A/N: Thanks for such brilliant reviews, everyone! Appreciated them muchly. So much that I delved into chapter 2. Just remember, this is not a happy tale. No no, not at all.

And, as always, these kids don't belong to me. If they did, I'd be a whole lot richer.

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Dressed in all black robes, Neville stood in the quiet cemetary with a somber expression. He was aware of people all around him. Luna's hand was wrapped tightly in his. Ginny stood on his other side, her hand on his shoulder. Harry stood by her, and he knew that the other boy was shoulder to shoulder with Ron, at Hermione's side. The rest of the Order was there as well, and the ones who seemed to be taking it the worst were Lupin and Professor McGonagall, both who had been close to Frank and Alice Longbottom before they were attacked with the cruciatus. Neville was having difficulty registering anyone else's pain, though.

For nineteen years, he'd barely known his parents. What he knew were their stories, told through wizarding photographs and first hand accounts. Lupin had often told him of his mum and dad's school days while they worked. Sometimes it made Neville a bit bitter, knowing he'd never get to witness any of that. Most of the time, though, he was appreciative, recognising the kind gesture for what it was. As much as it hurt to hear of Frank's glory and Alice's kindness, it was still a connection to his parents he otherwise wouldn't have had.

He knew there was one person in the cemetary who could truly understand, though. Glancing sideways, he caught Harry looking at him, a strange expression on his face. Neville attempted a small smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. Ginny noticed the face he made, and gave his shoulder a small squeeze.

As the wizard preciding over the small ceremony finished his speech, Neville gulped. He'd known it was coming, but he wasn't quite prepared to say goodbye. Before the day ended, the two coffins resting in front of him would be lowered into the ground, the bodies inside never to be seen again. He'd already picked out the marker with Luna's help--a double heart, declaring both of their names, their dates of birth and death, and the day they were married. Beside the lot sat another grave. The marker on it read 'Augusta Longbottom 1929-1998 Wife, Mother, Grandmother'. Neville wasn't foolish enough not to think that his own place would be there as well, lying next to his parents. The question was, when?

"Go on," Luna whispered, releasing his fingers and placing her hand on the small of his back. He knew what she was trying to do. As the next--and last--in the Longbottom line, it was his responsibility to lead the funeral procession. With a wary look over his shoulder at a strained looking McGonagall, Neville took the first few steps forward, laying a plain, white rose on top of each coffin. He supposed he should say a few words, but he didn't know what. There weren't many memories of his parents in Neville's conscious mind. All he really knew was he had enough Droobles' wrappers to paper the Leaky Cauldron and that his dad tended to hum Light My Cauldron most of the time. Instead, he touched the smooth, polished wood of the top of each coffin in turn.

He heard a strangled sob at the gesture, but didn't turn to see who it had been. The others were following behind him, and by the time he turned around, the Longbottoms' caskets each had large handfuls of roses. And people were still filing through.

Ginny walked to his side, hand-in-hand with Harry. Hermione, less quiet in her gesture, flew over, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, choking over the words.

Awkwardly, Neville returned the hug, patting her thick brown hair. Ron gave him a sheepish look from over Hermione's shoulder and slowly began extracting his wife from around Neville. "Don't mind her," he whispered. "Took it harder than I'd expected."

How did everyone else have the ability to speak just then when he didn't? Neville didn't understand. He should be able to laugh at their jokes, agree with their worries, thank everyone for their condolenses. But all he'd found he was able to do so far was nod and mumble non-commital, incoherent comments.

"Neville?" A quiet, hoarse voice sounded from next to him. Neville barely looked up to meet Lupin's eyes. He shrugged half-heartedly instead of giving an actual greeting. Under any other circumstances, he might've found it rude, but at the moment, he didn't care. "Everyone's going back to mine and Tonks' flat for a bite to eat. You'll come, won't you? Molly's doing the cooking."

He didn't want to go. Not really. What he wanted was to lie in bed and become numb. Maybe he could try drinking his pain away. It seemed to work for many other people, why couldn't he? He didn't want to go back to the Leaky Cauldron, though. He'd been staying with the Weasley twins in the flat over their store ever since Ginny had told him. It had been too hard to go back. He knew he needed a more permanent location, but he couldn't bring himself to return to his grandmother's old house, either.

Sighing, he nodded again. In the back of his mind, he registered that several faces were smiling reassuringly at him, and he did feel it when Luna's arm wrapped around him tightly. It didn't make it any easier to walk away from the caskets that held his parents' bodies, or the holes that the caskets were being laid into shortly. With a last look over his shoulder at the flowers and the arrangements, he allowed himself to be led away to the point where everyone was Apparating to the Lupins' from.

The party--well, it seemed odd to call such a somber gathering a party, but that was, indeed, what it was--was a nice setup all together. Molly Weasley had made them plenty of sweets and cakes and puddings, as well as a few more savory dishes. Neville had placed a biscuit on his plate, as well as a small piece of chicken, but his throat was so dry he almost choked on the food. Setting the plate to his side, Neville folded his hands in his lap and watched the crowd around him. The tense, mournful air seemed to be slowly fading from the room. People who'd been less close to the Longbottoms were beginning to chat a bit more normally about other things. Neville's friends were starting to disperse among the crowd, making their way around the room. Tonks was playing the part of hostess, with the exception of handing out and filling up drinks and snacks, for fear of the carpet's safety.

Was that how it was going to be? Everyone just going back to normal? Would Neville ever reach the point of feeling normal again?

He stood abruptly, completely forgetting the plate beside him. He hurried out into the front yard, gulping in deep breaths of cool oxygen. The inside of the flat had seemed so stifled. Everything hurt. He was suffocating in there, and the only help he could find was out in the clear open.

What he hadn't expected to find there, however, was Harry.

The dark-haired man stood, leaning against the railing. He glanced over his shoulder at Neville, who'd leaned against the wall in order to catch his breath. At first, neither of them spoke. Finally, Harry nodded at him. "All right, then?"

Neville knew Harry didn't mean in general. He meant the fact that it looked like Neville was unable to breathe. Neville nodded quickly, feeling the sweat on his forehead start to cool. He still couldn't speak.

"Right," Harry answered, barely shrugging his shoulders in response. A breeze caught Harry's hair, ruffling it slightly. Neville figured that might've been symbolic somehow, but was too weary at the moment to place it.

"You don't remember your parents at all." When Neville found his voice, he was shocked to hear what had come out. Still, better to get it out in the open. They were both thinking it, and he knew it.

Slowly, Harry shook his head. "Not really. Fragments. Pieces I've put together from old photographs. My Aunt Petunia snuck me a box of old home movies--those are sort of like photos with sound--of my mum. And..." He released a slow, shuddering breath.

Neville didn't rush his friend. He cocked his head to the side a bit and nodded, implying that he'd wait for Harry to go on.

"And when I get too close to dementors, I can hear them again. The night they died."

"The night they were killed," Neville corrected, his voice cold and low. Lower than Neville Longbottom's voice almost ever got.

Harry seemed startled by the change in Neville's tone. "Well, yeah," he said slowly. "Neville, what are you thinking?" There was concern in the man's bright green eyes, and Neville had to glance away in order to avoid it. He didn't want anyone's sympathy any longer.

Glancing down at his thumbnail, which he'd chewed down horribly in the last few days, Neville shook his head slowly. "This...well...what you're doing. All the fighting You-Know-Who. Is it...do you consider it revenge?"

"In a way," Harry began slowly. "Not just for them, but for me. But, Neville, you've got to understand something. I'm also attempting to do this for the wizarding world in general. Not just for my own benefit."

"And you think being rid of Bellatrix Lestrange wouldn't benefit everyone?" Neville uncharacteristically snapped. He knew he was being childish and selfish, and Harry had enough going on. But it wasn't i fair /i . It just wasn't bloody well fair.

Harry fell silent, and Neville was horrified he'd insulted the other boy beyond repair. Harry and the Order were all he had left.

But the young man surprised him. "I think it would be a justice. She's powerful, though. Almost as much as Voldemort is, and probably twice as crazy."

As was customary, Neville winced at the name of You Know Who. Still, he narrowed his eyes a moment later and nodded. "She deserves what she gets."

Looking alarmed, Harry's eyes widened and he turned to Neville quickly. "What do you mean?" he asked slowly, and Neville could hear the worry in his voice.

"I mean," Neville began, "that she deserves to die. And I'm going to be the one to do it."

"Neville--"

"What?" Neville snapped yet again. "Are you going to tell me I can't? That I'm too clumsy, too stupid, or too slow? Because I'm not any longer and you know it."

There was another moment of silence. Harry's green eyes studied Neville's blue ones carefully. The link between them had never been stronger and they both knew it. Finally, he swallowed hard and shook his head. "No. I was going to tell you to be careful. And let me know what you need."