He must have been moving in the night; his legs were tangled around the sheets and, try as he might, any attempt at escape just led to the knots pulling tighter. Neville fell back on his pillow and sighed deeply. Trevor croaked from his place on the sill.

"Shut up," Neville said irritably. He hated these days.

"NEVILLE!" shouted his grandmother. "You'd better be awake and ready to leave in twenty minutes!"

He puffed out his cheeks, frustrated. "I'll be down in a minute, Gran!"

Thankfully, Neville's sheet bonds took pity upon him, loosening enough that he was able to tear them off and roll out of bed. Every other day this summer, he'd hopped out of bed, eager to write to his friends or work in the garden. He'd never got as many letters as he had since he'd left Hogwarts. There were a few from Ron, three from Ginny, two from Luna, along with a free subscription to The Quibbler, a whole mess from Hermione, and even, yes, one from Harry, which he wouldn't admit had frayed at the edges or that he had it memorised or that he carried it around in his robes. He attributed his sudden popularity to the D.A. As for the garden, ever since he could remember, he was happiest on his hands and knees, dirt smeared across one cheek.

Smiling slightly, he tickled the underside of Violet, his Mimbulus Mimbletonia. She cooed happily at his touch and he relaxed a bit. A bit of stinksap dribbled from the top of the plant and Neville rolled his eyes. Too excited to see him, he supposed. Neville wondered if it were possible for a plant to get overly attached to its caretaker. He'd have to have a talk with Violet when he returned.

Quickly, he washed his face and cleaned his teeth, pulling on his nicest light clothing and combing his hair as flat as he could make it. It had a maddening cowlick towards the back, which he assumed wouldn't be there if someone other than Gran ever cut his hair. He shivered at the idea of telling her that he no longer wanted her to touch his hair, but he wasn't a little boy anymore. Not that anyone noticed that.

"NEVILLE!"

"Coming!" Oof. He put down the comb and ran down the stairs, tripping on one of his shoelaces along the way. Catching himself, he met his grandmother, already waiting for him by the Floo. He sighed. This was never easy.

Gran indicated that he should go first, so he took a pinch of powder and shouted, "St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries!"

When Neville stepped out of the fireplace, he clutched at his stomach, nausea not entirely due to the bumpy ride. Gran stepped out a moment later and the two walked to the Thickey Ward in near silence. She never let him get melancholy afterwards, but he supposed she needed to gather her courage beforehand, too, and she always gave him this little moment of quiet.

"Are you ready?" she asked crisply before reaching his mum and dad's room.

"As I'll ever be." He stuffed his hands in his pockets. The two walked inside, both surprised to find a visitor already talking to Frank and Alice. Neville raised his eyebrows, recognising a familiar dark-haired head. "Harry?"

Harry spun around, obviously startled. "Oh, N-neville!" he stuttered. "I didn't expect to see you here today." Harry looked very young in the huge, grey pants and shirt at least three sizes too big.

Neville walked to his mum's side and clutched her hand. "What are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to visit them. Thought they might like the company." Harry blushed. "I wanted to be reminded about what Voldemort is capable of." Neville winced at the name. "I can go, if you'd like. I don't want to ruin your time with your parents." The corners of Harry's mouth turned down slightly.

"No, it's okay. It's okay if you stay. Stay."