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Chapter Text

Friday, January 14, 2011

“Hermione will have an opinion,” Ginny said wryly, pulling Hermione out of a firewhisky-induced reverie; the third one had gone down rather nicely. She brought her attention back to the Three Broomsticks, where the Ministry Monthly Mixer was in full swing. Ostensibly, this was a networking event, but as 95% of the Ministry’s employees had gone to school together or with each other’s family members, it was mostly just a way to run into your friends without planning ahead, if you dared risk seeing all of your exes. 

It was also a way to end up drunkenly knocking boots with someone who worked in another unit, which was clearly not a consequence that the Intra-Ministry Wizard Relations Department had considered in advance. 

But she was drifting off into her own thoughts again. 

“An opinion on what?” Hermione asked, glancing up at Lavender and Parvati, who were gathered around the small table with them. In her extensive work with Lavender on cases that involved both the Department for Magical Creature Relations, as it was now called, where Hermione was Department Head, and the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, where Lavender was Deputy Director, Hermione had found Lavender to be impressively competent and refreshingly tolerable despite years of being a trying roommate. She was, in fact, rather pleasant most of the time, though she did get a bit silly a few drinks in. 

“More an opinion on who,” Parvati supplied with a leer. 

“On who I ought to pull tonight.” Lavender’s eyes glinted, as though she were trying to convey how very naughty she was. Her divorce from Michael Corner had just been finalized, which was what she had been talking about when Hermione had glazed over. “I do want someone who will throw me around a bit. Really dominate me. So I was thinking…” she cast her eyes scandalously to the corner of the pub, where Malfoy was leaning against the wall, louche and laconic, nursing what was sure to be a very expensive aged firewhisky and ignoring whatever Percy Weasley was saying to him. “Maybe I’ll aim for Draaaco.” 

It was common knowledge that he and Astoria had… an arrangement. 

“You might do better with Neville,” Hermione said pensively, shocking everyone but Ginny, “If what you want is to be dominated, that is. Granted, you’ll have to ask him for it directly. If you make it very clear that that’s explicitly what you want, he’d be perfect for what you’re looking for.”

“Neville!?” Lavender’s face puckered skeptically. “But don’t you think Draaaco would be more likely to, oh, shove me against a wall and use me? We all know he’s the Slytherin Sex God, after all.” Pansy’s rather elaborate tales of Draco’s Certain Qualities had made it even to Gryffindor Tower their sixth year. 

Hermione scoffed. “Oh please. Sure, Draco will definitely push you into furniture and pin your wrists to the wall, but when all is said and done, he mostly just wants to get very whiny whilst you fuck him up the ass with a charmed strap-on and make him feel bad about himself.”

Oblivious to Parvati’s open jaw and Lavender’s sidelong glance towards Ginny, who was smirking knowingly, Hermione plowed on unperturbed, exactly as though she were explaining a difficult arithmancy problem. 

“Don’t get me wrong, that’s verrry fun, especially the first few times. But he’s really just... much more submissive in bed, when it comes right down to it, and it doesn’t sound like that’s what you’re looking for.” She paused thoughtfully. “And all of that Sex God stuff was pure rubbish, he was a virgin until he was nearly 19."

Hermione squinted analytically, her audience rapt. “Not that that’s any measure of skill, mind, as he really is excellent in bed, surprisingly generous, but the rumors around Hogwarts were completely false, so their content is nothing to go on. If you do want to get him into bed, though, he’ll go completely wobbly in the knees if you boss him around.”

Lavender took a large swig of her white wine. Parvati called for another round, then turned her fascinated gaze back to Hermione.

“Neville, however...” Hermione gestured vaguely at where he was chatting amiably with Harry at the bar, sipping a butterbeer. “I wouldn’t say he’s exactly a dom, I don’t really think he’s deep into BDSM, but when encouraged, he has a very natural tendency towards sexual dominance that is incredibly effective, really. If you walked up to him and said, ‘I want you to take me home, push me up against the wall, and have your way with me,’ that should be enough to get the ball rolling.” 

A knowing smile flickered across her face before she pulled it back, then bit her lip seriously, considering. “Plus his cock is truly unrivaled,” she added, as though it were a simple statement of objective fact.

Lavender choked around her bite of pumpkin pasty, spitting it into a napkin. Parvati cackled and leaned forward with obvious delight.

“Not again with Neville’s fabulous cock,” Ginny groaned, rolling her eyes.

Hermione bristled. “It’s no slight to Harry, Ginny, I’m sure he’s perfectly adequate, but there’s simply no comparing-”

“Excuse me for not wanting to hear a detailed description of my childhood friend’s genitalia for the 20th time-”

“You didn’t seem to mind hearing about Malfoy’s cock, in fact, I believe you had follow-up questions -”

“Well, I don’t have to play Exploding Snap with Malfoy every Sunday and call him Uncle Neville whilst my children climb all over him-”

Parvati, who’d been surveying them archly, cut in. “Hermione, how the hell do you know all this?” 

Hermione flashed her a toothy grin and took a sip of her whiskey. 

Ginny was still irritated at Hermione for bringing Neville’s cock, not to mention Harry’s, into it. “She’s only been shagging both of them since her eighth year,” she muttered. 

“Hermione’s shagged Malfoy?!” Lavender hissed in disbelief, as though Hermione’s play-by-play accounts of his sexual preferences had not been enough to persuade her of the possibility.

“That’s hardly fair,” Hermione huffed at Ginny, “First of all, it’s been more off than on with both of them for ages now, and you know I gave it up with Draco two years ago. And I barely sleep with Neville anymore. You’re the one who told me I needed to stop!”

“When you say both of them,” Parvati pressed with evident glee, “surely you don’t mean at once?! ”

“Oh no, definitely not,” Hermione assured her, “Neville would never agree to a threesome with Draco. It’s a shame though, as I’m sure Draco would quite like it. And I certainly wouldn’t turn it down.” She was staring off in Neville’s direction quite dreamily, admiring the broad planes of his back through his green cardigan. Feeling her gaze, he turned, and when he caught her looking at him, his face lit up with a sincere grin as he hoisted his butterbeer in her direction. 

“You do need to stop,” Ginny said. “Completely. He’s clearly head over heels for you. It’s not kind.”

“Oh, pish, he is not.” Hermione smiled sweetly back at him and waved.

“Merlin’s pants, he’s coming over here!” Parvati hissed. 

“Please not tonight.” Ginny winced, side-eyeing Hermione knowingly. “He’s joining us for brunch tomorrow and I can’t bear it.”

“How do I look?” Lavender peered around the table searchingly, fluffing her hair. 

“Alright, Neville?” Hermione beamed up at him, and if her smile was slightly suggestive, well, she was rather deep in her cups. 

“Alright, Hermione!” He nodded at each of them in greeting. “What are you lot up to?”

“Lavender’s looking to pull,” Ginny said, rather cruelly. 

She really would have done well in Slytherin. 

“That so? Any contenders?” Neville shot a friendly smile at Lavender.

She shook her head, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “No, not really,” she murmured from underneath her eyelashes. “Can you think of anyone?” She locked eyes with him, her meaning crystal clear.

“Actually, yeah,” Neville said easily, effortlessly deflecting her advances. “I don’t know if you’re interested in anything serious, but I’ve been meaning to introduce you to a bloke I work with.”

He gestured to where Professor McGonagall was looking rather unbuttoned, laughing amiably with a very handsome dark-haired wizard with a charming smile. “Luca Lazuli, he’s in his second year teaching DADA, which should be enough to recommend him.” Neville smiled good-naturedly. “Even Minnie likes him. I think you’d get on.”

“Oh, well,” Lavender considered, baffled. She seemed to gather herself. “Erm, sure. Why not?” Mustering a dazzling little smile, she stood up and followed Neville, casting a suggestive eyebrow waggle back at Parvati.

“Well, I do hope Luca likes it rough,” Parvati said, throwing back the half-glass of chardonnay that Lavender had left at the table. 

“Remember,” Hermione cautioned, coming back to reality, “tonight, and I do mean all of it, is completely off the record.” Parvati was the editor-in-chief of Witch Weekly.

Parvati shook her head in amusement. “Honestly Hermione, you know I sign that sodding agreement of yours every time we have drinks. Do you think I fancy ending up with boils all over my face?” She sighed, laughing. “Now, if you’ll pardon me, I have some business to attend to.” Hermione and Ginny glanced after her as she strode directly to the corner where Malfoy was lounging. 

Ginny sighed. “Well, I reckoned that would be a bit of fun, but you can’t leave well enough alone, can you?”

Hermione sniffed. “You’re just mad that I brought up Neville’s cock. And I’ve told you a hundred times, there’s no shame in openly and honestly discussing sex!" Hermione, back in lecture mode, gestured indignantly with her whiskey. “We all have urges and preferences, and it’s perfectly natural and healthy.”

Ginny shook her head, smiling ruefully. “I don’t disagree, Hermione, but for someone so brilliant, you are remarkably thick about certain things. I thought you’d tell a vague story or two to scandalize them, not give them an instruction manual and an action plan.”

“Then even after all these years, you don’t know me very well.” Hermione grinned as she surveyed the room. Lavender was perched coyly on a barstool as Luca kissed her knuckles, and McGonagall had moved on to a conversation with Ron that she could only assume was about Quidditch. In the shadowed corner, Parvati was whispering something in Malfoy’s ear. From across the crowded pub, Harry was mouthing at Ginny and making a series of hand gestures that Hermione suspected to be some kind of couple code for “Can I do one more shot with Shacklebolt or do we have to get back to the babysitter?” 

And there was Neville, standing alone at the bar, waiting to order. 

One more time couldn’t hurt. 

“I’d better be off,” Hermione said breezily, gathering her things and bending down to kiss Ginny on the cheek, “as it looks like Neville is in need of a nightcap. See you at brunch tomorrow.” 

Ginny blew out a defeated breath, simultaneously fond and put upon. “Be good,” she grumbled.

Hermione wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a warning, and frankly, she wasn’t sure she cared. 

“No promises,” she offered cheekily, and made her way to the bar. 

Neville was reckoning he’d have one more butterbeer, then pack it in. Just as he was about to order, Hermione strode up to him, illuminated with the tipsy confidence that he had come to associate with a strong likelihood that they were going to fuck. 

“Nightcap at mine?” she asked, touching his shoulder gently. It was innocent enough, but he felt a jolt of electricity ripple through him at her touch.

“Sounds good to me.” Neville flashed her a rather searing smile, then collected his peacoat and offered her his arm.

As they stepped out into the chill air of Diagon Alley, Hermione stood on her toes to whisper in his ear. “I want you to take me home. Push me up against the wall. Fuck me hard. And make me beg to come, over and over again.” Ever the proactive pragmatist, she paused to cast a contraceptive spell. “Same agreements as last time,” she added after a moment, “if that still works well for you.” 

“That kind of night, is it?” he breathed huskily as he pulled back to examine her face. Her cheeks were flushed and her lovely brown eyes were dark with desire. “Same safeword as usual?” He brought his mouth low so his words ghosted over her ear. 

“Yes,” she said with a shiver, “Yes, please.” That was all he needed to hear; he pulled her into his arms and Apparated them to hers.

“Yes, Neville, mmmph, harder,” Hermione moaned, her back arching helplessly as Neville drove his perfect cock into her wet cunt. After a brief stint against the wall, he had laid her out on the kitchen counter, the cold tile pressing into her back. 

He really was fit, she thought, admiring his greenhouse-toned arms and lightly furred chest. Her ankles were slung over his shoulders, and he was slamming into her at a punishing pace, hitting her g-spot with every single thrust. That was part of what made his cock perfect, she mused: he was long and girthy, with just the right curve. She’d never had anything else inside her that fit half so well, and not for lack of trying. “More!” she cried, “Faster! Make me come!”

“Pushy, are we?” he whispered teasingly in her ear, slowing almost completely as she groaned in complaint. With the flat of his hand, he smacked her ass, smiling when she mewled, then brought his thumb to her clit and stroked across it lazily. He looked into her eyes with a challenging smile. “You want to come, eh? Already?”

“I want to come! Please make me come!” Hermione cried, casting her eyes about wildly as she tried to buck into him. He chuckled a little, holding her hips down. 

“You really need it? How badly?” he asked darkly, pinching her nipple hard with his free hand. It was incredibly sexy, and also a little unnerving, the way his eyes never left her face. 

“Yesss, just like tha-” She lost her words abruptly, seized by a moan. “So badly,” she admitted, knocking over a jar of spatulas with a sprawling arm and beginning to whine. “Please, Neville, I need to come around your cock. I need it so badly. Please make me come.” 

He pulled out almost completely and held a moment, smiling down as she squirmed, her eyes flashing mutinously, before he thrust all the way back into her, picking up his previous pace as she shuddered uncontrollably. He leaned over her, and his bare chest, slick with sweat, brushed her breasts enticingly as he dragged his teeth across her earlobe. “You want to come, eh?” He plucked her nipple between his fingers and rolled it, the hot heel of his hand resting on her breast. “Come for me now,” he commanded, lowering his lips to her neck and rubbing two fingers over her clit fast and hard while his other hand twisted her nipple. 

Hermione immediately cried out and clenched around him as she came, tossing her head back and closing her eyes. She quivered uncontrollably, her whole body convulsing around him as he stilled his hand and slowed down. As another wave of pleasure rolled through her, she opened her eyes to find him staring down at her reverently, and she met his gaze, her face wild with a kind of undone euphoria. 

The arm he had been leaning on started shaking, and he lowered himself over her, pressing his forehead to hers and then kissing her as she moaned into his mouth. They were both slick with sweat - she was starting to slide off the counter - but somehow that only made it hotter. 

After she had ridden out her release, he hoisted her up, his cock still inside of her, and carried her to the bed. Laying her down, he fucked her through a second orgasm before he came, shuddering out her name as he bit into her shoulder, leaving little tooth marks. 

He lingered within her for a moment, dropping his mouth down to hers for a long, sensuous kiss. She brushed her tongue against his and ran her fingers through his hair. Then Neville withdrew from her, still half-hard, and kissed his way down her stomach. “You remember how this works, love.” His gravelly voice was gentle but firm. “You’re going to want to come again, but you need to hold back. Until I give you permission. Understood?”

“Yesss,” she answered, eyes still glazed in pleasure.

“Fuck, Hermione, you’re gorgeous,” Neville moaned from between her legs. He drew his tongue up along her opening, licking up their mingled come. He flicked his tongue lazily at her clit. She was so sensitive that she shuddered and gave a little yelp of both pleasure and protest. “I love the way you look with my come spilling out of you. Gods, you’re wet.” He buried his face in her cunt, the bridge of his nose hitting her clit in a way that drove her spare in the best possible way.

“Wet for you,” she moaned, hungry for more, and reached down to grasp his hand, which was resting on her hip. She wrapped her fingers around his middle and index fingers, and, drawing them to her cunt, forcefully guided his fingers directly into her, canting them up so they hit her g-spot.

“Nope,” he said, chuckling, and withdrew his fingers as she groaned in disappointment. “I’m in charge tonight. That’s still what you want, yeah?” 

“Yes,” she said softly. And it was what she wanted, very badly. But she also wanted to push him a little bit. Make him wrest control from her.

Grinning, he struck her left ass cheek with an open palm, then rubbed it gently and slapped it again. He nipped at her inner thigh, making her squeal. Only then, slowly, did he return to licking up her cunt in long slow drags then circling her clit until she wasn’t sure she could take it anymore. Finally, he took the same two fingers and pushed them all the way into her, fucking her with them fast and hard so that they directly hit the spongy tissue at the front of her pelvic floor at every pass.

As she began to pant and moan, he started rubbing her clit in small circles with his other hand. He was gazing up at her, his face reverent and self-assured. 

“Pinch both of your nipples,” he told her, “hard.” Through the window, moonlight illuminated the scars on his damp cheek, and she liked what she saw in him tonight. 

She brought her hands to her hard nipples just as he directed, feeling herself on the very brink as she tugged on them. “I think I need to… Please… I’m going to…”

“Not yet,” he said, rubbing her clit harder and adding a third finger to her cunt. “You have to hold back for me a little bit longer. And keep pinching.”

“I’m holding back for you,” she gritted out, glancing at him desperately. She bit her lip and resisted her orgasm by stilling her body, which was on the very verge of spasm. 

“Do you need to come?” Neville asked, rubbing her clit hard. There was something a little mean about the way he asked it, which, coming from someone as provenly decent as Neville, was somehow unbelievably attractive.

“Please,” she begged, starting to fall apart completely. Her face was frantic and ecstatic; she was at the edge of what she could take, in the best possible way, and it felt so amazing to let herself go completely with someone that she knew she could trust.  

“Please. I can’t hold back much longer, please Neville, please, I need to come, I need to, please can I come? Please, I need you, please will you let me come for you? Please please please?” 

Neville looked… well, pleased with her, and pulled his hand back. “All right. You can come for me,” he bid her in a low voice, “right now.” He slapped her clit very lightly then sucked it into his mouth, ever-so-gently scraping his teeth with it as he abruptly pulled his fingers out of her. 

“Neville!” she screamed out in abandon as she flailed into an extremely intense orgasm, pulling his hair and bucking her hips into his face wildly as he continued to suck on her clit. The bed squeaked violently and poor old Crookshanks yowled from where he was locked in the bathroom. Hermione was lost to it all, shattering in ecstasy. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she chanted, almost crying with relief, as she squirted all over his face.

Neville eagerly lapped up as much of her come as he could, casting a quick Tergio to stop the rest of it from seeping into the bed. He knew that she hated rolling into a cold wet spot when she slept, and she appreciated that always he remembered that. 

Hermione had collapsed back into the pillows, and Neville moved over her with slow grace, drawing one of her nipples into his mouth, then pulling away from it with a hard pop as he worked his way back up to her mouth. When he kissed her again, his lips and tongue tender on her mouth, she could taste her own cunt on him, and she’d never been able to figure out why exactly that turned her on, but they both knew enough by now to know that it definitely did. 

“All right?” he asked, eyes searching hers. 

“So good,” she confirmed, smiling at him broadly before burying her face in his neck. 

“You got one more in you?”

Hermione scoffed, shooting him a look which roughly translated to, How little must you think of me? 

“Of course!” She massaged his firm ass with one hand while the other played with the baby hairs at the base of his neck. “At least. ”

He dropped a cheeky kiss on her nose. “On your hands and knees, then.” 

Hermione crawled into position and took a deep, contented breath, happy to surrender to him for another orgasm. And then another. And then, perhaps, just one more. 

When they were both fully sated and breathing slowly, Neville padded away from the bed and released Crookshanks from the bathroom (Neville refused to feel too bad about it; that old half-kneazle knew what he had done last time). He returned to the bedroom levitating a tray behind him and handed Hermione a glass of water, which she drank deeply of. Then, he spooned up behind her, casting cleaning spells while holding her to make them both more comfortable. He loved the way she reflexively nestled comfortably into his touch. He had pulled the blanket up around her to make sure she was cozy and was about to apply bruise removal paste to the bite mark on her shoulder when she stopped him. 

“Leave it,” she said. 

“Yeah?” he asked, uncertain. She’d never had him leave a mark before.

“Yes, I’m sure,” she murmured, and he knew it was a small thing, but for some reason it made his heart leap. 

Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea for him to keep sleeping with her like this every few months when he’d really like… considerably more. But he found it very tempting to have even this much of her, and if it was available to him, he was going to take it. Though it was possible Ginny was right, with all of her advice about boundaries. 

Finally, their naked bodies tangled together under the companionable cover of deep night, they fell asleep.

Neville came to in the small hours to feel Hermione writhing against him. He realized through a haze that they must have started kissing in their sleep. “Awake?” he asked blearily.

Her eyes wide open now, she nodded and grinned at him. It almost seemed a dream to him when she climbed on top of him, and, under the earliest tendrils of dark grey dawn, brought his hands to her breasts, then lowered herself purposefully down onto his hard cock.

She was magnificent, arching above him, gyrating slowly from side to side, dragging her fingers tenderly over the curves and angles of his face and looking right into his eyes the entire time, as though he really did mean something to her. 

He said, “I love you,” as he came, looking right into her eyes, and didn’t even realize what he had done until he woke again under the full sun of morning - and perhaps also a small cloud of gentle remorse. 

Chapter Text

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Hermione opened her eyes to sun peeking through the curtains, followed by the welcome smell of cooking egg and the sound of Neville whistling cheerily in the kitchen. 

She wandered out to find a cup of coffee, just the way she liked it and spelled with a warming charm, set out next to her favorite parts of the Daily Prophet - the front section and the crossword - and a vial of Pepper-Up Potion. 

“Perfect timing,” Neville said with a smile as he handed her a plate of egg in the hole. “Brunch isn’t ‘til 11, so I made something to tide us over. 

“Perfect indeed,” Hermione hummed happily, setting the plate on the counter and meandering to where Neville stood before her stove, flipping his own egg and toast whilst wearing her floral apron over his red y-fronts and very little else.

“Good look,” she teased, arching her brow. Neville turned a little pink. “Really, I like it!” she reassured him, pressing her face into his bare back and giving him a little swat on the bum. “Can I have a kiss?” she asked, surprising herself a little. 

“Of course,” Neville said easily, but he looked surprised too. He started to go in for a peck, but she pulled him into a sweet, rough kiss, sucking his bottom lip between hers, savoring him. It was only a little awkward, to be kissing him in the sober light of day, and it wasn’t as if she hadn’t ever done it before. But usually, Hermione behaved the next day as though they had always been strictly and only the most platonic of old pals who simply happened to have woken up at the same house. Why today was different, she couldn’t say - only that it was. That here he was in her kitchen, after having fucked her soundly all night long, just generally inserting himself so pleasingly in her morning routine. She’d always been friends with Neville, but when had he gotten so exceedingly nice to have around?

She sat down and chewed her food for a moment before waving contemplatively at the coffee and the dish of egg and toast and Neville in his underwear. “Why don’t we do this, anyway?”

He looked back at her blankly. “We do do this. We are doing this, right now.”

“No,” she said, gesturing at the paper ineffectually. “I mean - why don’t we do this… always? Every day?” As though this were the world’s most casual suggestion, that he might come stay with her forever and cook her breakfast in his pants every day of her life. She hadn’t ever given it much explicit thought, honestly. But upon reflection, the possibility was rather compelling. 

Neville pressed his palms to his eyes and sighed. Turning off the stove, he grabbed his plate of egg and toast and came to sit next to her. He took a bite, and for a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer.

“Hermione.” His voice was soft. “Do you remember how I asked you to the Yule Ball?”

She nodded. “And I would have said yes, truly, but I’d already told Viktor-”

“I know,” he cut in gently. “And then, the first year of my apprenticeship. Your eighth year. After you and Ron broke up, after you and I’d first started to snog… Remember how I asked you to Hogsmeade?”

“Of course. And I told you that I wanted to keep it casual, that I needed to be young and free and not do anything serious.”

“Right, and we kept on a bit, but that was one of the big reasons I stopped coming around, tried things out with Hannah instead… Anyway, then. A few years back. Was it 2007? After you and Ron had broken up again, and you were back from your year abroad at the French ministry?”

Hermione blew out a sad breath. “Yes, and you came to me with those beautiful flowers, and that touching speech, and you wanted to give it a real go, but I explained that I was really putting everything into my career just then, but there was no reason we couldn’t help meet each other’s needs from time to time, in a non-committal way of course…”

Neville looked at her searchingly, waiting. 

Hermione’s eyes widened in horror as understanding dawned on her. “Merlin’s beard,” she breathed. “I’m the reason we don’t do this?” She gestured weakly at her half-eaten toast. 

“It wouldn’t have been right for me to keep asking you for more, Hermione. I had to choose whether or not sleeping together after a night out was better or worse than just being friends. And I’ve taken it, because… well, it was hard not to, and it is, em, not without its pleasures. But I’ve always wanted more, I’ve never made a secret of it, and you’ve always turned me down. So if you want more than this, you’ll need to be the one to ask.”

“Oh Neville…” She paused, then looked at him in dismay. “Blast! Ginny was right! Oh, she’s going to be unbearable-”

“Right about what?” he asked, gazing back at her quizzically.

“Oh, she was always telling me it was cruel to keep sleeping with you because you were head over heels for me. And I always insisted you weren’t…”

Neville looked unsurprised. “Well, I basically told her as much… I’ve basically told you as much, more than once.” He looked at her appraisingly. “You really didn’t know?” 

“Well, I’ve also been told more than once that I am improbably thick when it comes to these matters…” Hermione was folding and unfolding a corner of the Prophet, steadfastly avoiding eye contact.

“Hermione, it wasn’t my best moment, it just slipped out… but early this morning.” Neville touched her shoulder lightly, requesting her focus, and she reluctantly met his open gaze. “Surely that tipped you off?” he asked, a little sadly. His face was so unguarded and tender that she could hardly stand it. 

Hermione shrugged, looking away again. She absently turned her coffee cup. Why was she so bad at this? “Well, we all get caught up in the moment from time to time, how was I to know you meant it? Anyway, we were both half asleep.” She went quiet for a minute, then locked eyes with him sheepishly. “Besides. It was… nice.” 

Neville turned to her, toast forgotten, and pressed both of her hands in his. He gazed at her with careful consideration, as though she required an intervention of some kind. “Hermione Granger, I hereby state for the record, as plainly as possible, that not only do I enjoy rolling around with you, I have also been in love with you for years and had gathered that you did not feel the same way, which I respect. But if I was wrong, I’d like to know.” 

Hermione pressed her hand to her forehead. “I’m… Oh, Neville, I’m sorry I’ve been such an insensitive dolt. I don’t even know what I… I, em… I have a lot to think about.”

“Of course,” Neville said, resting his hand reassuringly on her leg. She put her hand on top of his and he wrapped his larger hand around it. Perhaps he should be worried, but with her hand in his, somehow he wasn’t. 

Hermione had been trying to get Harry alone all afternoon.

Brunch had been cleared. Little Lily had climbed onto Uncle Neville’s lap and was tugging at his hair and laughing as he crooned a very silly song at her. Five-year-old Albus was sprawled out on the floor looking at the moving illustrations in Tales of Beedle the Bard. “Not in the house, James!” Ginny called as James trucked past on his training broom. “And not outside without supervision,” she added, as he dismounted. “Accio broom!”

“But Mummmmmm!” he protested.

“Harry, I need to talk to you,” Hermione hissed, having succeeded in pulling him halfway into the hallway. “Alone.”

“Today?” Harry asked, as though she were demanding the impossible. 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yes, today! Now, ideally.” 

“Okay then,” Harry said with a sigh. He really did look very tired, though Hermione supposed the combination of being Head Auror and having three small children would wreak havoc on anyone’s sleep schedule. “In that case, our best bet is to clean the kitchen.” 

“Ginny will definitely know something is up,” Hermione replied skeptically.

Harry shrugged, yawning. “Take it or leave it.”

“Fine,” Hermione agreed, rolling her eyes. 

“Gin,” Harry called. “If you and Nev have an eye on the kids, Hermione and I are going to have a go at the dishes.” 

Ginny squinted dubiously at Hermione as she passed. She glanced over to Neville, then back to Hermione. She was probably still annoyed with Hermione about bringing up Neville’s cock. And then sleeping with him. Again. Against her explicit requests. 

Hermione wasn’t too worried; Ginny would get over it. She always did. 

“What is it, then?” Harry asked once the hot soapy water was set and Hermione had levitated all of the dishes over to soak. 

Hermione set a cloth to scrub the counter then leaned back with a sigh. “It’s about Neville,” she said cautiously. She and Harry hadn’t had this kind of talk in a while, and as close as they were, it still usually felt a bit strange. Harry’s emotional range had certainly always exceeded a teaspoon and had only grown over the years, but it did tend to top out at about a third of a cup. 

“I noticed you left with him again last night.” Harry kept his voice neutral as he flicked his hand at the dishes, spelling them to wash themselves. “I’ll wash, you dry?”

Hermione nodded, charming a towel to wipe the clean dishes as they appeared in the rack, then levitating them each back onto the shelf. “Yeah, well. Old habits die hard? Anyway, it turns out he’s in love with me. And has been. For some time!”

Harry turned to her, wrinkling his nose. “But surely you already knew that.”

“I did not!” she said, looking indignant as he rubbed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, then cast his arms wide and silently beseeched the heavens in exasperation. “And it’s a little upsetting, frankly, to find that everyone else has known all along, and no one bothered to tell me-”

“Hermione.” Harry looked as though he were trying not to smile, which Hermione did not appreciate. It was bad enough to look at her as though she were being impossible and even worse to find it amusing. “Plenty of people have told you. Ginny, relentlessly. Me. Neville himself, I think, at least once. But you never wanted to hear it.” 

“Oh Harry.” Hermione let her drying spell flag and hoisted herself up onto the counter, letting her legs dangle. She put her head in her hands. “I’ve been such an idiot.” Perhaps she ought to consider that her own emotional range was not quite as great as she once thought. And perhaps really opening herself up to someone - in a real, vulnerable way - didn’t come quite as easily as it had before the war. 

“Romance may not be, er, your strong suit, but that doesn’t make you an idiot.” Harry levitated the last dish over to the rack to dry, then patted her shoulder consolingly. 

“It was just so nice,” Hermione lamented, “Having him in my kitchen this morning, making me eggs, and knowing how I like my coffee, and looking so fit and cute as well, and being such enjoyable company, and-” Her eyes began to leak a bit, and she bit her tears back. “And now I have to break it all off-” Harry offered a hankie, and she blew her nose on it, then looked up at him, distraught.

“Why break it off?” Harry blinked. “If you like sleeping with him and you like having him around and you feel this wrecked about the idea of not having that… why not just date him?”

“Can I really do that, though? Even after everything?” Hermione sniffled.

“Don’t be an idiot now, Hermione. Of course you can!”

“But I’ve already mucked it all up. What if I just ruin it all, and end up breaking his heart? Surely he’d be better off without me. Maybe it’s just better if I don’t-”

“For the love of Godric, sometimes you’re so much like Lupin I can’t believe you aren’t related. And you were quick to criticize him for doing this very thing!” Harry sighed and shook his head. “Even if you ruin it all - which you won’t - then at least you tried. Even you and Ron have managed to stay friends, and I can’t imagine it going much worse than that. If you like him, for the sake of all that is good and the love of sodding Merlin, then please just give it a go.”

He gave her a long hard look, a very Harry look meant to convey something like, You’re a Gryffindor, aren’t you? Do what’s right.

“Okaaaaay,” she conceded, lifting her hands in surrender. “I’ll think about it. I will.” 

Tuesday, January 18, 2011 

Hogwarts was shrouded in snow and imbued with a deep stillness that only ever came early in winter term. By half-past nine in the evening, everyone seemed to be winding down. Neville was lounging by the fire in his bathrobe drinking a cup of tea and marking first-year parchments on shrivelfigs when a knock came at the door. 

It wasn’t Minerva’s urgent rapping. Puzzled, he swung open the door to find Hermione standing before him, juggling a potted mimbulus mimbletonia and a bottle of elf-made wine. Her maroon cloak was dotted with snow, her tangled curls were falling into her eyes, and her overall affect was sheepish.

“Hermione!” He grinned at her in pleased surprise. “By all means, come in.”

Neville closed the door behind her and she stood awkwardly, seemingly unwilling to surrender the pot plant or the wine. After an overlong pause, she opened her mouth and the words came out all at once. “I’m here to ask you on a date!” 

“Is the date... now?” Neville asked, glancing in question at her laden arms. It came out a bit saucy, but he had meant it in earnest.

“Oh, Merlin,” she said, glancing everywhere but at him, “I thought I should bring you something, so I brought you this-” she thrust the mimbulus at him and he set it on the table. “-because they were always your favorite, but then, I thought, how silly, you probably have a hundred of them-”

“This one is lovely,” Neville assured her with a sweet smile. He hadn’t seen her this worked up since the war.

“And anyway, I felt I should bring something else, so I brought you this elf-made wine-” She thrust it at him and began to shrug out of her cloak. “It’s made by free elves, of course, fair trade, a wonderful collective I worked with, actually, that gives jobs to elves leaving households with poor working conditions, and it’s quite good. Strong though, watch out for that-”

Having freed herself from her outerwear, she stood before him unencumbered, “And I came from Hogsmeade through the snow like a fool, all because I was too embarrassed to ask Minerva to let me Floo in through her office- and I didn’t know what you’d want your employer knowing about your personal business- although I suppose I could have come through your Floo- but I didn’t want to burst in on you, and I can’t even remember if I have permissions...”

“Hermione,” Neville said softly. He had set down the elf wine and hung her cloak and now stood before her.

“I’m so nervous, my heart was racing the entire way here, and it isn’t sensible at all, I mean, we’ve slept together a million times- not literally a million, clearly, but probably near a hundred- anyway, enough times that I shouldn’t be so nervous to ply you with wine and pot plants and ask you on a proper date-”

“Hermione.” Neville’s voice was slow and steady. He stepped closer to her, brushing a tendril of hair out of her eyes and gazing tenderly down at her.

“Anyway, in all honesty I’d never really paused to think about how I felt for you, other than that you have always been my dear, dear friend and that your cock is perfect- I’m sorry but it is - and that I’d trust you with my life, of course- and that you’ve grown into yourself rather well- you really have- and I’m not proud to admit that I’d never thought to think of how I might feel for you, truly- and I’m realizing that perhaps I haven’t let myself feel much at all since the war- but as soon as I started to think about it- or to feel about it, really- well, I realized that I fancy you so much I can hardly bear it,” she looked at him wildly, “and I probably have for a long time- and I do want more, and I couldn’t wait to tell you, so I panicked and set off here, and now that I’ve told you I don’t even know what to do.”

Neville waited as Hermione caught her breath. Her eyes were round with worry and her lips were pursed as she stole little glances at him, anxious and expectant. When she seemed ready to look at him, he cupped her chin in his hand and gave her a small smile that he hoped said, Look at me, love.

“Hermione.” Neville’s hazel eyes bore into hers, gentle but insistent. He took both of her cold hands between his. “Ask me.”

Hermione seemed to come back to herself. She placed her hands on his shoulders and looked up at him with a sad, sweet quirk to her lips. “Neville Longbottom. You are an absolute gem of a wizard and I’m sorry that I was ever among those who overlooked you. I’m impossible at this stuff, and I can’t promise I will ever get better. But all the same, would you do me the great honor of going on a date with me?”

She was peering up at him tremulously, as if she genuinely believed there were a universe in which he would say no.

“Of course I will,” he said, with no hesitation at all. “Are you free right now?” 

Hermione faltered, eyeing his stack of grading and his bathrobe, but he had already summoned two glasses from the kitchenette and was pouring out the elf-made wine.

“Yes,” she said at length. “Yes, absolutely.”

“Well, I’d better get some clothes on, then,” Neville chuckled as he strode off towards the bedroom.

“Do you have to, though?” she called after him, smirking.

“For our first date? Yes, and I expect I’d better look sharp.” 

Hermione sunk down on the loveseat in front of the hearth, warming her hands. “I’ve just shown up unannounced at your doorstep covered in snow, you hardly need to dress to impress.” 

But when he stepped out in a denim button-down and a navy cardigan, he noticed the approving look in her eyes. 

He sank down next to her on the little sofa, and stretched his arm across the back. He summoned the goblets of elf wine with a quick Accio and handed one to her. “To our first date,” he toasted, locking eyes with her as the glasses clinked.

“To our first date.” They both drank deep.

“This wine is lovely.” Neville took another sip, savoring it. 

“Like I said, strong stuff.” Her cheeks were a little pink, and she was staring into her goblet, lost in the deep red of the wine. “So, eh. What does one say, on a first date with someone they’ve known for twenty years?”

“How was your day?” Neville asked easily, scooting closer to her. He brought the arm that had been on the back of the sofa down around her shoulder, experimentally. She automatically nestled into him, just as she always had when they were in bed together, and they both immediately relaxed.

“Oh, not bad,” she said, yawning into his armpit. “But long. The Wizengamot is putting me through hell on the new Demiguise protection legislation, and it’s been a slog. It will pay dividends, but I’m growing tired of the grind. And so much schmoozing .” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “How was your day?”

Neville paused to consider it. “Pretty good,” he said. “It always takes a few weeks after winter hols for students to regain their focus, but I think we’re finally getting there. The seventh-years are doing great work with their Devil’s Snares, and marking is light at the start of term, so I’ve gotten to catch up on my personal research.” He cast a sidelong smile at her and wrapped one of her curls around his finger. 

“And a witch I’ve had my eye on,” he continued, in a wry, light-hearted tone of voice, ”for, oh, a couple decades, give or take-” 

“Hmpph! Very funny!” Hermione elbowed him indignantly, but her cheeks were flushed and she looked… happy.

“Anyway, she finally asked me on a date, so…” He trailed off, and when he spoke again his voice was husky and sincere. “Well, I’m over the moon, of course.” He beamed down at her fondly, leaning close enough that he could smell the rosemary and lemon scent of her hair. 

“Are you?” Hermione asked in a small voice, tilting her head up towards him. Her brown eyes didn’t waver from his, and he could feel her breath on his lips. 

“I am,” he answered, brushing his nose against hers gingerly, and the room around them seemed to hush. He ran his thumb across her forehead, combing his fingers through her curls. “May I kiss you?” he whispered.

“Yes,” Hermione breathed, and her eyes fluttered closed. Neville drew her into his arms and kissed her softly. Her hands curled around his neck, tangling into his hair. She opened her mouth and dragged her tongue tentatively against the edge of his lips, and Neville groaned, meeting her tongue with his. What had started out slow and tender quickly turned heated, and by the time Neville broke the kiss, Hermione was straddling him with her forehead pressed against his, panting.

“Not bad for a first kiss, eh?” he asked as she disentangled herself and sat back beside him, grabbing his hand and snuggling into his side. 

“Far better than not bad, and you know it, though I’m hardly sure it counts as a first kiss.” She arched a brow at him, triumphant, then cuddled into his chest as he drew his arm around her again. “I do want to take you on a proper date though, you know. Out in the world.”

“I won’t say no to that,” Neville said with a grin, and dropped a little kiss into her curls. “We can go to a Muggle place, if you want. Avoid the press for a while.”

“No.” Hermione’s tone was urgent. She sat up and looked at him with her most serious face. “No, I want to take you to Diagon Alley, and hold your hand. They can say what they like. I’ll snog you in the middle of the Three Broomsticks if you’ll let me.” 

“Oh, I don’t snog in public on the first date,” Neville grinned coquettishly, batting his eyes, “but try me on the third or fourth.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes and chucked him gently on the arm. “Well, if we’re being technical, this is our first date…”

“Then I should also tell you,” Neville said, his tone low and sober, “- and I actually do mean this - that I don’t usually have sex on the first date. Not that I don’t want to, of course, but I’d like to, em, take it slow. If we’re going to do this - really do this - then I want to do it right.”

“I want that too,” Hermione agreed with a soft smile, squeezing his hand.

“But that said, you’re more than welcome to spend the night and just… sleep. It’s a school night, so I’ll have to turn in soon, but I’d love to have you here… if you wanted.”

Hermione huffed out a breath in consideration. “Well, it is tempting, but I hardly relish risking a walk of shame past Minerva on a night when we haven’t even fucked…”

“We could set you up with my Floo,” Neville offered. “And you could just… Floo home in the morning.”

“Alright,” Hermione said in relief, burying her face in his neck. 

The next morning, Hermione woke up to the smell of eggs and the sound of Neville’s cheerful whistling. She was in a room reminiscent of her Gryffindor dormitory but with infinitely more light and plants. Not unlike last time, she reflected, save the setting. 

When she tiptoed out, she found her perfectly made, perfectly warm cup of coffee waiting for her next to the Daily Prophet, and there was Neville, disappointingly clothed, making a quick breakfast for them (“Please don’t tell Winky,” he pleaded, “as she’d be insulted, but sometimes I just enjoy cooking eggs!”). And once again, she came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him, and again she pressed her face into his back, craning her head up to get a sniff at his delicious neck which smelled like… well, actually, it smelled like Amortentia did lately, and why was she even surprised? Neville smelled like earth, and sun, and clean green things, and something musky that was distinctly... Neville-ish. All told, this morning was not so different than the one they’d shared the previous week. But this time, she didn’t ask if she could kiss him. She just did it. 

And this time, it wasn’t even a little bit awkward; rather, this kiss was a homecoming. 

Neville released her with a sleepy smile, rumpling her hair, then turned back to flip the eggs. He gave her a long sultry look, considering, and then smirked. 

“Why don’t we do this, anyway?” He cast her a sidelong grin, absolutely devilish. 

“Oh, shut up,” she squealed, smacking his bum. And after they both managed to stop laughing, but before she sped off to the Ministry and he headed down to the greenhouses for his day of classes, she was happy to submit to another kiss. And then, another. And then, perhaps, just one more. 

One more of many more to come.