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Last chapter...

Extract from the diary of Hannah Abbott, July 2005

Well, guess what my new mother in law gave me as a wedding present!

Yep, this diary. I knew that I left it in the Room of Requirement – I presumed it was burned along with the Room and Crabbe. I only missed one of those two, and it wasn't Crabbe.

But nope. Augusta Longbottom was passing through the Room after us and must have read my name on it. And picked it up, which is a bit nosy of her. I bet she was a Ravenclaw. And she must have eyes like a hawk!

Neville had spoken about me to her. A lot. So she was quite curious. I never knew he had a crush on me before seventh year, but apparently it had been going on at least since fifth year, and Dumbledore's Army for the first time.

And they say men are oblivious.

My husband isn't. Oh, my husband! I'll never tire of saying that. I'm looking at my husband's face now, as he sleeps.

People are supposed to look innocent in their sleep, like babies. Neville doesn't. He looks stern and fearsome, entirely the Commander-In-Chief of Dumbledore's Army, the result of those jagged scars that cross his cheeks.

I love his scars, though. And he says he loves mine. That long burn along my side, from one of Crabbe's early, less successful attempts at Fiendfyre. The little white line on my forehead, when it struck a table as I writhed in agony under the Cruciatus. I don't even know which time that was.

Our scars are mental too. We've comforted each other through every nightmare possible. We lived through the worst nightmare possible.

Not all of us lived. Wayne Hopkins. Rhiannon Cooper. Stephen Cornfoot. Terry Boot. Colin Creevey. Demelza Robbins. Sally-Anne Perks. Richard Runcorn. Fred Weasley.

The list of names is too long to recite. I am so thankful for some that aren't there - Neville, Ernie, Susan, Justin. Myself. And then I feel selfish because we weren't all so lucky, we didn't all make it through. More cruelly, it was often one of a pair that made it through. Lavender Brown but not Anthony Goldstein. Amy Spinks but not Su Li.

And all fading into history now, history that, please, please, to all gods or saints or wizards who can read this, will not repeat itself. The death of children is too terrible, too cruel. Something I'm only now realising as I start to consider having my own.

We had a nightmare to thank the first time we kissed. And the first time we slept together – the same night, although it was truly only sleeping together. That little first-year boy doesn't know what he did. Andrew Dervish…..he lived through the Battle, through the hell of it all. I think he joined the Wizarding Wireless Network. We fell asleep by his bedside, hands linked and our first kiss behind us.

We woke next to each other in the morning to giggles, and looks, but not too many, because no matter what the calendar might say, despite what I said earlier, we weren't children, not any more.

Not children, not since we were Cruciated in our lessons. Not children, not since we knew what it was to fear for our lives. Not children, when we used lessons about how Avada Kedavra required concentration and power to plan battle stratagems.

I hadn't been a child since the beginning of sixth year, when Mum died and left me orphaned in a world that had just changed beyond recognition. Without any family…but now I'm smiling again, because the wedding ring on my finger is catching the light. I have a family now, that was for sure.

Really, I had one before. Justin, Ernie, Susan - most of those who I fought with in seventh year were close enough to consider family. And then there's Tom, who walked me down the aisle yesterday, weeping as copiously as any father ever did at their daughter's wedding. Tom, who gave me half of the Leaky Cauldron as a wedding present, with the other half to go to me on his death. I know I've been virtually running it for years, but I never imagined that he would give it to a girl of no blood kin….but we're family.

Aged eleven, I learned to be a witch, and a Hufflepuff. Aged sixteen, I learned to be an orphan. Aged seventeen, I learned to be a barmaid. My eighteeth year was a busy one – in less than twelve months, I learned to be a soldier, a heroine and a veteran. Aged twenty-four, I learned to be a pub chef. Aged twenty-six, I learned to be a landlady.

Now, aged twenty-six, I'm about to learn how to be a wife, a wife to a hero, to a Herbology assistant professor, to a mild-mannered man with an abashed smile and kind eyes.

Married life with Neville won't be hard – I love to cook and Neville loves to garden. I can already see that he'll be great with children, probably better than me! I've seen him with Harry and Ginny's new baby, and even if he looks nervous and tries to avoid holding little James Potter, knowing his own clumsiness, he can keep him entertained perfectly well.

A family….I cannot wait. I want as many kids as possible. Neville and I came from single-child, tiny families. We don't want that – especially because we want to lavish a lot of love on them, and the last thing we want is a spoiled only child, Draco Malfoy being a prime example of that. I don't care what House they're in. Even if they're in Slytherin. I want boys, and I want girls.

Children, family holidays, growing old together….it'll all start soon. This is just the first morning of the rest of our life.

Wish me luck, diary. It worked last time. Hopefully it will again.

Thank you to everyone who has read or reviewed this story. I didn't mean to write it, it just popped into my head, so thanks very much for helping me get rid of it!

And hopefully I can try spend a little bit more time revising for my exams now that I only have one In-Progress story. If anyone wants to read it (who isn't already, thank you to those who are reading it who crossed-over into this!), it's about the Next Generation kids, including Neville and Hannah's, Ron and Hermione's, Harry and Ginny's, Draco and Astoria's and Dennis Creevey's.

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