open his eyes, wondering what expression Charlie would be wearing, whether his eyes would be open; if it would be possible to spontaneously generate photographs. Charlie kissed with his eyes closed, dark, impossibly long lashes sweeping across his skin. There were spots of pink high on his cheekbones. The breeze played with silky auburn strands.

Neville must have gasped because Charlie's eyes opened suddenly and met his. He saw nothing but deep blue. Their eyes held as Neville leaned forward and kissed Charlie again; held and spoke volumes before Neville was too swamped with feelings, both physical and emotional, to keep his eyes open longer.

Neville had never imagined anything like this afternoon. He'd not spent time snogging in corners or meeting up in the Astronomy Tower. He'd no experience to speak of with kissing, but this? This took his breath in every imaginable way. Charlie rubbed his back, his arms, his bottom, ruffled his hair, tangled their legs. They pressed close, savoring and sipping until Neville could almost taste those words that had spilled from Charlie atop a Romanian mountain.

When Neville could finally take no more without speaking he pulled back and rested his arms on Charlie's chest, looking at him. Charlie's eyes were still deep blue, bright and a bit clouded; and his lips were rosy and swollen. I did that. We did that. He ran his tongue over his own lips slowly, wondering if he looked the same, wondering what Charlie saw. "Thank you for today," he husked, finding at last that this was all that he could say.

Charlie kissed him gently before pulling Neville down to rest against his shoulder. Neville could heart Charlie's heart. "Thank you, Nev."

Neville buried his face in Charlie's neck and held him hard. Stillness seemed to fall on and around them. Neville thought of everything and nothing, feeling great comfort in the arms holding him, the pulsing life beneath his cheek. He wondered what Charlie was thinking, but for once in his life he didn't fear scorn or judgment. It didn't even matter if Charlie was thinking of him. It took Neville quite some time, pushing at the feeling in his chest, before he understood the sensation that puzzled him most.

Trust. Neville trusted Charlie. He'd trusted others before - to teach him, to feed him, to allow him not to come to major harm, to help him with one thing or another, to be generally good. What he had never done was trust someone with his whole self; his failings as well as his triumphs. He was comfortable here, completely at peace, because he believed with his every cell that Charlie would never willingly wound him.

They floated for a long time, thinking separate thoughts, but always aware of the other. Clouds drifted across the sky, and they tried to assign shapes to each formation. At one point Charlie pulled out his wand and whispered a spell, pointing up to a low-floating cloud. The bit of mist turned into a dog that chased its tail around and around until, catching it, it reverted back to an indistinguishable mass. They laughed and wondered about getting fined for misuse of magic. The sun sank until it cast red light over the blooming heather, making the field flame and shimmer. The shadow of the bolder grew until it chilled them.

At long last Charlie stirred, pulling Neville on top of him to lie against his chest and between his legs. They kissed again, unable to stop from physically responding but both aware that they no longer had time for anything else.

"We have to go. We should have gone an hour ago. Lucky you packed the plants before we left. At this rate we'll have to take the broom from the gates in order to get you back in time."

Neville laughed, easy and long. He rolled off Charlie, stood, looked him over from head to foot and then held out a hand to help him up. "Another time then," he said, winking.

"Yes." Charlie's voice was utterly serious. "Another time."

~~~~~~~

They apparated back to a small glen near the gates. The place had been used as an apparition point for many years but had fallen into disfavor. Charlie had found it during his time at school, and it was here that they had left his broom.

"You don't need to look at this like it's going to bite you," Charlie said, noting the way that Neville eyed the broom in his hand. "You really don't like to fly, do you?" Charlie sounded incredulous.

Neville looked away, finding the bark of the nearest tree to be completely fascinating all of a sudden. "It's not flying that I dislike, it's falling." Neville shook his head and turned back to look at Charlie. "My uncle had a habit of dropping me off of things; and I fell several stories the first time I ever rode a broom. I'll fly if I have to, it's just not my first choice."

"I won't let you fall."

"I know."

~~~~~~

Neville had never enjoyed being in the air. He had been on brooms only when forced, and he had not been tempted to repeat his thestral-riding experience. Nevertheless, he agreed to the flight.

Charlie put Neville on the front of the broom, then mounted behind him. Neville gripped the handle with both hands and closed his eyes, knowing the Charlie couldn't see his face, and wouldn't make fun of him even if he could. The feeling of being airborne caused his stomach to plummet back toward the earth. He forced himself to take a deep breath and then.... Charlie's arms tightened around Neville. The hug was brief, but it was enough. He was safe.

The sensation of freedom that suddenly assailed Neville was stunning. He opened his eyes and watched as the forest rolled past under his feet. The sinking sun kissed the tips of the towers, turning ancient stone purple. Charlie's chest pressed firm and warm against his back, his breath ruffled Neville's hair. It was glorious. For a brief instant, he understood the sheer joy that he had only seen on Harry's face when he was on a broom. Neville laughed. When Charlie squeezed him again and kissed his neck Neville knew that Charlie recognized the meaning of the laugh.

It ended too soon. Charlie flew them directly to the greenhouses. Neville dismounted with a sigh and a smile.

"Let me help you with the plants. The blue one we sent by owl should be here by now. You've not much time before Albus will be expecting you."

Neville nodded and moved to the pick up one side of the large crate that held his samples. Halfway around the crate he changed his mind and Charlie found himself with an armful of Gryffindor gardener.

Charlie said nothing, simply dropped his bag and enfolded Neville in his arms. After a long, long moment in which Neville found nothing to say, Charlie broke the silence. "You can. You will." Neville had no idea how Charlie knew his fears without him speaking, but he didn't question.

"Charlie. I...I've never had a day like today, and even if I never do again it's enough - more even."

"We will. Promise me you won't forget."

"Never. Not ever."

"Good, because I know I won't. I don't want to tell you again that I love you and then watch you walk away, so I'm telling you now. I love you. I'll tell you again when next we meet."

"I've only said that once in my life. Suppose I should practice up. I love you, too."

Charlie kissed him then, deeply, quickly and in such a way that it filled a hole that Neville hadn't realized he carried. When they broke apart there were no more words.

Neville took one handle, Charlie the other, and together they carried the cargo to the school.

To Be Continued.....