I stayed on for the funeral.

Actually, I stayed on for Neville and for the fact that I had nowhere else to go.

Well, I had my 'home', but I didn't relish going back to a huge empty mansion by myself, even if I was of age and could finally use my wand out of school.

Besides, Neville needed me.

And even though I would never admit it out loud, I needed him too.

Pansy was horrified when she discovered I wasn't boarding the train with the rest of the Slytherins.

"You're not seriously going to stay on and pay your respects to the guy our head of house just brutally slaughtered?!" She spluttered. "And not to mention the hand your little fuck buddy had in it too!"

"Don't, Pansy," I hissed, as everyone in the common room looked over at us uneasily.

The whole of the Slytherin house seemed a little unsure of how they should be reacting to what happened. On one hand, Snape and Draco were fellow Slytherins, and therefore it felt as though a degree of loyalty should be shown towards them.

But on the other hand, it was cold blooded murder.

"What?" Pansy scoffed. "Everyone knew you were screwing, it was hardly some international secret. The big question is, however, were you dumb enough not to notice his tattoo, or were you helping cover up a school murder plot in the name of getting some cock?"

I pretty much got the same attitude from the rest of school, who all regarded me with suspicion every time I entered a room.

Except for Neville, of course. And Ron and Hermione who both seemed pretty blasé about the whole situation.

Might be because Harry was acting like such a douchebag about it all.

"WHO INVITED THE SLYTHERIN?!"

I rolled my eyes as I helped Neville into his seat. Madam Pomfrey had given him a day pass from the hospital wing on the condition that I was to stay by his side the entire time.

"Give it a rest, mate," I heard Ron mutter into his friend's bright red ear, "it's a funeral."

"EXACTLY!" Harry bellowed, jabbing his finger in my direction. "AND ONE THAT WOULDN'T BE HAPPENING IF IT WASN'T FOR HER BOYFRIEND!"

"Last time I checked," I drawled coolly, "Snape wasn't my boyfriend. Although, throw a bottle of shampoo at his hair and I probably wouldn't kick him out of bed."

"Girl- same!" Neville chuckled quietly in my ear.

Ron and Hermione quickly pulled an apoplectic looking Harry back down into his chair before he could make even more of a scene.

*****

"Ah! So you're the girl our Nev's been talking so much about in his letters!"

I looked up at the tall, thin bony old lady with the stuffed vulture upon her head.

"Jeez, Gran," Neville muttered, rolling his eyes as he hobbled down behind me off the train, "way to make me sound like some kind of fangirl."

"I'm Blaire," I grinned, holding out a hand in greeting, "and yes, that sounds about right."

"Augusta Longbottom," she replied in an impressively booming voice, shaking my hand with gusto, "proud grandmother to the bravest Gryffindor Hogwarts has yet produced."

"Yeah - um... I think people might argue that would be Harry Potter, Gran," Neville mumbled, turning a deep shade of crimson.

"POPPYCOCK!" Augusta bellowed, making me, and everyone around us, jump. "Know your worth, Neville, my boy. You are your father's son, after all."

"Sorry about Gran," Neville whispered later that night after we had tucked down top to tail in his bed. "She can be a bit... overbearing at times."

"Not at all," I replied, feeling deliciously full from the home cooked cottage pie she had served up around their cosy kitchen table whilst regaling us with a year's worth of gossip from the local bingo hall. "Your gran is awesome."

"Well, I'm glad you think so," Neville chortled, "because she's insisting you stay on for the entire summer."

Life in Gran and Neville's two bedroom terraced townhouse was, to me, bliss. I could almost forget the horror that was happening in the outside world when we were snuggled up in the sitting room eating dinners off our laps as we watched Gran's favourite Muggle programmes on the tv, complete with her running commentary; usually moaning about how much better the programmes used to be in her day.

On Neville's birthday, I woke him up by chucking a present at his head.

"Awesome!" He cried as he unwrapped a video box set of Tom Cruise's greatest films.

"I mean, I know it's no cardboard cutout," I shrugged as he pumped his fist in the air when he saw it contained 'Cocktail'. "But this way we get to see him strut his stuff."

After spending the day binge watching Tom Cruise, we got dressed up ready for our 'night on the town'.

"This feels wrong," I said as I removed the Scottie dog from the jeans that I'd just stepped out of to slip on my shimmering silver dress.

I closed my eyes as I clasped my fingers around the oh so familiar monopoly piece, trying to push down the knot of pain in my chest.

I never talked about Draco; tried not to even think about him.

But it was impossible to do the latter, no matter how much it hurt. I felt sick as I feared what horrors he was enduring at the hands of Voldemort and the fact that I was helpless to do anything about it.

"Girl - no, please," Neville said imploringly as he undid the top buttons of his Hawaiian shirt, "we need to do this while we can. Who knows what next year will bring? Besides, you know Harry and that are all celebrating a huge wedding this summer? If they can find time to enjoy life then so can we."

And so out we went; me trying to quash down the guilt I felt as I carefully slipped the Scottie dog into my clutch purse.

Neville had obviously done his research because he seemed to know the hottest places to go. You'd never have thought there was a war on with the way everyone was partying and drinking without a care in the world.

"Dude! I love this song!" Neville cried, punching his arm in the air and jutting his hip out as we entered yet another packed nightclub where music pumped so loudly, I could feel every particle of my body vibrate to the beat.

Bottles of sweet alcoholic drinks were pressed into our hands which we necked back with abandonment; our bodies slick with sweat as we danced amongst strangers who were all, like us, looking for a good time amongst this chaos.

At one point, Neville led a group of guys dressed up like sailors (stag party, apparently) into a robot dance as I clapped and cheered upon the sweaty shoulders of Dean Thomas who we had happened to bump into out partying on his own.

And then, eventually, when our feet were blistered and our lungs pretty much collapsed; we found ourselves in a 'chill out lounge', the three of us slumped drunkenly on a sofa, swigging from a bottle of champagne as music continued to pulse around us.

"I- I love you guys so m-much," Neville belched as he wrapped his arms around our necks, pulling us into his shoulders so that the pink feather boa he had somehow acquired tickled my nose. "Isss bin the besh birthday e-e-everr."

"I love you too, man," Dean mumbled, reaching up a hand to pat Neville's cheek. "My main man, Nev."

"I love you more," I said blearily as I clumsily brought my hand up to pat Neville's other cheek, but accidentally doing it a little harder than I'd intended so that it ended up being more of a smack.

"Aw guys," Neville said, his voice squashed from where his face was sandwiched between our palms, "there's plenty of the Nevster to go around."

"Did you- did you know-" Dean hiccuped, looking bleary eyed at me, "that Nev here can do a brill-(hic) brilliant impression of Ha-(hic) Hagr-"

But his drunken stuttering was cut short by what happened next.

It was as though someone had flicked a switch on the atmosphere; without warning, the music was cut dead and blinding bright lights filled the club.

But it was the terrified screams that followed which sobered me up.

Blinking, I leapt shakily to my feet. And as soon as my eyes adjusted to the brightness, I finally discovered the cause of the drama.

"Shit." I breathed, my heart racing in my chest.

For black cloaked figures whose faces were hidden behind sinister looking masks had stormed the club with wands held aloft.

Death Eaters.

******