Disclaimer: Ask me if I own Harry Potter again, and I'll spank your face.

A/N: Neville/Hannah. Cos they're soul mates.

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Chapter One
…To Be Alive

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Hannah let out a frustrated and weary sigh as she sank into one of the stools lining the bar of the Leaky Cauldron.

"One galleon, four sickles, six knuts," she said, clinking them gloomily onto the counter. "Uncle Tom, I hate this job."

Tom, in all his gummy walnut resembling glory, smiled grimly—yet toothily—at his niece.

"Tonight was a slow night, Hannah, every pub has 'em—"

"Not just tonight! It's been slow for weeks!"

"Diagon Alley 'as been empty, too."

"Not as empty as this place," she pointed out grumpily. In fact, the Hogwartian graduate could easily imagine tumbleweed comically rolling across the dark wood floor before them, lonely and forgotten.

"People feel safer when ther not out and about," Tom reminded her. "We're still in dark and dangerous times. Many o' You-Know-Who's followers still evade capture. Why d'you think the Aurors er working so hard?"

Hannah snorted, not wanting to agree with his point. She scooped her measly tips back into her palm and deposited them sadly into her apron's pocket next to her wand. "I'm going to bed," she then sighed, climbing heavily to her feet—

—only to jump in surprise as the door blasted open, accompanied by an angry crackle of thunder from the storm outside, with a jarring force that shook the windows in their rickety frames.

Quicker than a Firebolt, both Hannah and Tom had their wands out—only to slowly lower them as they found them to be pointed at a ragged looking man with a face so coated in crimson blood and oozing wounds he was hardly recognizable.

"Tom," the man rasped, stumbling away from the threshold. He tripped, exhausted and blinded by his pain, and fell into one of the tables, bringing it crashing down onto the floor on top of him.

"Uncle Tom!" Hannah gasped in horror, hurrying forward to assist the weakly stirring man. "Uncle Tom, it's Neville!"

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Neville opened his eyes, only to slam them shut again.

Irritably, he wondered who's inexplicably brilliant idea it was to open every window in this godforsaken room.

Slowly, he opened his eyes again, bringing a stiffly sore hand up to his heavily bandaged face to shield them.

The cheerfully yellow curtains swayed in the soft breeze that was wafting in through the window.

Neville checked himself and his surroundings curiously.

He most definitely was not in the crappy flat he shared with Seamus and Dean: This room was much too clean and bright.

And this bed: It was much too soft and pleasant to be his frayed DA hammock that hung remorsefully in the corner of his previously mentioned malodorous apartment.

Neville lay back down against the feather-soft pillows, breathing in deeply. Whoever normally slept here smelt really, really good. Like…honey. He liked honey.

He winced; He was now awake enough to register the fact that not only was his body one giant dull ache, but also that the skin beneath the tightly wrapped bandages was burning unpleasantly as he healed.

Dittany, surely, he thought sleepily.

He closed his eyes again, now appreciating the golden gleam behind his heavy eyelids and the cool breeze that played across his face sticky with Essence of Murtlap.

Today, he decided, was a good day to be alive.

As Neville drifted off to sleep again, the door to the room creaked open and Hannah backed in carrying a tray of food.

She had to admit it was more than odd to see him lying there, all shirtless and wrapped up. But not just odd, it was also painfully parallel to their last year at Hogwarts, something she didn't fancy remembering...for more than one reason.

She set the tray carefully down onto the nightstand beside the bed, glancing at Neville's face. Not for the first time since last night, she wondered what had happened to him.

Letting out a deep breath she hadn't realized she was holding, Hannah tapped her wand to the teapot that was resting on the tray, silencing it so its piercing whistle wouldn't wake him.

She looked at him again, and she couldn't help but think he looked kind of sweet and innocent just lying there, his eyes closed and his mind free from the terrors of whatever life he was running from. She reached out and brushed his hair from his face. Then she dropped her hand back to her side, her throat suddenly tight. She looked away from him and quietly left the room.

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"What do you think he's been up to, Uncle Tom?"

"Longbottom? Hell, if I know."

"He looks awful, though—he must be doing something dangerous! Or stupid. Or both," this statement was followed by a hard slap against what Neville suspected was the bar counter. "Oh, why does he always have to be the hero?" Hannah's voice demanded impatiently.

Neville felt immediately all warm and fuzzy inside. Hannah always did have a lovely voice.

"You're worried about 'im."

"He's half dead! Of course I'm worried about him!"

"He looks alright to me," Tom said, his eyes finding Neville, who was standing at the top of the stairs that lead down into the pub.

Hannah, who had her back to the stairs, plowed on angrily, "Well, he hasn't exactly been bleeding all over your bed covers, has he?" she growled, completely oblivious to Neville's presence as she glared at Tom, who busied himself with cleaning a few more Butterbeer mugs.

"He'll be fine, Hannah," Tom insisted, not quite able to conceal the grin spreading across his face.

"What are you smiling at?" Hannah demanded, looking over her shoulder. Her face seemed to immediately drain of all color as Neville slowly walked down the stairs, an amused smirk evident on half the face that wasn't bandaged.

He stopped at the bottom, a bit of a dopey grin replacing the smirk. He couldn't quite remember the last time he had seen her, but she seemed to have become something of a "hot babe" since then.

"Hi," he said all charmingly.

"Hi," she replied, not quite smiling.

He lifted his slinged up arm. "Your handy work, I'm guessing?"

"Yes."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

Tom quietly excused himself and retreated through a back door.

Neither of them moved.

"Care to explain, then?" Hannah asked, unable to keep the concern out of her voice.

"What, this? This is nothing; you should see the other guy."

A predictable answer. Hannah pursed her lips and looked away from him again in stony silence.

"Ah, Hannah, come on!" he moaned, quickly crossing the pub to join her at the bar. "I swear, I've been worse off—"

"Don't even, Neville Longbottom," she snapped. "I know you have, probably more than anyone."

"Then why are you so mad?"

"Because this?" she demanded, pushing on his chest to get him to back up some. "I don't want to see this! I got enough of my fair share of seeing my friends hurt!"

"It's my job," he told her. "It's not an easy one, I admit, but it's important."

"And staying in one piece isn't?" Hannah demanded, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "Getting hacked into a million little pieces doesn't matter, as long as you save the day, huh?"

"It's not like that," he insisted, trying to get her to look at him again. "Hannah, come on, don't be like this. I'm alive, aren't I?"

She remained stubbornly silent, glaring ahead at the racks of Firewhiskey lining the wall behind the bar.

Neville scoffed in disbelief. "Hannah, I can take care of myself!"

She quickly turned to glare pointedly at his bandaged face, arm, and chest.

"Why're you so worried, anyway?" he demanded, quickly losing his own patience. "As I recall, you're the one who wouldn't return any of my owls after…after everything that happened!"

Hannah swiped angrily at her abruptly brimming eyes, catching him off guard.

"Hannah, are you crying? Merlin's beard, what's wrong? What did I do? I'm sorry—"

"I don't want to talk about it—especially not with you!"

He let out a loud groan of frustration. "What is this about? It can't just be about me being an Auror."

"It's not!" she said with a sudden ferventness that surprised them both.

"Then what?" he asked softly.

"I don't know," she said irritably. "I don't know, okay? It's just…seeing you after all this time, like this…it's too much, Neville, I'm sorry."

He closed his eyes and sighed, turning away from her. "This isn't even the worst of it, Hannah."

She blinked at the abrupt change. "What? Neville, what is it?" she asked him as he propped his elbows up on the counter and rested his face in his hands wearily.

"I'm sorry," he said, "you're right to be worried about me—I was stupid, really stupid."

She waited for him to go on, her brow creased.

"Last night," he continued slowly, "I was with Ron and Harry; we were tracking Rookwood."

"The Death Eater?"

He nodded once. "That's what we've been doing, the Aurors, tracking down Death Eaters who escaped after the Battle. We finally found him, almost had him—but then we were ambushed by a couple of rogue Dementors. Harry and Ron got held back, so I went after Rookwood myself."

He took a deep breath. "It was pretty brutal," he said, gesturing to himself, "if you couldn't already tell. He's got a few nasty tricks up his sleeve, Rookwood does. And I wasn't on top of things to begin with. I only just managed to get away." He met her eyes. "He's after me, Hannah. He was always one who didn't like leaving a job unfinished, and they're hunting us just as much as we're hunting them."

"So you're in danger," she realized, her expression blank.

He winced, avoiding her eyes. "Yes. I shouldn't have come here, I know that, but…it was the first place I thought of. I'll leave as soon as I can, I swear," he hastened to add.

"Don't be stupid," she said, standing up and heading for the door. "You're not going anywhere, Neville. I doubt Rookwood would think you'd come here, anyway. Besides, you're crazy if you think I'm letting you leave my sight in the condition you're in."

He watched her poke her head out the door, a slight smile on his face. When she turned back, she noticed it and glared again. "What?"

"Nothing," he said, ducking his head so she wouldn't see his grin. "I've missed you, you know that?"

"Oh, shut up," she said, half annoyed yet half pleased.

The door leading down to the cellar creaked open and Tom peered in at them. "Is it safe to come up now? Or are the two of you still macking?"

"Uncle Tom!" Hannah said with indignation, causing the old fart to cackle and duck back into the cellar.

Neville watched her run down after him, a growing smile present on his face. But as the door swung shut behind her, it slipped off, a worried frown replacing it. What had he inadvertently dragged them into?

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E/N: Mehhh T.T First chapters suckkkk...Review if ya want.