Archive of Our Own

They survive.

With cuts and bruises and burned souls, they walk away from the rumble holding each other up. Luna’s blond hair is almost orange from the blood smeared on her cheeks, but she’s not crying.

Neville’s hands are shaking, the sword of Gryffindor clutched tightly between them like a lifeline. His leg is badly wounded, but there are others who need help first. He thinks of Lavender’s maimed spine and almost has to stop and vomit.

“We did it,” Luna says quietly, looking at the smoking ruins of Hogwarts.

“But at what cost?” Neville mutters, staring back down at the blood crusted under his nails. It’s probably Nagini’s, but what if it isn’t? He wonders what his mum and dad would say if they could say anything at all.

“My mum used to say we are our injuries, as much as our victories.” Luna’s voice seems less dreamy than the first time he ever heard it on that carriage ride during fifth year.

He doesn’t respond, but he moves a little closer to her. It was always them: fighting in Dumbledore’s name, then Harry’s, and their parent’s, the background characters in the Boy-Who-Lived’s life.

But here’s the thing about living in Harry’s shadow: when the world starts turning again, no one cares about the people he leaves behind.

He gets the Herbology teaching position two years after the Battle of Hogwarts. Professor Sprout, two fingers lighter, found it harder to take care of her plants, so instead she gave the task to the one person she could entrust it to: Neville.

It’s weird to be back at Hogwarts. The castle is mostly rebuilt, but he still calls the headmistress Professor McGonagall, no matter how many times she insists on Minerva.

The students enjoy him for the most part, especially when he talks about Harry Potter. None of them really care about him, but he is the one who killed the final horcrux for Harry.

“Yer a proper hero now,” Hagrid had whispered during the opening feast earlier that year.

Hagrid was a good friend to have on campus. He respected the teachers and always made sure that no magical creatures disturbed the greenhouses.

“I don’t know if there’s room for more than one hero in this story,” Neville sighed in return. “Besides, I would look rubbish on the cover of Witch Weekly.”

Halfway into Neville’s second year at Hogwarts, McGonagall announces a planned remembrance ceremony for all the survivors and alumni. Some of them aren’t interested, but most of the invites are returned with wives and children’s names scrawled under their guests section.

Harry and Ginny send theirs in first, followed quickly by Ron and Hermione. Neville waits for Luna’s name to show up on the roster but it never does. She never was one for planning things.

The dinner is nice. He speaks to Dennis Creevy for half an hour about his new job at the Department of Law Enforcement, and his plans to dedicate a plaque on the Hogwarts grounds in Colin’s name. He sees Lavender, smiling through the deep scarring lines that cover her face.

“Neville!” It’s Ginny’s voice, followed shortly by a tight hug, that catches him off guard.

“Hey, Gin! Hey, Harry!” He grins, squeezing her shoulders and winking at Harry.

It’s an odd sight: Harry being happy. All the angst of his teenage years has faded from his features, his messy hair is lighter than it used to be, but when he looks at Ginny he seems to glow.

“Good on you, mate.” Harry is saying.

“What?” Neville asks, coming back into the moment.

“Herbology professor!” He says, but Neville’s still not listening because he catches a glimpse of dirty blond hair in the corner of his eye.

He looks over his shoulder and sees her: a blue flower sticking out from her ear and a swollen stomach.

His heart sinks for a reason he doesn’t really understand.

“Um, thanks, mate, but I’ve gotta--” And like that he’s turned from Harry and starts fighting his way across the Great Hall to where she stands.

She’s swaying alone, a butterbeer clutched in her hand. She doesn’t seemed to have aged at all. He thinks of his grey hairs and the bags under his eyes, but Luna just shines in front of him, glowing from her pregnancy.

“Luna!” He half-yells, mostly out of nerves. He may have killed Lord Voldemort’s pet snake and destroyed a horcrux, but he never learned how to talk to girls.

“Neville! You’ve got a nargle halo, it’s quite beautiful actually.” She says nonchalantly, like she doesn’t have another life growing inside her body and they haven’t spoken in two years.

“Oh, um thanks, I think?” He says, “But look at you! Who’s the lucky guy?”

Luna’s eyes flash with something like hurt before she smiles dreamily, “Rufus Scamander. He was a lovely man, but he died. Trampled to death by a crumpled-horned snorkack six months ago.”

“Oh, Luna, I’m so sorry.” Neville says, and he really means it.

“Thank you. I was sad for a long time that he wouldn’t meet the boys, but he should’ve known better to eat onions before going out into the field.” She lowers her voice, “Everyone knows crumpled-horned snorkacks can’t resist the smell of a sweet onion.”

“Um, yes, I suppose so.” Neville replies awkwardly. “Twins, then?”

She nods, “Lorcan and Lysander.”

Before he can respond, McGonagall is standing up to give her speech, but Luna stays next to him during the remainder of the remembrance ceremony.

He sees her waddling out of the Great Hall on his way to check on the new crops of Mandrakes and walks over to help her.

“Zachariah Smith yelled to half the hall how surprised he was that Loony Lovegood could reproduce,” She says, shrugging her shoulders. “I decided I should probably leave.”

“Zachariah Smith is a huge tosspot.” Neville says, wondering if he could break the once-Hufflepuff’s nose without causing a scene.

“Besides, you’re the strongest woman I know.” He finds the courage to admit, and Luna gives him a wide smile in return.

“None of the Gryffindor boy were ever nice to me, you know, not until you helped me pick up my books in the dungeons.” She wraps her fingers around his and squeezes gently.

“Well, you were my best friend here,” He shrugs. “And besides, none of the Gryffindors were particularly kind to me either.”

He sighs as they make their way down the front steps.

“It was always us, wasn’t it?” He smiles, “Keeping the spirit alive.”

She looks up to him, her round blue eyes twinkling under the stars, “Yes. The bravest boy I’d ever seen.”

He blushes at that, and looks down to the gates to Hogsmead.

“Do you wanna, maybe grab a butterbeer... you know, with me?” He asks, words tumbling out of his mouth before he can really think about them.

“I would love to, but,” Neville’s heart sinks. “I think my water may have broken.”

He looks down at the wet patch between her feet and goes into panic mode.

“Oh, god, um, I’ll-- I’ll get some hot water and towels and a pillow? Do you want a pillow? I’m sure you do.” He rambles. “Um, maybe Madam Pomfrey’s still in the Great Hall, but I can’t leave you, oh my god, you’re having babies!”

“Neville, just send a patronus.” Luna says rationally, eyes squeezed shut.

“Oh, right! Um, expectro patronum!” He yells, wand brandishing wildly.

Madame Pomfrey comes running out of the the castle, waving her own wand and levitating Luna onto a stretcher, whispering calm encouragements to her.

“Oh, and Neville,” Luna calls back him from the stretcher.

“Yeah, Luna?” He asks, voice slightly less panicked.

“You were my best friend too.” And with that she’s whisked away to the hospital wing.

Luna walks into the Three Broomsticks, her long hair pulled into a messy braid, scanning the crowd for a familiar face.

Her face splits into a grin when she spots him and makes her way over, leaning into his kiss when he stands to greet her.

“Still a head full of nargles,” She remarks as he pulls out her chair.

“Well, some things just never change, I suppose.” He smiles back, taking his own seat.

“I suppose that's true. It’s still us, isn’t it?” She says lightly.

"Yeah. Yeah, it is.”