Author's Note: This was actually the first Harry Potter fanfic I wrote, waaaaaaay back in 2008 (egads). I'm kind of wary to even admit that. It was originally posted on the Harry Potter fanfiction site "Checkmated", which is still sporadically online but no longer updated or maintained. The more I went back and looked at this multi-chapter fic, the less thrilled I was at the storyline or my writing, and I had decided not to transfer it to ffnet. However, I had a request for it to be archived here, so I decided to rework it a bit and repost it. It is complete; it's just a matter of me cleaning, editing, and rewriting each chapter. Which is going pretty fast, considering my usual time...

Thanks to: TheGiantSquid, who was the original beta for this piece on Checkmated; and to RiennaHawkes, the amazing author who asked me if I was going to transfer CoF here to ffnet. (If you haven't read RH's amazing works, you should seriously go do so. One of my absolute favorite fan fictions EVER is her Buried Treasure multi-chapter.)

Pairing: Cannon, specifically Neville Longbottom x Hannah Abbott.

Rating: M (For erotic situations & nudity, but no actual descriptions of sex.)

Title: The Colors of Fire

The Unexpected Wayward Traveler

It was 2:50 in the morning, and Hannah Abbott had to admit that the sudden, hard pounding on the front door of her pub was a bit unnerving. It was a wonder she'd heard it at all; now that she was properly awake, she hadn't the foggiest how she'd managed to drift off to sleep in the first place, what with the rain, thunder, and wind howling furiously outside.

The last of her patrons had left just after midnight, mostly due to this unexpected storm, and she had bolted the doors soundly, as per her usual before going to bed. Perhaps this was just another wayward traveler needing a night's lodging, but even after six months of owning the historic Leaky Cauldron Pub, Hannah still hadn't gotten used to the idea of waking up in the dead of the night to let unknown wizards and witches into her establishment.

Groggily, she stumbled as quickly as she could down the narrow stairs, nearly tripping over her dressing gown as she tied the sash around her waist on the way, and cursing under her breath when one of her fuzzy slippers fell off and she had to find it before going into the pub.

It was dark in the main room; she could barely make out the tables as she pointed her wand at an oil lamp behind the bar. It flared to life, casting a dark glow around it that did not reach far enough for Hannah's immediate comfort. The pounding rang out once more, and now she could hear the shouts — a man's voice, yelling for her to open the door — and he used her name.

Her eyes widened as she ran across the room, bumping into a stray chair. There was a small explosion in the street — she recognized it immediately as a spell. She pointed her wand at the door, wordlessly unsealing the magical locks, and it sprang open.

Instantly, the wind roared louder and she had to throw her hand up over her face to shield it from the rain that came pouring into the Leaky Cauldron in dark, silvery-black sheets. Squinting, she could just make out two men; one was standing, supporting the second, who hung limply over the first's arm. Another spell exploded in a flash of bright red light, and Charing Cross came into grisly relief. The man glanced over his shoulder as she moved forward, her wand ready and her eyes wide with fear.

"Hannah! Get him! I can't hold him much longer!"

The second figure stirred slightly and moaned; another spell went off and the first man yelled, "Protego!" A glittering shield burst before him and the curse backfired on someone Hannah couldn't make out, on the opposite side of the road.

As she ran the last few steps to the threshold, the rain soaked her face, her hands, and her robe. The man she had been instructed to pull inside was absolutely drenched and too heavy to carry or hardly lift, so she shakily said, "Mobilicorpus!" and levitated him into the pub.

The moment the burden lifted off of the first man, he fired another spell into the darkness before ducking inside as well, slamming the door shut and quickly sealing it with a number of magic spells Hannah normally didn't bother to use when she locked up for the night. She stared wide-eyed as he finished this task; then he groaned, twisted around, and sagged against the door as though utterly exhausted.

"Thank Merlin you heard me. I was afraid you wouldn't," he muttered, pushing his wet hair off his forehead.

Hannah was maneuvering the prone figure to the top of the long bar, trying to steady her breathing. She glanced back and asked (trying to keep the worry out of her voice), "What on earth was all of that about?"

By the dim light of the oil lamp, she saw Harry Potter look back at her rather grimly. "I've no idea, actually. There were three of them. I don't know who they were or why they were attacking him. It was all I could do to hold them off to get him in here. He's injured, but I'm not sure how badly." He sighed and pushed his wet hair back again, mussing it up into odd angles. "They'll have Disapparated by now." He looked annoyed at this. "I'll have to tell Kingsley as soon as possible. Hopefully no one saw all the spells going off...otherwise the Obliviators will be furious."

At the mention of injuries, Hannah turned automatically towards the man lying on the bar. He was soaking wet and dripping onto the floor, and as she came closer, his face swam into view by the dull orange glow.

Hannah gasped. "Neville?" She turned to look at Harry again, her eyes even wider. "Neville Longbottom?"

Harry nodded. "I stayed late tonight," he explained as he walked across the room and slid onto a bar stool, while Hannah quickly summoned a bottle of potion from upstairs. "At work. Gin's got a game in Germany tomorrow so I thought I'd take the chance to catch up on some stuff for Kingsley. I was on my way home when I heard the spells going off, so I went to investigate. And I found him fighting three others, with that bad gash in his arm."

Hannah gingerly unfastened Neville's cloak and pulled it off his arm. His robes were sticky with dark blood and the cut looked fairly deep. She swallowed and opened the bottle to drop some of the liquid into the wound. It smoked and hissed slightly as it made contact with Neville's skin.

"He lost consciousness just as I got to him. I brought him here because it was closest," Harry finished. He was using a drying spell on his own robes now; she could see the water evaporating in the semi-darkness.

"It was lucky for him you were late leaving the office," Hannah said quietly. "Otherwise, who knows what would have happened?" She began tracing her wand over the wound, cleaning it and siphoning off the blood. Neville groaned and stirred slightly again, but did not come to.

"Thankfully, I don't think it's bad enough to take him to St. Mungo's. Otherwise I'd have a ton of people asking questions, and then the Daily Prophet would get involved and come up with some ludicrous story, and then people would start to panic again," Harry muttered. "Can he stay here a few days? I don't know where he was going to or coming from, but I'll pay for him to stay here.."

Hannah scowled stubbornly. "He can stay here as long as he needs to, free of charge. After all, we're friends — all of us. We were in the DA together... and we fought You-Know-Who together. I wouldn't charge either of you for a room. That's just wrong, Harry. It wouldn't be fair."

Harry gave her a weak smile. "Thanks, Hannah."

To distract herself, she began peeling Neville's soggy robes off of his body, starting with the rest of the cloak and then his robe, which was tattered around the edges and very worn. Harry helped her check for more injuries, but fortunately, there was nothing more than a few minor cuts and scratches on his chest and arms. The only thing they did not remove were his trousers; Hannah was sure she wouldn't be able to take them off without turning bright pink.

Once Neville's visible skin was smooth all over again, she said, "I should go tidy up a room for him. Can you bring him up the stairs? I'll get some fresh robes, too."

Harry nodded and levitated Neville from the counter, and followed Hannah upstairs. Once at the top of the landing, she opened the door to one of the rooms, which was right beside a second flight of stairs that led to her private quarters.

"In here would be best, I think," she said, holding the door open. "If he needs help I'll be right above him."

Harry moved Neville into the room towards the bed, and Hannah turned her back and found some clean robes in the dresser. While Harry proceeded to get Neville situated, she transfigured the robes into pajamas. There was a brief, awkward moment when she turned back around holding a pair of striped flannel bottoms, and she quickly blushed and said, "I'll check his loo and make sure everything is in order, if you can get those on him." And before Harry could respond, she hurried into the tiny bathroom and quickly straightened the already-neat counter. It wasn't as if she had never seen a man naked before, but given the current situation, it seemed odd and uncomfortable. Only when Harry called her back in the room did she emerge again.

Neville was completely tucked in, though pale. Harry was watching him with a dark expression, and Hannah tentatively said, "Harry?"

"Hm?"

"Are you all right?"

Harry didn't say anything for a moment, but finally he muttered, "Fine. Just wondering who would have wanted to attack him. I haven't even seen him in over a year, to be honest. Or been in contact with him. And I can't help but wonder if the people who were attacking him were Death Eaters we haven't caught yet. They were using curses most people don't know... I haven't fought curses like those in a long time. Since... Since the Battle of Hogwarts."

Hannah felt the blood drain from her face, and her heart rate sped up slightly. "Death Eaters?"

He glanced up, and said seriously, "Do you want me to stay the night, just in case? I don't mind."

Hannah glanced at Neville again. He was completely motionless, and if it weren't for the very slight rise and fall of the blankets over his chest, she might've panicked. Did she want Harry to stay the night? Yes, the tiny voice in the back of her mind encouraged. But a more stubborn voice drowned out the first: she was the landlady of the Leaky Cauldron now, and she couldn't rely on Harry Potter to stay over whenever someone unusual and suspicious was staying at her inn, or whenever unknown wizards were attacking others right outside her door. She finally shook her head. "No, I'll be fine. But thank you."

"Are you sure?"

She forced a tiny smile. "I think so."

Harry shook his head. "I don't know how you do it," he said, as the stepped out of the room and into the hall. "Running this place by yourself. It isn't always safe."

"No, not always. But on the whole, it is really quite wonderful." She smiled. "And it's mine, you know. It's been a long time since I've had anything I could call my own. When the Death Eaters killed my mother, I thought I would never have a home again. I couldn't see how anything could be good again. But it is — this is my home now, and I'm happy again." She paused, and then added, "Though, I will admit, some of those DA lessons really come in handy."

"Oh?"

"Yes; just the other day, McLaggen was in here acting horrible as usual. I hit him with a Furnunculus Charm — he left straight away and I haven't seen him since, thank Merlin."

Harry couldn't help it; he laughed outright. "Serves him right, the git! If you need any help with him, let me know — I'm sure I can find a few other people who'd love to do him in, too. Why was he bothering you?"

Hannah sighed sullenly. "He wants to take me out to dinner and I can't stand him."

"No one else can, either. Next time I see him, I'll hex him for you."

She giggled softly. "Knowing McLaggen, it won't help." They had reached the bottom of the stairs, and she started towards the pub again. "I can start a fire so you can Floo home," she suggested, looking over her shoulder.

Instantly, the laughter died, and Harry scowled at her. "No, that will put you at more risk. I'm going to seal your chimneys for tonight, and in the morning you can take the charms off. I'll Disapparate."

"Very well, then. I'll contact you by Patronus if I need you.

"Who else have you got staying here tonight?"

She shrugged. "A couple of warlocks from Poland in Room 8. They're hard of hearing and crotchety, but I doubt they'll be trouble."

"Hannah, I don't mind staying. Honest."

"I know you don't. But I'll be fine. They may not have been Death Eaters tonight, you know."

"Maybe not, but they weren't up to any good, having an all-out fight in the middle of downtown London. They were careless and stupid; the Ministry will be in an uproar over it. Neville's well known because he defied Voldemort straight to his face; I'm sure there are plenty of people still alive who want him dead. Just like me. Occupational hazard, you might say, defying the Dark Lord in front of hundreds of people."

Hannah had tensed visibly when Harry had said Voldemort, but she tried not to show it. "You sealed the doors shut magically," she said, mostly to reassure herself. "We'll be fine here. It's only a few more hours until dawn anyway."

Harry frowned at her for a few moments, but he finally sighed and said, "Fine; I'll check in on you in the morning and make sure everything is okay." He pointed his wand at the fireplaces, and Hannah heard an odd squelching noise from inside of them, as though they had been plugged.

With that, he nodded once to her, twisted on the spot and vanished, and she was alone again.

For a few seconds she stood silently in the bar, glancing around the dark, empty pub. The wind sounded a lot louder, and she could hear the rain furiously beating against the dark windowpanes. She wondered if Neville's unknown attackers had really Disapparated, or if they were waiting, prowling beyond the door. Shivering, she silently pointed her wand at the lamp, which extinguished in a small hiss, plunging the bar into total darkness. For a long time, she stood motionless and silent, her nerves taut and her heart pounding, waiting for something to happen, but the windows remained black and she didn't dare go to look out.

At last, she quietly tiptoed back upstairs, glancing over her shoulder a couple of times, but nothing changed, and on the landing, she paused to listen at Neville's door to make sure he was breathing before climbing the narrow staircase to her own quarters.

Hannah's rooms were small and cramped, but tidy and cozy. The Leaky Cauldron had sloping, steep roofs, which created angled ceilings in the rooms where she resided when she wasn't downstairs welcoming guests, serving mulled mead, or waiting on dinner parties in the parlors. Her bed was a large four-poster with rich warm hangings in deep gold, skimming the floor in thick bunches and tied back with black velvet tassels. Her vanity had a beautifully carved frame with a round mirror; she had crammed with photographs of her friends from school about the edges. As she glanced into the mirror, they all waved and grinned back at her — Ernie, Justin, Susan and other Hufflepuffs. There were a few photographs that included friends she'd had in other houses: Harry, Ron, Hermione, waved from a couple of these, and one picture taken after the Battle of Hogwarts included Neville.

She slowly pulled her damp robe off and draped it over the back of the dressing table's chair, her eyes lingering on this particular photograph. Neville waved at her modestly, while most of the others laughed and waved wildly while hanging off each other's shoulders. He moved slightly as Ron jostled him, and she wondered who had been after Neville tonight, and in Muggle London of all places.

After all, Harry had been right — Neville had been something of a hero during and after the war. Hannah could remember students thronging around him at Hogwarts in the aftermath of battle, eyes wide with wonder at the young man who had been so brave to defy the Dark Lord to his very face and live to tell the tale. She had been one of them, she thought with some shyness, as she looked in the mirror at her slightly damp hair and face. She had been afraid to come too close to Neville, because suddenly the clumsy, round-faced, shy boy from Gryffindor was a modest hero, and not quite so round-faced as he had been before, and seemingly a little taller and more broad shouldered than she remembered from before their sixth year. Or perhaps she had never taken the time to notice properly.

He had let those who came near him touch the beautifully famous Sword of Gryffindor; the sword that had destroyed Lord Voldemort's morbidly faithful companion, the terrifying snake Nagini. People had begged Neville to tell them what had happened countless times, and she could remember the pink tinge in his cheeks whenever he was forced to explain why he'd defied Voldemort, and how Harry Potter had given him the order that the snake must be destroyed, because it was very important (though Neville admitted he wasn't sure why, and that he would have to ask Harry some day), and how the Sorting Hat had given him the Sword when he had begged someone or something or anything for help.

Hannah's friends had gone to congratulate Neville, shaking his hand and laughing about a battle they had been so frightened to fight in only hours earlier. Hannah, however, couldn't seem to laugh about it at all. The Dark Lord and the Death Eaters were the reason she no longer had a family and why she had lost some of her friends that night, and she had hung back while Ernie and Justin clapped Neville on the shoulder that morning in the radiant dawn light and relived moments of glory. She wondered if Neville had noticed her that day, standing at the end of what had been the Hufflepuff table, watching him with a mixture of admiration and longing and sadness.

However, since then, Hannah hadn't seen Neville much at all — in fact, during the past year, she hadn't seen him once.

Right after the war, he had returned to Hogwarts to finish his seventh, uncompleted year, though he was only one of three students in their year that did. Hannah herself had chosen not to return to school; it seemed pointless, somehow. She no longer had a family or a place to stay, and she had missed part of her sixth year due to her mother's death. Going back to school seemed as though it would be going back to a life she'd once had that could never be fully recovered, and the very thought hurt and made her eyes sting with tears. Instead, she had applied for and taken a job as a barmaid at the Three Broomsticks. Madam Rosmerta had needed the help, and being a barmaid had appealed to Hannah. She would be around people, serving drinks and watching the laughter, something that she'd had very little of for a long time.

Even then, she only saw Neville a very few times during the course of the year, each when he came into the pub with Professors Sprout, Flitwick, and McGonagall, who usually let both him and Hermione Granger accompany them, even when it wasn't a Hogsmeade weekend. He had always ordered a butterbeer, and the two times Hannah had waited on him he had been pleasant and nice to her, always asking how she was doing and if she could join them. She usually couldn't, because there were always customers to serve, but it made her feel good that Neville always offered.

Then the school year had ended, and Neville had left Hogwarts and simply vanished — Hannah had no idea where he'd gone. She never thought to ask Professor Sprout or anyone else, because the days were slipping away into weeks and months...and then one morning, Madam Rosmerta had commented that old Tom of the Leaky Cauldron had passed away. The Leaky would be in need of a new landlord or landlady, and with all the upheaval from the war, it would sell quickly. Madam Rosmerta felt Hannah would be an excellent choice for the living; she even went so far as to offer Hannah a small loan to help, and Hannah had lucked up and been the first bidder for the property.

The next few months had been a whirlwind. This — this — was her true calling in life, and she knew it the moment she'd stepped into the vacant, dusty Leaky Cauldron and looked around. This was something she would be good at, something her personality would be able to make the most of, something she could become known for. A thrill of excitement had tingled inside of her, as she looked at herself in the mirror over the bar that day. The war was over and everyone was making new lives. This would be hers. She was young, yes — perhaps the youngest-ever landlady of the historic inn — but then again, others were just as young as she was, and were getting jobs that normally would have taken years to obtain.

She had first cleaned the Leaky Cauldron more than she was sure it had ever been cleaned in the past two centuries. Layers of dirt and grime finally came up with multiple scouring spells, and she was amazed to find that the black candelabras and chandeliers were really a rich, warm brass. The fireplaces came clean from centuries of accumulated soot, and the old mirror behind the bar sparkled brilliantly after a few washes. Within a couple of days, the entire place looked utterly and completely different. The hard work paid off: people were flocking to the Leaky in droves to see the changes.

She was so busy, she could hardly keep track of time. Old schoolmates came in for lunch or to listen to a Quidditch game on the wireless with their friends; there were dinner parties and guests staying overnight every evening. The Leaky Cauldron was not the only place that had seen a transformation; all of Diagon Alley was changing back into the wonderful place it had been before the war started, and new businesses were opening up.

In all that time, she hadn't thought of Neville Longbottom. Oh, she'd seen nearly all of his friends — Ron Weasley was working at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes now, since George needed the help. And Harry Potter dropped by every so often on his lunch break. Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, scarred and maimed though she was from her experiences in the Battle of Hogwarts, had opened a tiny little shop that sold all sorts of Divinitation supplies and trinkets, and Dean Thomas had taken a job with Gringotts. But somehow, none of the former Gryffindors in her year ever mentioned Neville, or even remembered him.

And now he was one floor below her, unconscious. She swallowed and turned away from the mirror. How on earth could just looking at an unconscious, half-naked old acquaintance she hadn't seen in over a year make her stomach flip this way? It wasn't as if she had never been on a date before. Ernie or Justin sometimes took her out, when she felt she could leave the pub in the hands of her part-time help. And then there were other boys who would flirt with her, like Zacharias or Cormac (both of whom she disliked). Cormac was just annoying, arrogant, and aggressive — but her opinion of Zacharias had changed drastically when he had determinedly shoved his way out of the castle to flee from the battle after all of his friends remained to fight. She wanted nothing to do with him now.

She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to warm up from the chill of the rain, and wondered if Neville would remember her.

Of course he will, she scoffed, as she crawled into bed beneath the soft sheets and curled up. After all, it wasn't as though they had never talked before in their lives. They had known each other at school, after all.

But then again, there was something about the sight of those broad, tanned shoulders and the absence of some of the pudginess in his face and torso from when he had been younger, that stirred something inside her. Something that Ernie and Justin and the other boys she'd dated never seemed to awaken before. The last time she had felt her gut twist that way she'd been a fourth year in a broom closet with a sixth year Quidditch player who had been very skilled at other things besides Quidditch. Disturbed with herself, she punched her pillow a few times and burrowed under the blankets. The most important thing at the moment wasn't flirting with Neville Longbottom. It was making sure he would be okay come morning, and finding out why he had been attacked in Muggle London.

If, that was, he even remembered her well enough to discuss all of that.