Hello subscribers and new readers! (And old readers?)

This is not technically an update to this story, but to let you know that a multi-chapter prequel as well as associated one-shots are posted NOW on my archiveofourown page (search for backinyourbox). I decided not to cross-post them on this site because the double formatting was a pain, and also if I want to edit something it's easier to do it in just the one place. Updates have been slow so far, but I have just completed NaNoWriMo (four days ahead of schedule!) and I used that 50,000 word challenge to either finish or make a serious dent in some of these fics so that I could share them with you.

The prequel follows Neville after the Battle of Hogwarts, highlighting important events in his life up to (and possibly beyond) the events of Raindrops on Roses. If you like Neville and you liked this story, I'm sure you will like it. It answers some of the questions who might have after reading Raindrops - who is Emmeline? What happened to Justin? How did Neville get that giant scar on his chest? How did he get together with Hannah? What's the story behind the manticore t-shirt? The people need to know!

Below, you can read the first part of the first chapter.

Also published just this week is a one-shot called Letters to a Girl Who Loved Birds, set in the Raindrops universe, which also features Neville (from age 1 to age 70!) It consists of a series of short vignettes from Augusta Longbottom's life, interspersed with extracts from the letters she saved which Neville finds after her death. I mention that it is in the RoR universe because the introduction features one of Neville's grandchildren(!) whose parentage is a bit of a spoiler for this story!

I have a couple of other ideas some of which are already in the works, but I will be trying to finish the prequel first. I have a lot written thanks to NaNo, but it needs heavy editing and some gaps filled. In the meantime please enjoy what is there, and subscribe to the story on AO3 to be notified whenever a new chapter is posted.

All right, here's the intro to the prequel!

—

The sun shining through the windows of Hogwarts was bright and hot by mid-morning. Lots of people had already gone home; to Hogsmeade, those that lived there, or to the train station, or far enough away from the grounds that they could Apparate away. Some would find empty houses, or no house left at all, some would have to start searching for people they had lost over the year. Some would never be found.

The few Hogwarts students remaining in the castle had retreated to the dormitories or the hospital wing for some sleep, exhausted after defending the castle all night. But Neville knew he wouldn't sleep. His Gran had said she was going to go and check on the house, but didn't seem to expect him to come with her, and he was glad he didn't have to beg to stay. She even gave him a bony hug around the shoulders before she left, and said "I'm very proud of you," quietly into his ear. He ought to have been pleased. Any other time he would have been overjoyed. Except that he couldn't manage to be proud of himself, at all. The euphoria of battle had long since worn off. People were dead, and there was no one left to fight. He just felt empty.

When she had gone, he busied himself by helping to move the bodies into the antechambers - Death Eaters in one, the Hogwarts fighters laid out respectfully in another. It was only a very small comfort that there were a lot more enemies dead than otherwise, when you included the werewolves. The Dementors had all vanished. The centaurs were taking care of two dead giants laid out in the grounds. Neville forced himself to look into Greyback's face; his eyes were closed and he looked strangely peaceful, not at all frightening. He wasn't sure whether he or Ron had cast the actual spell which had caused a half-ton of masonry to fall on him, and maybe it was better that he didn't know.

McGonagall took the job of moving Voldemort's body into a small room all on its own. Neville wondered why. He couldn't help imagining that stiff white corpse climbing off the table it was laid on and clawing at the walls in attempts to get out. Every moment that went by, the Dark Lord's death seemed more incredible, as though it had happened in a daydream he'd had rather than right in front of his eyes. He had the disturbing urge to go in there and kick the corpse in the back, to make sure. He did his best to cast that thought from his mind, but it kept creeping back every time he glanced towards the door.

He asked Professor Flitwick what he could do to help. To his relief, Flitwick didn't argue with him or turn him down, instead he gave specific instructions on tasks that would help make the castle safe until proper repairs could be done. Neville did them eagerly, even though the effort made him sweat, and he had to stop every now and then to shake off a dizzy spell. His charms-work had never been exemplary, but he hoped his patch jobs would be enough to stop the walls that were still standing from coming down around them. Still, no one was allowed near the east wing, where the Greenhouses were, due to the damage.

As he was pushing aside debris to make a usable corridor through the Entrance Hall, his foot knocked aside something which, when he picked it up, turned out to be a roll of film. Carefully, he took it into the antechamber and, moving aside the sheet that covered Colin's body, pressed it gently into his hand.

Around dinnertime, Flitwick found him and forced him to stop. "Eat!" he demanded in his squeaky voice, pointing to where some people were congregating in the Great Hall. He realised belatedly that his stomach was growling. How long since he had eaten? He hadn't even realised when the air cooled and the light dimmed in the Entrance Hall. Shaking stone dust out of his hair, he trudged wearily towards the candlelit dining room.

The House tables were still out, but like that morning, everyone was sitting together, this time all at the Ravenclaw table. There weren't even enough people left in the castle to fill it. There were some students, teachers, and some Hogsmeade people who had stayed to help, and one or two people in green Healer's robes who had been sent for. Neville slid quickly into a seat next to where Luna and Parvati were sitting, strangely, very close together. He didn't think they were friends. He couldn't remember them ever even having a conversation. Luna smiled at him as he sat down. "Hi," she said, softly.

Parvati looked terrible, up close. Her usually flawless plait was coming out in tangles, her eyes were puffy and red, and there was a bandage around her right hand, forcing her to stab clumsily at her food with her left. "How's Lavender?" he asked her.

It took a moment for her to answer. "Not good," she said eventually, looking down at her plate. "Her parents came. They're sitting with her."

Neville couldn't think of anything else to say. He felt stupid and useless. Parvati looked as though she were about to cry, or she would, if she had any tears left.

He tried to concentrate on eating, instead. The food didn't taste of much, somehow, but he knew he had to eat. He was forcing his way through a second beef sandwich when there was a stirring at the other end of the table, and a hush fell over the Great Hall. Harry was there, in the doorway, with Hermione standing firmly by his side. A few people nearby stood up, as though to make space for them, but Hermione glared them down and led Harry to the far end, where Neville and the others were sitting. She sat down next to Luna, and tugged Harry down on her other side. After an awkward pause, the meal resumed, but there was still a strange difference in the atmosphere. People spoke in whispers, and Neville could feel the stares in their direction. Harry wasn't paying attention; Neville supposed he was either too used to that sort of thing by now, or he was deliberately ignoring it.

Hermione spooned a large portion of food onto Harry's plate and pushed it towards him. He started eating obediently. He looked as though he'd only just gotten out of bed, his clothes rumpled and his hair even scruffier than usual.

"Where's Ron?" Neville asked, unable to help himself. It was strange to only see two thirds of their trio together.

"With his family," Hermione said shortly, and Neville felt a hard lump in his throat as he remembered. He had to stop himself from blurting out an apology; he hadn't forgotten, exactly, but Fred hadn't been among the bodies he'd so carefully helped to lay out. Of course, the Weasleys would have taken him with them. Ginny would be there too, he thought, with another pang. He now considered Ginny to be one of his best friends, and he hadn't even thought of her all day. He'd hardly thought of anything; it had seemed safer that way. Now he only wished there was something - anything - he could do.

Nearby, Professor McGonagall was sitting with the rest of them - odd to see her at a student table, but everything was odd, so it hadn't stood out until now - talking quietly to Professor Slughorn. Neville was only half aware of her getting up, until she came over to them with her hands folded in her sleeves and sat down sidesaddle on the bench next to him, where there was an empty space. "Miss Granger, Mr Potter," she said, looking across the table at them. "I trust you slept well?"

"Better than lately," Harry muttered, through a mouthful of baked potato, and without looking up at her. Under other circumstances Hermione certainly would have told him off for bad manners, but now she only nodded distractedly at McGonagall, watching Harry carefully out of the corner of her eye while fiddling unenthusiastically with her own food. McGonagall, unwilling perhaps to press the issue under the circumstances, turned to the rest of them. "Miss Patil, you look as though you haven't been to bed at all," she admonished.

Parvati shook her head, her messy plait falling over her shoulder and nearly falling in her soup. "I was with Lavender, Professor," she said, barely audible.

"I see." Neville thought McGonagall rather looked as though she would like to give Parvati a hug, even though he'd never seen her be physically affectionate with anyone before. "Well, once you have eaten, I insist you get some sleep, either in your own bed or in the Hospital Wing. And have that hand looked at. I have asked Madam Pomfrey to assist anyone who asks, now that there are some other Healers here to help with the badly injured."

"Neville hasn't slept either, Professor," Luna piped up suddenly.

Neville, who had been quite comfortable staying out of McGonagall's attention, glared at her. "Tattletale."

Luna shrugged. "Well, you haven't."

"I've been busy," he protested. "Anyway I'm not tired." It was true - he hadn't so much as napped in two full days and a night, but he was still running on adrenaline. His arms and back were aching from all the spell work, but he felt strongly that he couldn't sleep unless someone physically knocked him out.

"Parvati says you've been sleeping in a hammock for a month," Luna argued, so directly that he was rather startled. "That's not good for anyone."

"Mr Longbottom…" McGonagall sighed.

"I'm fine Professor, really," Neville said quickly. "I want to help."

"According to Professor Flitwick, you have been 'helping' for nearly fourteen hours," McGonagall said shortly. "And you really ought to have that cut looked at before you scar."

"I think it's a bit late for that," Neville murmured. Madam Pomfrey could stop a wound from scarring if it was magically healed quickly enough, but the long deep gash down his face was already a month old. He'd already resigned himself to living with it forever.

"Nevertheless," McGonagall said, unswayed. "Hospital wing, immediately after you have eaten. No arguments."

Left with no choice, Neville shrugged. "Fine," he muttered, in a way that he would never have done, a year ago. Maybe he was tired.

McGonagall stood up gracefully. "I will let your impertinence slide this once, under the circumstances," she said, as she moved away. Belatedly, Neville wondered if she had gotten any sleep. The woman was in her sixties, and she had been up all night as much as the rest of them. Still, it didn't stop him feeling irrationally annoyed at Luna.

"I can't believe you told on me," he muttered to her out of the corner of his mouth.

"You think she wasn't watching you?" Luna rolled her eyes. "You were next in line for a scolding anyway."

Neville looked at the others, hoping for support, but neither Harry or Parvati appeared to be listening, and Hermione looked as though she might like to agree. He pushed the rest of his sandwich away, angrily. "Fine," he snapped, nearly tripping over the bench as he struggled up. There was a dull ache in his back, his muscles straining, but he ignored it and stormed off.

As soon as he exited into the Entrance Hall, he regretted his outburst. Cool evening air was wafting in through the broken windows, and it soothed the irrational burst of fury faster than he could make it to the stairs.

He caught hold of the bannister, but his legs were suddenly shaky, and he didn't think he could lift them onto the first step. Instead he went shakily along the wall, until he couldn't go any further. In a dark niche he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. He felt heavy, but his heart was still racing. The bruises on his face throbbed unpleasantly, though he had barely noticed them all day. He wasn't sure how long he was slumped there, but it might have been only a few minutes until someone came up beside him. He recognised the smell of corks and oranges without having to look up.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't mean to snap."

"I know." She put a hand lightly on his shoulder. "Do you want help? You should really be in bed."

Neville looked up blearily at the silvery moonlight shining through the broken windows. Had it really been fourteen hours? it seemed incredible that it was only that morning that he had seen - they had all seen - Harry finally defeat the Dark Lord. And yet at the same time, there was so much still to do. "I really don't think I can sleep," he muttered, turning back to her. His body might have given in to exhaustion, but his mind was still racing. He knew that if he closed his eyes to sleep, all he would see were the things he'd been trying desperately not to think about all day.

"Didn't say you had to sleep," Luna said, raising one eyebrow. Her eyes glimmered in the dark, reflecting the light of her wand which she held out in front of her.

"Did you just make a joke?" he asked, taken aback once again.

She cocked her head to one side, as if thinking about it. "Was it funny?"

He smiled, despite himself. Two years ago he might have been flummoxed, and struggled to come up with a stammering answer. Now, it was just Luna. Ginny was the only other one he could really talk to, and she'd been gone for four months. "Why aren't you in bed then?" he asked, giving up. "If you're so clever."

"I was looking for you." She blew on the end of her wand, as if it were a candle, and the light went out. She tucked it back behind her ear, where she always kept it. "Someone had to make sure you were being sensible."

"Well.. thanks," Neville sighed, biting back a comment about how she was the last person to comment on whether or not he was being sensible, "I'm fine."

"No you're not."

He hesitated. "No, I'm not." he said finally, feeling the weight of the things he'd been doing that day sitting heavy in the pit of his stomach. "Colin's dead. So many of the others are hurt... and I'm... I'm..."

"Sad," she finished his sentence for him. It wasn't the word he would have used, but the truth of it hammered into his heart as if she'd punctuated it with a blasting hex.

"Yeah," he breathed, his fingers clenching and unclenching. "I suppose that's... that's how you say it."

Outside, a cloud must have moved across the moon. It was suddenly so dark that he could only see a faint outline of her as she stepped closer, and he felt a small hand twist into the fabric of his sleeve, and then, suddenly, they were kissing.

He didn't know whose idea it was, and frankly he didn't care. A moment ago they hadn't been kissing, but now they were, and this moment was a lot more bearable than the one before it. It wasn't fairytale peck-on-the-lips kissing either, but deep, and hurried, and desperate, and Luna... her hands were on his shoulders, and then in his hair, and his hands were in her robes and under her shirt before he could even think.

Snogging Luna, he didn't have to think about everyone that had died, about Professor Lupin and Fred Weasley and poor Colin, and all the others, about how he had felt when Hagrid had carried Harry out of the forest, about how he hadn't got to fight Bellatrix, about the look on Voldemort's face when he sentenced him, Neville, to death... about all the bodies he'd covered that morning, the grief-stricken faces of the few family members who had come to collect them, later….

It was all Luna. That moment, and the next moment, and the softness of her cheek against his that hadn't shaved in two days, and the sweetness of her mouth, and the nimble movement of her wicked hands - not that his were any better, his Gran certainly wouldn't approve of what he was doing, and now he wasn't thinking about anything else except Luna, with her wild hair and her weird necklace and how somehow she made everything easy, even when it wasn't.

—

Thanks for reading! Go to archiveofourown and search for backinyourbox (link also in my bio) to read the rest and subscribe for updates!