A/N - - This fic was written for a friend who wanted "extreme cross-gen" and mentioned Minerva/Neville. I couldn't imagine finding a believable way to write this pairing, but I thought it would be fun challenge. I'm still not sure if I managed the "believable" part, but I had a good time writing this. Hope you enjoy it.

Many thanks to my excellent beta-reader, The Real Snape.

* / * / *

Roses in December

by Kelly Chambliss

* / * / *

"God gave us memory so that we may have roses in December." ― James M. Barrie

* / * / *

"Wait, oh, wait! Please!"

The girl's voice cut across the corridor, and though she neither sobbed nor shouted, Neville could tell that she was terrified.

They were only a few weeks into the first Hogwarts term since the fall of the Ministry, but he'd dealt with enough frightened children by now to know fear when he heard it. He wasn't surprised that this girl had called out to him. They'd been doing that a lot lately, the younger ones. . .looking to the older students to help them. To save them. To make things right.

Part of Neville wanted to run, to tell the girl to leave him alone, that he couldn't do anything, that he was almost still a kid himself. And not a brave or competent one, either, said his inner critic.

But a larger part of him knew that he was one of the few hopes these children had.

So he stopped and turned to face the little girl. He recognised her as a first-year Ravenclaw, a quiet child, as most of them were these days.

"What's the matter," he asked, "um. . .Essie, right?"

Essie nodded. "It's Professor McGonagall," she whispered. "She was trying to protect me from. . .from Him, and. . .and. . ." Her eyes, huge in her pale face, began to fill as she struggled to speak.

Neville had no need to ask who He was. There was only one He at Hogwarts, and it wasn't You-Know-Who or even Headmaster Snape. It was the new Death Eater professor, Amycus Carrow. He and his sister Alecto seemed to run a constant competition with each other for the title of Most Vicious Sadist.

"And?" Neville said encouragingly to Essie, though his heart was sinking fast. If a Carrow was involved, things couldn't be good.

"And so he crucio'd her instead of me," Essie said, her voice rising. "Over and over. And then She came and joined in, his sister, I mean. And Professor McGonagall was on the floor, but she looked at me and said, 'run,' and I did, and. . .and. . ."

The strain was too much, and she burst into tears at last.

"Shh, it's okay," said Neville, hugging her as he lied to her. "It's okay, I'll go help her, it's okay, it's okay. . ."

* / * / *

He found McGonagall in the deserted Charms corridor, a crumpled heap of green robes covered with some sort of tangled black twine that he only slowly realised was her hair. As far as he knew, no student had ever before seen it out of its tight bun.

Somehow the sight of her loosened hair was more disturbing to him than the livid burns of the curse on her face and arms or the sharp but unfortunately familiar smell of urine; when it came to its effect on muscles, the Cruciatus was no respecter of dignity or position.

Neville pulled his wand and muttered a quick cleaning charm without thinking; he was concentrating on sending Madam Pomfrey a patronus, a spell he still found extremely difficult. But finally his shining silver beagle leapt from his wand, and only then, with (he hoped) help on the way, could he nerve himself to see if Professor McGonagall still lived.

There was a diagnostic spell that could have told him her vital signs ― he remembered Hermione talking about it ― but he couldn't remember the incantation, so, after just a brief hesitation, he took hold of McGonagall's wrist to search for her pulse.

He found it just when he was beginning to despair, a thin but regular beat. He wasn't skilled enough to tell if it was strong or weak, too fast or too slow, but it was there. In his relief, Neville let his fingers thread through hers and sat there, holding Professor McGonagall's hand, until he heard the hurry of Madam Pomfrey's steps.

* / * / *

Now he knew how the younger children felt, Neville thought as he walked with Madam Pomfrey to the hospital wing, balancing McGonagall on a levitated stretcher between them. Someone else was in charge, an adult he could trust, and the wave of relief that washed over him was almost strong enough to knock him down.

But once they lowered the professor gently onto a bed, he found that he wasn't quite ready to leave everything in Madam Pomfrey's hands. He wanted to stay with his Head of House. . .he felt as responsible for her as she did for her students. He was just about to ask if he could do anything to help when Madam Pomfrey said,

"Longbottom, if you don't mind, go check on the Gryffindors and then report back here. It's the first thing she'll ask about when she comes to, and she won't rest until she knows they're all right. And she'll be glad to hear the news from one of her own." She broke off to look at him. "She thinks well of you, you know."

"She. . .she does?" Neville asked, surprised.

"Yes, she does. Just the other day she was saying how glad she was to have you and Miss Weasley to rely on this year."

"Really?"

"Of course, really," said Madam Pomfrey a bit sharply. "I'm not in the habit of saying things that aren't true, Longbottom. Well, not to anyone who isn't a Death Eater, anyway. Professor McGonagall said you used to lack confidence, but that you have really come into your own these last two years. And now that's all the ego-stroking I have time for; I have work to do, and so do you."

She turned back to Professor McGonagall's bed, and Neville headed to Gryffindor Tower, keeping to the shadows and marveling at the idea that Professor McGonagall might rely on him. Of course, it would only be because Harry and Hermione and Ron and some of the others weren't here, but still. . .

All was well at Gryffindor Tower, and Neville hustled back to the hospital wing to deliver the news. A screen had been set up around McGonagall's bed, and he could hear the voices of Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout behind it. He stopped, suddenly shy about the professors' privacy, and heard Madam Pomfrey say, "This should do it," followed by the muttered words of a spell.

"There, she's waking up!" said Professor Sprout.

"Minerva? Can you hear me? Don't try to sit up," said Madam Pomfrey. "Oh, all right then, sit up if you'd rather. Can you hear me?"

"Of course I can hear you," came Professor McGonagall's irritated voice, and Neville was so pleased that he stepped around the screen at once, just as McGonagall brushed away Professor Sprout's ministering hand and eyed them all sternly.

Neville had never been so glad to see that grim expression ― she was all right! ― and then she spoke again.

"Kindly tell me where I am and what I am doing here," she said. "And then tell me who you all are."