THE TOWER AND THE STAR - Pansy Neville (HP)

Funerals were never easy. They were a painful reminder of life's fragility, an experience that forced him to confront the impermanence of existence head-on. As he stood there, surrounded by friends and family who were also grappling with their grief, Neville's mind drifted back to the last time he had been in a similar situation. It had been a few years since he lost his beloved grandmother, the woman who had been both a guiding light and a source of unwavering support throughout his childhood. Even now, the ache in his heart felt fresh, as if the wound had never truly healed.

He remembered the way she used to tell him stories of bravery and magic, her voice soft and melodic as she painted vivid pictures of heroes and adventures. She had nurtured his dreams, always encouraging him to believe in himself, to see the potential within. Losing her had been a devastating blow, one that left a gaping hole in his life that seemed impossible to fill. While time had dulled the sharpness of that loss, the sorrow lingered like a shadow, always present but often overlooked in the busyness of daily life.

He couldn't help but reflect on the impermanence of relationships, the fragility of love and friendship. He thought of his grandmother, how she had always told him to cherish those he held dear, to never take a single moment for granted. Her wisdom echoed in his mind, urging him to hold onto his loved ones tightly, to let them know how much they meant to him. But here he was, surrounded by loss once again, grappling with the reality that not everyone would get the chance to hear those words.

He felt a surge of protectiveness wash over him, especially for Pansy. She had been through so much already, and now this news had thrown her into a whirlwind of emotions. He wanted to shield her from the pain, to take away her worries and fears. But how could he do that when the world was so unpredictable? As he caught sight of her, he could see the conflict in her eyes—she was torn between grief for Ron and the fear of what this meant for their future.

His heart sank as he thought about the implications of Ron and Lavender's deaths. The chaos that was sure to follow weighed heavily on his mind. The wizarding world had a way of spiraling out of control, and he feared what this would mean for everyone involved. He wanted to protect Pansy from the dark shadows that lurked just beyond their doorstep, threatening to pull them into a web of violence and revenge.

He could still feel the warmth of his grandmother's love wrapping around him like a comforting blanket, even amidst the pain. "You must be brave, my boy," she had often said, her gentle hands resting on his shoulders as she looked deep into his eyes. "Courage isn't the absence of fear; it's the determination to face it." Her words echoed in his mind now, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was a light to be found if he searched for it.

Neville clenched his fists, grounding himself in the moment. He would not let fear dictate his actions. He had a responsibility to Pansy, to their future, and to the life they were trying to build together. It wouldn't be easy, and he knew that the road ahead would be fraught with challenges, but he was willing to face whatever came their way. He had faced darkness before, and he had come out stronger on the other side.

His heart swelled with determination as he took a deep breath, allowing the memories of his grandmother to fill him with strength. She would want him to carry on, to find hope even in the face of despair. He would be that beacon of light for Pansy, guiding her through the storm, no matter how tumultuous the seas ahead may be.

The air at Ron and Lavender's funeral was thick with a suffocating silence, broken only by the occasional sniffle or cough from the mourners. Hermione sat rigidly in a hard wooden chair, her posture straight and unyielding, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on her shoulders. Her eyes, red and swollen from days of grief, were fixed on a point somewhere beyond the modest ceremony—a focal point that seemed to blur with the haze of her own detachment.

She felt oddly removed, as if encased in a thick layer of emotional ice that insulated her from the pain and the somber atmosphere around her. The loss of Ron and Lavender had hit her with a force she wasn't prepared for, but the depth of her sorrow was paradoxically matched by an unsettling numbness. 

The ceremony continued with its solemn rituals, but her mind was elsewhere, lost in a fog of fragmented memories and unspoken words. She could barely process the words of comfort or the shared condolences; her own thoughts felt too heavy, too tangled, to allow for much beyond the automatic nods and polite smiles. As she sat there, she wondered if this numbness was a shield or simply another form of suffering—an emotional defense mechanism that kept her from truly experiencing the full weight of the loss.

Now, a chilling numbness had settled in its place. Amidst the tear-streaked faces and whispered condolences, Hermione felt an overwhelming sense of isolation. She was a lone island in a sea of grief, adrift in a storm of her own making. Each tear that fell around her seemed to accentuate her solitude rather than bridge the gap. The shared sorrow of others felt distant and foreign, as though she were encased in an impenetrable bubble of her own sadness. In that sea of mourning, she drifted alone, battling a storm that no one else could truly see or understand.

The past few days had been a whirlwind of forced composure and relentless busywork. Now, surrounded by a handful of mourners in a setting so quiet it felt almost surreal, the weight of reality finally threatened to crush the dam she'd so desperately tried to hold back. The strain of holding it together gave way as a single tear escaped, tracing a glistening path down her cheek. It was the first in what felt like hours, a fragile release from the suffocating pressure of her emotions. The tear was but a tiny crack in her facade, yet it hinted at the promise of a deeper, more cathartic sob that lay just beneath the surface, waiting to be released in a moment of vulnerability.

Looking around the somber gathering, Hermione felt an overwhelming wave of despair wash over her. The air was thick with grief, and every face in the crowd seemed to reflect the same shell-shocked expression she wore. Harry's green eyes, usually so vibrant and filled with life, were now dull and clouded, burdened by a sorrow that felt almost palpable, binding them all together in their collective heartache. He offered a small, sad smile—a gesture of comfort that was too fragile to bridge the chasm of loss that stretched between them. It was a reminder of their shared history, but it also served as a painful acknowledgment of what they had lost.

Beside him, Ginny clutched his hand tightly, her fingers interlaced with his in a silent pact of support. The fiery spirit that had always defined her was noticeably dimmed, her usual warmth now overshadowed by the weight of their grief. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and though she attempted a watery smile, it fell short of reaching her eyes, which reflected the deep ache in her heart. She squeezed Harry's arm, as if drawing strength from him, but the gesture only highlighted the fragility of their situation. Together, they were a picture of shared sorrow, each seeking solace in the other while struggling to navigate the tumult of emotions surrounding them.

Nearby, Neville stood with his shoulders slightly hunched, his face etched with sorrow that seemed to have aged him beyond his years. The usually steady demeanor he carried like armor was wavering under the strain of the day's events. His brow was furrowed, and he looked lost in thought, as if grappling with memories and feelings he couldn't quite articulate. The weight of the moment pressed heavily upon him, making every breath feel laborious. He was accompanied by Luna, whose ethereal presence typically brought a sense of calm and wonder to the room. Yet now, even she seemed touched by the pervasive sadness that enveloped them.

Luna's large, blue eyes, which often sparkled with a strange and perceptive light, were now clouded with a deep well of empathy, reflecting the pain of loss that they all felt so acutely. She stood close to Neville, her hand resting gently on his arm as if anchoring him in the storm of emotions swirling around them. When her gaze met Hermione's, it was filled with an understanding that was both comforting and heartbreaking. In that moment, Hermione felt as though Luna could see directly into her soul, sharing in the anguish that pressed upon them all. Luna's gaze held a mixture of sorrow and compassion, as if she was bearing the weight of the world's sadness on her delicate shoulders, ready to share the burden with those she loved.

The world around them blurred into a haze of muted colors and indistinct voices as they all stood united in their grief. The air was heavy with whispered condolences and the quiet sobs of those who were struggling to accept the reality of what had happened. Hermione could feel the collective heartbeat of their small group—a rhythm of shared memories and unspoken fears—as they all tried to process the magnitude of their loss. Each heartbeat echoed a promise to remember Ron and Lavender, to honor their lives even as they mourned their untimely deaths. In that moment, they were bound together not just by their past, but by a future that suddenly felt uncertain and fraught with danger.

As the service continued, Hermione found herself searching the faces around her, seeking out the comfort of familiarity amidst the sorrow. She knew they would need to lean on one another in the days to come, to navigate the murky waters of grief together. The shared understanding among them was a silent vow; they would carry each other through the darkness, as they had done so many times before. And even in their pain, there was a flicker of hope—a belief that love, friendship, and resilience would light the way forward.

As the brief ceremony ended, a smattering of condolences were exchanged, hollow words offering little comfort in the face of such a profound loss. One by one, the mourners drifted away, their hushed whispers fading into the rustling leaves of the surrounding trees. Hermione remained rooted to the spot, a statue carved from grief, alone with the ghosts of her memories.

 Now, as he stood amongst the gathered mourners, the weight of the present moment pressed heavily upon him. He glanced around at the faces of those who had come to pay their respects to Ron and Lavender, their expressions a blend of shock, sadness, and disbelief. The air was thick with unspoken words, a cacophony of emotions that swirled around him like a storm. It was a testament to the fact that life could change in an instant, that happiness could be snatched away without warning, leaving only echoes of laughter and memories in its wake.

As he looked back at the casket before him, he felt a mixture of sorrow and resolve. Ron and Lavender's lives had ended far too soon, their potential extinguished in an instant. It was a stark reminder of why he had to fight for those he loved. He would honor their memory by living fully and courageously, by holding tight to Pansy and making sure she knew she was cherished.

And so, as the service unfolded, Neville stood tall, his heart a mix of grief and hope. He would not shy away from the pain; he would embrace it, using it as fuel to protect the love he had fought so hard to cultivate. Life would continue, and he would be ready to face whatever came next, determined to honor those lost while cherishing the moments he had left with those still by his side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Neville stepped through the door of their home, the weight of the day pressing heavily on his shoulders. The funeral had been an emotionally exhausting affair, filled with hushed whispers, tear-streaked faces, and the palpable grief that hung in the air like a thick fog. As he closed the door behind him, the quiet of their home felt almost suffocating. He had imagined this day would come far in the future, when they were old and gray, sharing tales of their lives and reminiscing about the laughter and adventures that had defined their years. But instead, it had come far too soon, snatching away them, leaving a hollow ache in his heart. The harsh reality of mortality settled around him, tightening its grip as he recalled the moments they would never share again.

His mood was sour, a bitter taste lingering on his tongue. He had never anticipated feeling this way, especially not today. The laughter and camaraderie they had enjoyed in their youth felt like a cruel joke now. He thought of Ron, with his infectious laugh and endless enthusiasm for life, and Lavender, whose vibrant spirit had always been a source of warmth. How could they be gone? It seemed surreal, as if the universe had flipped on its axis, and everything he had taken for granted was now just a memory.

As he entered the living room, his gaze fell upon Pansy, who stood waiting for him. She wore black, a somber reflection of his own attire, an unspoken testament to the love and respect she held for him and the loss he had just endured. Her presence was a beacon of comfort amidst the chaos swirling in his mind. He could see the concern etched on her features, the way her eyes searched his face for answers he wasn't ready to provide.

"My love…" he began, his voice faltering as he struggled to articulate the tumult of emotions raging within him. The words felt stuck in his throat, heavy and unyielding. He wanted to express his sorrow, to share the weight of his grief, but the enormity of it all rendered him speechless.

"I know," she replied softly, her voice filled with understanding. "I… I just couldn't find the right words." The vulnerability in her tone resonated deeply with him, and it was in that moment that he felt a crack in the armor he had built around his emotions.

"Come here," he said, his voice steadying as he reached out to her. "I just want to hug you."

As she stepped into his embrace, the warmth of her body against his felt like a balm for his fractured heart. They held each other tightly, allowing the silence to envelop them, the world outside fading into a distant murmur. The comfort of their connection anchored him, providing a momentary respite from the grief that threatened to consume him.

Time seemed to lose all meaning as they remained locked in that embrace, the soft sound of her breath soothing him. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest, a rhythmic reminder that life continued, even in the face of such overwhelming loss. The scent of her hair, a mix of floral notes and something uniquely her, enveloped him, drawing him further away from the painful reality that had invaded their lives.

In that moment, he let his emotions spill over, allowing the tears that had been threatening to escape to flow freely. She tightened her grip around him, her fingers tangling in his hair as she whispered soothing words into the quiet space between them. "It's okay, love. Let it out. I'm here. I'm right here."

Her unwavering support was like a lifeline, grounding him as he navigated the turbulent waters of his grief. Memories of laughter, late-night discussions, and the unbreakable bonds of friendship flooded his mind, each one sharper than the last. They had all promised to be there for one another, to weather the storms together, yet here he was, mourning the loss of two who had meant so much to him.

After what felt like an eternity, they finally broke the embrace, though her hands lingered on his arms, offering silent encouragement. She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with empathy and shared sorrow. "What do you need, Nevie?" she asked softly, her voice steady yet filled with concern.

"I don't know," he admitted, feeling the vulnerability of the moment wash over him. "I just keep thinking about how young they were. How we thought we had all the time in the world…" His voice trailed off, the reality of their loss sinking deeper into his bones.

She nodded, her expression one of deep understanding. "Life can be so cruel, so unpredictable. It's hard to accept that we can lose the people we love so suddenly." Her gaze softened as she continued, "But we owe it to them to carry their memories with us, to honor their lives by living fully. They wouldn't want us to be consumed by grief."

Her words struck a chord within him, igniting a flicker of hope amidst the despair. As he looked into her eyes, he could see the strength and resilience that had drawn him to her in the first place. "You're right," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "They wouldn't want that."

"Exactly," she replied, a hint of a smile breaking through her sadness. "We'll carry them in our hearts, my love. Always. But we must also allow ourselves to heal, to find joy again."

With a newfound determination, he took a deep breath, allowing her words to wash over him like a gentle tide. Together, they would navigate this storm, finding solace in each other's presence as they honored the memories of them. The journey ahead would be long and challenging, but they would face it together, hand in hand, ready to embrace whatever came next.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For Pansy, watching Neville struggle through his grief was harder than she anticipated. She couldn't quite grasp why he was so caught up in Ron's death—someone they both had complicated feelings about. Ron had never been particularly close to them, and yet here Neville was, sinking deeper into a sadness that made her feel helpless. She wanted to be there for him, to offer him comfort, but no matter how much she tried to understand, it just didn't make sense to her.

Sitting beside him, she reached out and gently squeezed his hand. "My love, you know that I'm here for you whenever you need me, right?"

He nodded, his expression distant as he stared off into the room, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. "I know, Parky. I know," he said, his voice soft and full of weariness. "But I'm just... sad."

She tilted her head, a touch of confusion still lingering in her thoughts. She hesitated before asking, knowing her question might seem out of place, "This might sound strange, but... why, Nevie? Why are you so sad? I mean, Ron wasn't exactly your best mate."

Neville glanced at her with a slight frown, clearly surprised by her question. "Princess," he sighed, using the pet name with a tired smile, "this is a weird question, yeah. But it's hard to lose someone when you're young. When you're close in age, it makes you face the idea of your own mortality in a way you don't expect."

He paused, his brow furrowing as though he were trying to find the right words. "When my grandmother passed away," he continued, his voice quieter now, "I had to grow up. I had to mature overnight. There was no time to dwell on my own feelings. I had to be strong, and now... I don't know, I guess Ron's death just brings all of that back." His voice broke a little on the last words, and Pansy felt her heart clench.

And suddenly, like a key turning in a lock, everything clicked for her. His grandmother. The woman he had practically worshipped in his youth, the woman who had raised him when his parents couldn't. Pansy had always wondered why Neville never spoke about her. There hadn't been a single mention in all their time together. No anecdotes, no memories shared during casual conversations. It was like the woman who had raised him had been erased from his life, only to resurface now, in the shadows of his grief.

Her heart ached for him, realizing how deeply this loss had affected him, and how it had been buried beneath layers of resilience he had built over the years. She knew now that this wasn't just about Ron; it was about all the losses that Neville had carried on his back, silently, without ever burdening anyone else with the weight of them.

She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but then her mind wandered to another painful truth she had always hesitated to approach—his parents. Were they still alive, tucked away in St. Mungo's in a ward for the irreparably damaged? Or had they passed away, quietly, without any fanfare, leaving Neville completely alone in the world?

She had never found the courage to ask. It was a question that had haunted the edges of her mind, but she had always pushed it away, fearing it would open up wounds too deep for her to heal. But now, seeing the fragility in him, the sadness that lingered like a storm cloud, she realized just how little she knew about his inner world. And how much of himself he kept hidden from even her.

"Your grandmother," she started slowly, carefully choosing her words. "You never talk about her, love. Not once. Why?"

Neville shifted uncomfortably, his fingers playing with the edge of his sleeve, a nervous habit she had noticed over time. "I don't know. I guess it's just... hard to talk about her. She was everything to me, you know? The only family I really had growing up. And when she died... I had to keep it together because there was no one else left to do it. I don't even know if I really processed it. I just moved on, because that's what you do."

His voice cracked again, and she felt a surge of protectiveness wash over her. She wanted to reach out and hold him, to wrap him up in her arms and shield him from the pain he had been carrying for so long. But she knew he had to let it out, in his own way.

"You don't have to carry it all alone, Nevie," she whispered, her hand finding its way to his cheek, gently turning his face toward her. "You can talk to me. You don't have to be strong all the time, especially not with me."

His eyes softened, and for a moment, the walls he had built around his grief seemed to crumble just a little. "I know, Parky," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "But I've been strong for so long, it's hard to let go."

Pansy nodded, understanding more now than she ever had before. "You don't have to let go all at once. Just... when you're ready. I'll be here."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their conversation lingering between them like an unspoken promise. And in that quiet, Pansy made another promise to herself—to ask him, when the time was right, about his parents. To understand the full depth of his loss and to be there for him, no matter how difficult the conversation might be. Because if there was one thing she knew for certain, it was that she would do anything to protect Neville, even if that meant confronting the ghosts that haunted him.

As she leaned in to kiss his forehead, a tender gesture of support, she felt his body relax slightly against hers. And while they still had a long way to go, she knew that together, they could face whatever darkness lay ahead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But Neville never forgot about his parents. How could he? The image of them—once vibrant, once full of life and laughter—had been burned into his memory, only to be replaced with the hollow shells they had become. Alice and Frank Longbottom, once fierce Aurors who had faced down some of the darkest forces the wizarding world had ever seen, were now trapped in a prison of their own minds. They existed, but only barely. A faint flicker of life, a distant echo of the people they used to be.

Yet, despite the emptiness in their eyes, despite the fact that they couldn't respond, Neville had convinced himself that they could still hear him. That somewhere, deep down, the parents he had loved so fiercely were still there, listening to him, understanding his words. So, a few times a month, he would visit them, taking the Floo Network to St. Mungo's, where they lived in a secluded, forgotten ward. He never missed a visit, no matter how busy his life got, no matter how exhausting the days became.

It was always the same routine. He would walk into the room, the scent of antiseptic and the cold, sterile air hitting him like a familiar weight. His mother would be sitting by the window, staring out at nothing, while his father sat in a chair, his posture slumped, his hands resting limply on his lap. Neither of them moved when he entered, neither acknowledged his presence, but Neville didn't need them to.

"Hi, Mum. Hi, Dad," he would say, his voice always soft, as if he didn't want to disturb the stillness. He would sit down beside them, pulling a chair close to their side, and start to talk. He would talk about anything—his work, his life at Hogwarts, the students he helped in Herbology. But lately, his conversations had shifted focus. He talked about Pansy now, about their marriage, about the home they were building together, piece by piece.

"She's a bit of a handful, you know," he would say with a soft chuckle, trying to imagine what his mother would think of Pansy Parkinson. He imagined that Alice would have been shocked at first, maybe even a little wary, but eventually, she would have come around. After all, there was a fierceness in Pansy that reminded him of his mother, a sharpness that he knew Alice would have respected.

"And she can be a little... dramatic," he would add with a smile, recalling Pansy's over-the-top wedding planning or her insistence on redecorating their entire house. "But she's good to me. She really is, Mum. You'd love her, I think."

His father, of course, never responded. Frank's eyes were dull, vacant, staring off into the distance as if he were trapped in some far-off place. But Neville kept talking, his voice filled with an almost desperate hope.

"I wish you could meet her, Dad," he would say, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. "I wish you could see what my life is like. You'd be proud of me, I think. I'm trying to make something of myself. I'm trying to be the man you wanted me to be."

He would sit there for hours sometimes, just talking, filling the empty space with his words, hoping that somehow, somewhere, they could hear him. He told them about his insecurities, about how he still wasn't sure he was doing enough, how he worried that he was never going to live up to the Longbottom name.

He told them about the darkness he saw in the world, how people like Ron and Lavender were gone too soon, and how it felt like the past was coming back to haunt them all. He even confessed his fears about the world Pansy had come from, the shady dealings of the Sacred 28, the moral grayness that surrounded her family and friends. But in the end, he always returned to the same point—he loved her. Despite everything, despite the darkness that sometimes seemed to close in on them, he loved her.

And even though his parents never said a word, even though they never blinked or showed any sign that they understood, Neville believed they did. He needed to believe they did.

But every visit was a reminder of the life they had lost, of the future that had been stolen from them all. Neville often found himself wondering what his life would have been like if things had been different. If his parents had never been tortured, if they had been there for him growing up. Would he have been more confident? Less timid? Would he have become the kind of man who commanded respect without ever needing to prove himself?

He thought about how his mother would have tucked him in at night, how his father would have taught him about magic, about strength, about courage. But instead, he had learned those things on his own, from teachers, from friends, from the trials of life. And as much as he loved his parents, as much as he missed them, a part of him was angry—angry at the world for taking them from him, angry at the Death Eaters who had destroyed them, angry at himself for never truly being able to let them go.

It wasn't fair. None of it was fair.

He swallowed hard as he looked at his mother, her once sharp features now soft with age and vacancy. He reached out, taking her limp hand in his. "I miss you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I miss both of you so much. I just... I wish you could see me now. I wish you could see the man I've become. I wish you could meet Pansy. I think you'd love her."

A tear slipped down his cheek, but he quickly wiped it away, not wanting to fall apart in front of them. He had spent so many years being strong, so many years pretending that their absence didn't hurt as much as it did, and now, as he sat there, the weight of his grief felt unbearable.

"I'm doing okay, though," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "I'm trying to be okay."

And with that, he would stand, pressing a gentle kiss to his mother's forehead and then his father's. He would linger for a moment, his heart aching, before whispering, "I'll see you soon."

As he left St. Mungo's, the same hollow feeling always settled in his chest. He had come to terms with the fact that his parents were never coming back, but that didn't make it any easier. The visits were as much for him as they were for them, a way of holding on to the family he had lost, a way of keeping their memory alive.

And every time he returned home, to Pansy, to their life together, he couldn't help but feel the sting of all the things he would never have. He would never be able to bring his wife to meet his parents. He would never have the chance to see them proud of him. He would never hear his father say, "Well done, son."

But he carried their legacy in every step he took, in every decision he made. He was the last of the Longbottoms, and despite the pain, despite the loss, he would keep moving forward. For them. For the family he had built with Pansy. For the future he still believed in.

Because that's what they would have wanted. Even if they couldn't tell him so.