A/N: Hello, not really a new chapter, I'm afriad but I have just finished the redraft of this fic and the epilogue felt like it sat better in two parts.

Epilogue: Chapter Two

Three years after the Wedding

Neville sped round the corner of one of the endless hospital corridors and ran straight into a janitor mopping the floors. "Sorry, sorry," he chanted as he detangled himself from the refillable bucket and continued at speed.

Only Hermione could be early, showing off as usual. Every book he had read, and there had been a fair few, Hermione had made a list, had suggested that first pregnancies frequently went beyond the due date. Seemingly not for his wife, no, Hermione was three weeks early and not five minutes ago he had been summoned by her Patronus screaming at him to put down the plant pots and get to St Mungos.

Hermione had finally gone on maternity leave the week before and had decided to move into Longbottom house while she waited for their new arrival. His Gran had been over the moon, not that she had said anything about it, but Neville knew.

He skidded to a stop and quickly checked the map on the wall to doubly make sure that he was on the right path. He wouldn't let it enter his head that he would miss it; he would never forgive himself.

As he made it to the front desk of the maternity wing, Neville managed to wheeze out a barely intelligible version of his name to the nurse stationed there. She gave him a knowing smile and pointed him to the second room on the right, and Neville blurted out his thanks.

Neville burst through the door and scanned the room only to find the atmosphere was relatively sedate in comparison to the thumping of his heart. Hermione was sat on top of a giant inflatable ball, bouncing up and down while holding her hips. She had insisted that Muggles used them all the time to encourage the baby down and the healer they had met with saw no harm in letting her follow things that made her more comfortable.

"Hermione?" he asked, still panting.

"Hi love," she smiled and looked up from the magazine strewn over her bare lap.

"Ah, your Patronus… you seemed quite… distressed."

She beamed at him. "I called you during one of my contractions, they are pretty sharp and getting closer together now, but in between, I still feel alright."

-/-/-/-

The image of his smiling wife was long lost to him ten hours later as he looked into the face of the screaming banshee she had become. Neville couldn't seem to do anything; anything he did do was wrong. He didn't rub her back in the right place, or hard enough; all of his topics of conversation were not things she wanted to discuss. In the end, he settled for holding her hand and mopping her brow, telling her how amazing she was.

All he felt was fear, anxiety and totally like a spare part until everything seemed to get more intense and then a cry was heard.

His whole body stilled as the enthusiastic healer turned around with a smile that could only mean good news. "Congratulations, Mr and Mrs Longbottom, you have a baby girl."

The tiny bundle swaddled in pink blankets was dropped onto Hermione's chest, and Neville looked down at them both in awe. He could see a darkish tuft of hair poking from the top of the wool, and he marvelled at her tiny features.

When the baby was pressed into his arms, Neville sat in the chair to give the healers some space and brushed his thumb delicately across his daughter's soft pink cheek.

"Hello, Iris… I'm your dad."

One year after Iris

Neville walked through the hospital corridors, at a much more sedate pace than the year before. His arms were full with a wiggling Iris who had just found her walking legs and was increasingly reluctant to be carried anywhere.

Hermione and his Gran were behind him chatting about some motion before the Wizengamot that had them both incensed. Augusta had offered to continue to perform the obligations of their houses seat, and Neville had been only too willing to take her up on it.

Hermione babbled in response to his Gran's one-word rejoinder, and Neville smiled to himself. His wife still talked non-stop whenever they got to the hospital, seeking to break through their thoughts and keep them from becoming melancholy. It was one of the many reasons he loved her.

Iris shifted again and reached for her mother. Hermione grabbed her round the middle and rested her on her hip while they moved through the hospital.

Neville approached the desk and signed them all in. His hand lingered over his daughters name as it always did. They had initially wanted to call her Alice, for his mother, but his Gran had put her foot down. Augusta thought it was maudlin and fundamentally wrong to burden a child with the past. Over time, Neville agreed, this way, Iris was free to be her own person.

He opened the door into the Janus Thickey ward and placed Iris into the playpen he had brought along from home. Hermione had gotten a collapsable one from Ginny, and it just about managed to keep Iris contained long enough for a short visit.

Neville went and sat next to his dad and pulled out the Quidditch scores, ready to run through them. Puddlemere were doing poorly, as usual.

He watched from out of the corner of his eye as Hermione took Alice by the hand and led her over to the playpen. In practised movements, she sat her mother in law on the floor and eased down next to her. His mother never spoke, never showed much outward sign of comprehension, but she never took her eyes off Iris wherever she crawled or stumbled to, and she never ceased her grip on Hermione's hand.

It was the same every visit, and even though the Healers persisted in their belief that his mum and dad had little awareness of the world outside of themselves, Neville didn't believe it. It may never get any better, but it was enough. Neville knew, on some deep and unquestionable level, that his parents were aware that he was happy, and that they were still a part of his life.

Two years after Iris

Neville sighed as he shut the door and walked into the cool interior of the townhouse. It was too hot outside today, and he was glad that all of his errands were now complete. He stood still for several moments waiting for the inevitable sound of small feet and as soon as he heard it, Neville headed towards the central atrium.

When he and Hermione had decided that they would live at the townhouse instead of finding their own place for only part of the year, his Gran had allowed them to make alterations. Neville had expected her to be reluctant, but it appeared after all these years Augusta Longbottom was happy to take a back seat and assume the grandmother role she had always wanted.

Neville and Hermione hadn't done much, while neither of them could be considered traditionalists they loved the old house as it was, but some things needed to change to make it more practical for a modern family.

The centre of the house was now dominated by a light and airy main room, where Hermione had managed to bring the outside in, under his expert guidance of course. The bright white space was covered in greens of all kinds, and the plants made him feel almost as at home as she did.

As Neville entered a small smile lit up his face as he caught his wife halfway up a ladder. Iris, who was now a toddler, was watching her with some determination as Hermione chatted away to her daughter as if she could perfectly understand every complex theory she presented. As soon as Iris spied him in the doorway, she ran towards him on wobbly legs.

Seeing her purpose, he strode over to scoop her up in his arms. "What's Mummy doing Iris?"

Hermione turned at the sound of his voice, looking slightly sheepish. "I know I said I would wait for you to do this, but I just thought I should get it done."

Neville had meant to change the large light fitting for a few weeks; it just never seemed like there was time at the moment. He should have known Hermione would get sick of waiting and do it herself.

He bopped her on the nose as she reached the bottom of the ladder, and she rolled her eyes.

He smiled at her. "Come on I have something to show you both."

Moving slowly so that Iris could walk along beside them, Neville led them to the family wing of the house where he had been working for most of the day apart from occasional breaks to the greenhouse. Hermione paused at the doorway of the room and looked up at him tears pooling in her eyes. She got emotional in the late stages of pregnancy, or so she said, he would have said she was always an emotional person, but he wasn't quite sure he would get away with that.

He moved to stand behind her, looping his arms around her expanding middle as they both looked into the nursery. A large jungle scene took up one wall, and the room was filled with various stuffed animals that Iris was working her way through, holding up various ones to show her parents who would coo at her each time.

"Do you like it?" he whispered into her ear.

She turned to face him. "It's perfect Neville, just perfect."

He hoped so. It almost made it seem real now the nursery was done, in a few months their son would be born. Hermione would say that would make their family complete, but Neville was already working on his speech to get her to consider a third. Really they needed another; they had so much space. After such a quiet childhood, Neville could think of nothing better than his children growing up with plenty of siblings for company.

Iris called for their attention again holding aloft a cuddly, stuffed toad that made a broad knowing smile break across both their faces.

"What do you think of Trevor, for our boy?"

Hermione smiled. "Not on your life."

She reached forward and held his hand like she had all those years ago and they ran into the nursery, making Iris squeal and charge around with delight. Neville rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand and pulled her in front of him so he could cup her stomach.

"Thank Merlin for lost frogs."