#neville longbottom imagine

[megwritesriddles]

Heavenly Torture ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Neville Longbottom x F! Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 11 - Teasing & Degradation. After Hogwarts, Reader and Neville end up working together at Noltie's Botanical Novelties. Reader soon discovers she holds an unexpected power over Neville, one she'll have fun exerting over him at her whim.

Tags: Teasing, Degradation, Oral sex (m receiving), Neediness, Begging, Virgin!Neville, Sub!Neville, Dom!Reader, Slytherin!Reader, Set post Battle of Hogwarts, Coworkers to lovers (??).

Word count: 4.8k

Read it on ao3! | Masterlist

Authors note: I know I'm running a day behind right now, I'll try my best to catch up when I can (hopefully monday)!! Another day, another submissive pathetic man... lol!! Also why did this end up so long... all this backstory for what?? Why do I keep doing this?? Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

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Getting the job at Noltie’s Botanical Novelties, the garden shop on Diagon Alley, had been one of the most relieving moments of your life. Not only did you have an income secured, but they’d hired you despite you having been in Slytherin. It seems silly for you to have been worried about this, given that people are starting to heavily advocate against stereotyping based on houses, but that didn’t mean it had actually stopped happening. At the moment, Slytherins were quite radioactive. Less than a year out from the war, all Slytherins near your age were assumed to be Death Eaters who just escaped consequence based on their age. This, of course, was not true for most of you, and certainly not for you. You’d been on the right side from… well, perhaps not the start, it takes time to shake your upbringing, but probably from some time in the fifth year. However, most people only remembered you as a Slytherin, and that was a decidedly bad thing to be currently. You knew you should have made more appearances at Dumbledore’s Army meetings, but back then you were facing the same issue, avoiding the meetings because when you did go, people would be distrusting of you because of the colour of your tie. Now people barely remembered that you’d been a member at all. It was frustrating beyond belief, but you just had to keep going. 

The job at Noltie’s was an undoubted blessing, just a few years ago it would have been a no-brainer for you to get the job, given your expertise, but this year it had truly felt like it wouldn’t happen for you. When you’d gone in to pick up your uniform about a week before starting, Edward Noltie himself had confessed to having been a Slytherin himself in his school days. You wouldn’t have guessed it, the kookie old man certainly reminded you more of the types that come out of Hufflepuff, but you told yourself to stop stereotyping, you had learned its inaccuracies over and over by now. It amused you slightly how much he tried to separate himself from the Slytherin label, only claiming the identity in the past tense, while most Gryffindors were likely to wear their Gryffindor scarves until at least their 200s. You thanked him anyway for his understanding, emphasising once again that you’d had no ties to the Death Eaters. As you were leaving with the bag containing your uniform, he stopped you.

“We actually have another employee with us from your year group at Hogwarts, a very talented young man, instrumental in winning the war, we’re lucky to have him, really. Joined a few months ago,” Noltie chuckled. You smiled and nodded awkwardly over your shoulder. You knew exactly who he was referring to. 

There’d never really been any doubt in your mind that Noltie had been talking about Neville Longbottom, but the suspicion is confirmed immediately on your first day. You walked in, hair neatly up as was required (less for aesthetic reasons and more for safety against the various plants stocked that had a tendency to thrash), your uniform tailored to fit you perfectly, and saw him behind the counter. You had been dreading this moment since you realised you’d be working with him. You knew what he’d say to you, how he would call you brave for going against your house, how much he appreciated your efforts during the war, things like that, and you couldn’t be bothered to listen to it. You just wanted to stop thinking about the war, and all the things you’d had to do to survive, but it seemed too much to ask. You took a deep breath and approached him and he did just that. With a serious and sympathetic expression, he began to thank you and commend you. He stared quite intensely at you as he spoke, which made you admittedly uncomfortable, your eyes flickered around the store as he spoke. 

“We barely had any Slytherins in the D.A. and I know some people gave you a hard time about it, so I think it’s–” he continued in his solemn voice. You squirmed in discomfort and decided to cut him off. 

“Look, Longbottom, all the same to you, yeah? You’re a war hero and all that, so… that’s great, congratulations! Can you show me how the till works now?” you huffed. He blinked in surprise at your little outburst, before flushing slightly, clearly having realised he’d made you uncomfortable in some way, even if he’d only been trying to compliment you. 

“Sorry, err… yeah…” he cleared his throat, showing you over to the till on the counter at the back of the store. You walked in front of him toward it and when you turned back to face him, you saw his eyes flick up and his flush deepen a little. You realise with a start that he’d been looking at your ass as you walked. These uniform trousers really were tailored perfectly, so you were sure he’d gotten a good view. You just smiled to yourself and filed the information away for later as he started to explain the machine to you. 

The next few weeks go surprisingly well. Sure, you’re only working the till and shop floor rather than actually doing any research or fieldwork, but at least you’re in your desired field, and the work is quite easy. The shop is never terribly busy, and the people who do come in like to spend a while browsing and contemplating, meaning you get to tell them all you know about the plants they’re deciding between, which you find quite fun. Neville works mainly in the backroom, counting stock, moving boxes, and maintaining the plants that can’t be kept on the shop floor because they’re too dangerous or require certain temperature conditions. You help with inventory, letting him know what’s running low on the shelves and making notes of what needs to be ordered for Mr Noltie. Mostly, you’re out of each other’s ways, but that doesn’t mean you’re not highly aware of each other. 

You knew Neville had changed over the years, every girl who’d been at Hogwarts was aware of it. You remembered quiet nights while the D.A. had been hiding out in the Room of Requirement, when a bunch of the girls would get together for some girl talk, trying hard to feel a sense of normalcy. Lavender Brown’s idea, which initially seemed silly, actually raised spirits quite a lot. You joined in, even though people were still rather wary of you, being one of only two Slytherins in the room, you mainly listened because of this. The girls huddled together in one corner of the room, while the boys chatted about who knows what in the other, and gossiped about the boys. There was hardly time for romance in the conditions you were in, which is perhaps why so much of it was happening, forced to stay together in one big room and fearing for your lives, you had overheard a lot you wish you never had. Neville ended up being the subject of a few of these conversations. He had changed a lot, becoming taller, broader and more handsome. He had also taken the role of the leader of the D.A., and many of the girls admitted that they quite liked the authoritative voice he used, which made everyone tease and giggle. He was nothing like the timid little boy he’d been for the first few years at Hogwarts, he was a man now, a strong, handsome man. However, no one ever reported any sort of action with him like they did with the other boys. At the time, he became sort of untouchable, which was odd considering he was Neville Longbottom.

These days, he was looking even better. His face was no longer so marred by the constant scrunch of stress as it had been during the war. He’d grown out his hair a little, rather than keeping it quite as short as he had during the war. He overall looked healthier, and even more muscular now that he was able to eat properly, his skin looking less pale and dull. Days of moving and stacking boxes in the backroom gave you plenty of time to subtly watch his muscles. He really was handsome now, though he didn’t seem to even realise this himself. Occasionally, when he’d be bringing stock out front for you to shelve, there’d be a woman in the store who would begin to flirt with him. He always seemed baffled and out of his depth, never flirting back and just trying to escape.

“What was that all about?” he asks you once, poking his head out of the backroom when she leaves. This woman had come onto him particularly strong, trying to touch his arm and invite him to the Leaky Cauldron. 

“She was flirting with you,” you chuckle, sorting the coins into the till. He scoffs.

“No, she wasn’t,”

“Yes, she was,” you laugh in disbelief. He chews his lip.

“Only because of what I did during the war,” he dismisses, fiddling with his wand in his apron pocket. It amuses you how insecure he is. But he is partially right, he’s become a bit of a celebrity in the wizarding world, thanks to Harry Potter’s insistence on mentioning Neville’s contributions every time he’s interviewed about the war. Sometimes you think it’s selfishly motivated, wanting the world to focus on someone other than him so he can be left alone, and dumping it on poor shy Neville.

“That could be true I suppose, but I bet she’d still let you shag her,” you grin at him. Neville splutters.

“I… I don’t…” he runs his finger through the collar of his shirt. You chuckle at his reaction, enjoying teasing him like this. “That’s not… I wouldn’t do that…” he swallows thickly. 

You’d discovered quickly that you had a certain power over Neville. At first, it was catching him occasionally staring. You’d be leaning on the counter, your ass jutting out slightly as you scribble down inventory notes and you’d glance at the door to the backroom, spotting him peering through the glass door. He’d immediately blush beet red and look away, clearly ashamed to have been caught staring at you. It was sweet, in a way, because most guys didn’t seem to have any shame in ogling at you, at least Neville seemed to know he shouldn’t be doing it, even if he couldn’t stop himself. Slowly, you start leaving more and more of your shirt buttons undone, revealing glimpses of your cleavage. You revel in the way his eyes constantly stray to you as he brings you boxes, taking shaky breaths as you bend over to pick up the little plant pots from the box and organise them onto the shelves. Whenever you talk, you take to standing just a little too close. His height gives you a perfect view down your top, and although he tries his best not to, he takes advantage of this fact often, his eyes flicking down and then his face going red. You like to innocently ask him if he’s feeling warm, which makes him stammer. It’s a bit of fun to fill your days, and quite an ego boost too. Every quiet moment in the shop you take to showing yourself off somehow, or even just chatting to him, which seems to fluster him too.

“You wouldn’t shag her? I thought she was cute…” you tease. He goes a deeper shade of red.

“She’s… it’s not… uh…” he stumbles. You smile, leaning yourself onto the counter in a way you know shows off your ass. His eyes flick immediately down your body and he goes redder, success. “I don’t… shag…” he coughs, looking mortified. 

“What? Never? But you’re the saviour of the wizarding world!” you taunt, pretending to be shocked, when really it had become abundantly clear not long into working with him that despite how much his looks had changed, and his confidence in every other area, women still made him unbearably anxious, especially you. 

“I- I mean I…” he stutters and then straightens up. “This is none of your business,” he asserts shakily. You shrug.

“Just curious about you,” you smile flirtatiously, watching as he blushes once more and avoids your eyes. “Do you never want to shag? Some people are like that and it’s perfectly fine–” 

“No! I… uh… I do want… oh Merlin!” he groans, burying his face in his hands. You press on, pretending not to realise how uneasy he is, delighting in his discomfort. 

“Well, then what was wrong with that girl? She was cute… more than willing…” you taunt, taking a few slow steps toward him now. 

“She just… it’s not… I can’t just…” he stammers, eyes following you until you’re right in front of him. You catch his eyes flicking down to your cleavage. You smile. 

“Are you a virgin, Neville?” you ask bluntly. He twitches anxiously.

“I’m not answering that,” he squeaks, but you both know that it’s answer enough. He sighs, seeing the smug way you’re smiling at him. “It’s just… the only girl I’ve ever liked enough to do that with didn’t feel the same, she… never wanted to do that sort of thing with anyone… like you were just talking about,” he mumbles, avoiding your eye.

“Luna?” you hum. He just nods. You’d heard about that through friends, his wartime confession and her confession that she did not experience romantic or sexual feelings for anyone. To many people, it had seemed a completely foreign concept. You imagined that, even though he’d been understanding, it had probably felt like another blow to his confidence. 

“It’s… that’s over now… she’s my friend and I respect her… I don’t feel that way about her anymore…” he rambles. His eyes flicker over your face. You believe him, you touch his arm, making him tense. 

“You poor thing,” you coo gently, rubbing your thumb over the bare skin of his arm, feeling the muscle underneath. “You must feel pathetic, saviour of the wizarding world, women lining up, and yet you’re still a virgin,” he jolts slightly, not expecting your words. He feels confused, your tone is sweet and soothing, but your words are insulting. 

“I- I don’t, I’m fine,” he stammers, his cheeks red as he looks at you cautiously. What are you playing at? You pout and tilt your head. 

“Poor baby,” you coo again, making him nervous. 

“Why are you–?” he cut off when the bell above the door jingles, signalling a customer entering. You pull your hand away with a teasing smile, he just stares a little dumbly at you as you return to the till and greet the customer. He can’t help his eyes from straying to your ass, perfectly hugged by your uniform trousers. He’s never felt this crazy before, this overtaken by lust. He wants you and something about your faux-pity has made it worse. He hadn’t felt this way about Luna, he’d liked her first and foremost, he never ogled her like this, never felt this maddened by her simple presence. He forces himself to return to his work in the backroom. 

You torture him the rest of the day. He knows you’re playing at something, but he’s not quite sure what. You keep flashing him mockingly sympathetic glances, showing off your body more than usual, touching him. You’re making excuses to come into the backroom, you’ve never been in here so many times in one shift before, perhaps even ever. Leaning over his shoulders, touching his back, stretching up to the top shelves in front of him. He’s oblivious, but he’s not completely blind and while he’s suspected before that you might have taken to teasing him, now he’s sure. After trying fruitlessly to avoid you most of the day, he gives in toward the end, letting himself admire your body and enjoy your closeness. He’s had a few relentless flirts at his neck since graduating from Hogwarts, but you feel different. Most girls flirt with him because they think he’s something special, something big that will help them earn fame and get them in the Daily Prophet. You flirt like you think he’s a pathetic little puppy dog, and perhaps he should take offence from it, but instead, it makes him need you even more. Because it’s what he is, he’s not big and strong when it comes to this, he feels small and he needs someone who understands that, which you seem to, in your own roundabout way.

He helps you close up the shop, at your request, which is something he only usually does on particularly busy days, yet he knows the question is coming. You pout at him sweetly and ask for help and he comes running. As a thank you, you lean over as you count up the day's purchases, emphasising your chest and not commenting when he stares and blushes. He wouldn’t mind being compensated like this more often. He sweeps up the soil that’s accumulated on the floor from the various pots being moved around. Technically it’s your job, but how can he say no when you look at him like that and push your tits together just so?

You’re still double-checking the accounts when he goes into the back room again. He checks on all the special plants, making sure nothing is wrong, before moving toward the little cupboards in the corner of the room. He washes his hands and unties his apron slowly. Rubbing a hand through his hair, he sighs. You’ve been driving him crazy today. The subtle way you mocked him made him so needy for you even though he should hate you for it, he didn’t want to psychoanalyse that. He hears you enter but does his best to ignore you, you never usually talk at the end of your shifts, usually too tired and eager to get home to bother small talking. You wash your hands and remove your apron too, hanging it up by the door, your name tag facing forward. You feel his eyes on your ass again, which makes you smile to yourself. 

“Is that why you stare at me so much?” you taunt, being purposefully vague. You glance over your shoulder at him. He’s bright red and chewing his lip. 

“What?” he croaks. 

“Because you’re a virgin? Is that why you stare so much? My ass in these trousers is the best view you’ve been allowed?” you mock, cooing as if you’re being sympathetic. He hates that you know, but he knows he hasn’t at all been subtle enough for it to be a shock. He just takes a shaky breath.

“I’m so-sorry, really… I don’t—“ he pulls nervously at his shirt. Godric it’s hot in here. You stalk closer.

“Poor thing, can’t control yourself around me, can you, hm?” you ridicule him, stalking closer with those dark seductive eyes. He realises you’re backing him into a wall as he takes a clumsy step back, moments away from hitting the hard surface. He swallows hard and you come closer, pressing your chest to his, emphasising the curve of your breasts. He can’t help but look, even if only for a split second. “Can you?” you prompt again, your voice lower. 

“No,” he chokes. You laugh, low and mocking. 

“No… you can’t control yourself around me… you pathetic little thing,” you finally backed him against the wall. He looks nervous, but you can feel his hardening arousal against your stomach. You shift yourself slightly, making him gasp and harden even more. You look up at him, smirking, the irony of belittling him in this way doesn't even matter, because you feel powerful and he feels small in this moment. You reach up and trace his cheek, making him shiver and his eyes flutter. “Poor little loser,” he whines loudly at that, and you watch carefully to see if you’ve actually hurt his feelings or not. When his eyes flicker open again, his pupils are wildly dilated and he looks desperate. You smile and wrap your arms around his neck. 

“I am,” he whimpers. You’re surprised to hear him talk, but you let him, caressing his cheek in a mocking gesture. “I don’t want to be pathetic but I am, I can’t— do this sort of stuff,” he laments. “What kind of freak am I? Getting off to you calling me a loser?” you giggle at him and he laughs slightly too, looking down at the ground, not before glancing once more at your tits. 

“You just want someone to see you for who you are and want you anyway, not put you on some pedestal,” you hum. He blinks at you. That actually… made sense. He glances up at you. “Isn’t that pathetic of you?” you tease with a smile and you both laugh a little. 

“Yeah, Godric… I really am pathetic,” he chuckles quietly, watching you. 

“A complete loser,” you chuckle, leaning up to kiss him. He squeaks, taken completely off guard by your lips on his. You fist your hands into the material of his shirt, forcing him to lean down to your level to kiss you. He kisses back, desperate and shaky. He pants into the kiss, already feeling a little dizzy. Your hand is reaching down and brushing feather-light against the bulge in his trousers before he can register what’s going on. His hips stutter and he whines against your lips. “So pitiful, barely even touching you and you’re whining,” you mock, brushing your fingers up and down the bulge, slow and teasing. His hands come to grip at your waist, exhaling shakily against you. “So needy,” you chuckle, pulling back and pouting at him. 

“Y-yeah,” his eyes flit all over your face. You smirk up at him, trailing your hands down his body as you move to kneel in front of him. He gasps, his hands falling to his sides, chest heaving. He stares down at you, wide-eyed. He mumbles your name in question, wondering if this is really happening. You reach up, still smirking and pop to the button of his trousers. “Ah… oh Merlin…” he exhales, his eyes closing. You gently tug his trousers down and then lean forward, nuzzling your nose against the bulge in his boxers. You watch as his face twists in pleasure, a strangled gasp on his lips. He leans his head back against the wall as you press barely there kisses along his twitching length through the fabric. “This can’t be happening right now,” he pants, pushing his hips towards your face. 

“Don’t you want it to?” you tease, gently licking the wet spot on the fabric, making him gasp. 

“I— yes I want it but—this doesn’t happen… to me…” he groans as you slip down his boxers, springing him free. He stares down nervously now, no one has seen him like this before. You just smirk up at him, gently massaging his thighs. 

“You want it?” you taunt, gently blowing on his length, making him twitch and buck. 

“Nngh— yes,”

“Then beg me,” you grin. “Show me how pathetic you are for me,” he stares down at you, chest heaving, heart pounding so hard you can watch his pulse. He should feel humiliated, but the pre-cum dripping from his tip tells the both of you the reality. You lean up, placing soft open-mouthed kisses against his length, making him inhale sharply. “Beg me,” you sing-song between kisses. 

“P-please,” he gasps. “Please, I’m pathetic, I need this so bad… I’ve never– ah–!” you cut him off by licking a stripe up his length. He dissolves into a string of shaky moans as you wrap your lips around his tip, softly suckling. He’s never felt this amazing before. He fights to open his eyes and look down at you, needing the visual of you doing this committed to his memory desperately, even though he knows it will likely haunt his every waking thought from today onwards. You look smug, even on your knees in front of him, and he knows you have him wrapped around your finger. He tries uselessly to dig his nails into the wall for purchase, watching as you slowly envelop more and more of him into the heavenly heat of your mouth. Your head bobs slowly, torturously slow, up and down the length of him. What you can’t fit in your mouth, you take a gentle hold of with your hand. Your tongue swirls and laves against him within your mouth, making his hips buck toward you. You immediately withdraw, making him sob. 

“You just can’t control yourself, can you?” you chastise harshly. “Needy and brainless,” he nods along because he really can’t help but think you’re right.

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll control myself, I will, please… I need you,” he wails. You look unimpressed, slowly teasing your hand up and down his shaft. He whines, melting against the wall. “Please…” he whispers. His voice is entirely wrecked and he already looks thoroughly debauched by you, you find the image exciting. When he glances down at you with those pleading wide eyes, you can’t deny him any longer. As a final teasing act, you lean in and gently kitten lick at his slit for a moment, tasting the salty sweetness accumulating there. You feel him trying to twitch in your hand, his head falling back again and desperate groans leaving his throat. You take him as deep down into your throat as he will go, gagging just a little, and start to bob your head again. His fingers curl, and you can tell he wants to grab your hair, but he’s being good, you keep in mind to tell him he was good later. Your lips slide up and down his length, using your tongue to swirl and add an extra layer of stimulation. He’s very vocal, whining, whimpering, groaning, completely ruined. You stare up at him as you gently swallow around him. His eyes squeeze further shut and his hips cant forward, making you gag a little, but you do it again. He gasps loudly and his hands start to flail, smacking against the wall. You only realise he was trying to warn you between strangled moans when you feel the warm spurt of his release in your mouth. You swallow it down as he frantically withdraws himself from you, crying as he rides out the feeling of his orgasm, his legs shaking. He feels like he’s left his body and ascended to heaven, this was why all his friends were so crazy about sex. He got it now. Once he’s returned to himself a little, he falls to his knees in front of you. “I’m so sorry, I tried to warn you but I felt so good, I-” he fusses. “I’m so sorry, th-thank you,” he whimpers, wiping a tiny bit of cum from the corner of your mouth. “Thank you,”

“It’s fine,” you dismiss him as he holds your face and thanks you over and over. It amuses you how wrecked he is. “It’s alright, Neville,” you chuckle in disbelief, leaning forward and pecking his lips. He can vaguely taste himself on your lips, even without you opening your mouth, and it makes him groan. He chases your lips as you pull away, opening his eyes to give you a puppy-dog look. 

“Merlin … I really am pathetic,” he swallows and then laughs nervously, leaning back against the wall, smiling sheepishly as you tuck him back into his boxers. You sit on your knees in front of him and he stares at you, half in awe, half in apprehension. “Are you going to tell people about this?” he questions, slightly anxious, wiping some sweat from his brow.

“No, I can’t lose my job, we’ve just broken a bunch of rules, you realise?” you tease and he smiles slightly. 

“Are we going to do this again? Or you know… something else?” he glances at your body, feeling a little bad he couldn’t do anything to make you feel like he just did.

“Maybe, maybe not, you’ll just have to wait and see,” you taunt, pecking his cheek and rising to your feet. He cranes his neck to watch as you fetch your bag and coat. You glance at him over your shoulder, seeing him sitting on the floor, his legs stretched out in front of him, looking dazed and ruined. You can’t help but giggle, the sound stirring his stomach again. “See you soon, Longbottom,” you blow a mocking kiss and leave. He stares after you, both glad you’re gone so he can process what just happened, and also wishing you were never away from him again.

Tomorrow at work was either going to be heaven or hell on earth, and he found himself eager to find out. 

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xoxoxo

[rainydayathogwarts]

neville longbottom smut

reader makes Neville cum in his pants at a party. warnings: dry humping, whimpering, public sex(?), swearing 0.9k+ wc

Your body sways to the music, the plastic cup in your hand spilling some of your drink onto your hand, but it only blends in with the shimmering glint of sweat on your skin. You're dancing with some girl you don't recognise, singing the words to a song at the top of your lungs. You look around, trying to spot your boyfriend in the crowd, to make sure he's not doing anything he shouldn't be, only to notice him sitting on an armchair next to the fireplace, his eyes already on you.

He meets your gaze and your body suddenly goes hot, despite the warmth from the alcohol that had already settled in. He was keeping an eye on you, butterbeer in hand, not focused on anything else. You grin, pushing your way through the dance floor until you finally stumble away from the crowd of sweaty bodies and into the more dispersed area of the busy common room. You giggle when you approach Neville, watching as his eyes run along you figure. You down the rest of your drink, putting the now empty cut next to what you assumed was the empty bottle butter beer Neville had already had. "You okay sweetheart?" He asks and you nod, shifting to stand between his legs.

He sits up straight to put his hands on the back of your thighs, pulling you slightly closer to him; the most affection he'd giving you tonight. He offers you a sip of butterbeer but you decline, watching as he brings his lips to the bottle, his adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows, before putting the bottle aside. You bring a hand up to play with his hair as your hips start moving again, the other arm on his shoulder. You look down at the boy below you and sigh in pleasure as his hands start moving up and down your thighs.

His head leans on your lower stomach, his attention caught by the dancing bodies. You furrow your eyebrows, glancing over at the dance floor to look at all the girls in their tight dresses. You huff. The hand you have in his hair closes moderately into a fist and you tug it backwards slightly, making Neville look up at you, only to be met by your lips slamming down onto his. He moans loudly, his hands on your thighs moving so his arms can wrap around you.

His mouth immediately opens to welcome your tongue in and you put your weight onto him, pushing him back into the armchair as you climb onto him, your legs coming on either side of his thighs as you straddle him. Neville whimpers, the sound drowned by the music, his arms tightly wrapping themselves around your waist to pull you impossibly closer. And he does, dragging you across his lap so your panty-clad cunt grinds against his fully clothed dick.

You both moan into each other, and you feel your boyfriend's usually gentle hands travel down to your ass, roughly gripping it. You grind against Neville once more to see how comfortable he is with this, and he separates from the kiss to gasp for air, his mouth open in a silent moan. Your eyes scan the room, checking to see if you had attracted anyone's unwanted eyes, but your attention is brought back to Neville, who tugs your dress further down your thighs, having ridden up when you straddled him.

When you make eye contact with him again, his eyes are begging you to continue your movements and so is the tent in his pants. You push your hips down onto his and moan quietly, biting your lip. Neville's eyes widen and he looks around for a second before turning his attention back to you, a hand coming behind your neck to pull you into a kiss, the other one pushing your hips into his.

He gently humps his hips up into yours to encourage your movements, grunting as though he has never had your legs spread for him, and you dig your face into the crook of his neck, letting out a breathy moan. Your hot breath on his neck sends shivers down Neville's spine and he pants, leaning his head on your shoulder and looking down through the top of your dress. He whines, eyes widening at the sight of your tits, his hands immediately coming up to grope them. You let out a high pitched moan when he squeezes one of your perky nipple, hips bucking into his desperately, so that your pussy grinds right against the tent in his jeans, feeling the imprint of his cock against you.

Neville bites your shoulder to cover the loud whimpers that come out of him, hands gripping your thighs as he roughly bucks his hips into yours. That's when you feel the wetness on his jeans, this time not coming from you, and you grin proudly, pulling Neville into a kiss. He returns the kiss, still panting, his hands now softly caressing your sides. When you both separate from the kiss and Neville finally catches his breath, he says "How about we go upstairs and I can finish you off?"

[longbottomlove]

first time || n.l.

warnings: smut!

neville and y/n had been dating for about a year at that point, nothing crazy. they’d shared little kisses and hugs, maybe a tiny make out sesh a couple times. the little bit of tongue, heavy breathing kind that every guy dreamed about having with his crush.

but she wasn’t his crush. she was his girlfriend. he loved her. and she loved him. it was simple like that. they’d never tried anything further than kissing because they didn’t need to.

neville tried to be the respectful gentleman y/n deserved, but a nagging problem was starting to arise.

every time they kissed for longer than three seconds, shared a close hug(the kind that had her boobs pressed against his chest), or even if y/n cracked a dirty joke to pull a laugh out from their friends, he had a boner. it was hard to hide and hard to make it go away. neville was a virgin and had no clue what to do.

and then there were the dreams. dreams about his girlfriend. dreams where she was kissing him, touching him, speaking to him in a hushed whisper, neville we have to be quiet. neville we’re gonna be caught. neville do you want me? neville wake up.

and wake up he would. every morning. sometimes he’d wake up to a tent in his pants. other times it would be a sticky mess he had to clean before starting the day.

worst of all was the guilt. godric, the guilt. thinking all of these foul things about someone who had no part in causing it felt criminal. it made him feel gross and pervy. he knew he had to tell you.

———————-

“uh.. y/n?” he forced out. “i..uh. i have to tell you something,”

this was it. the moment she would dump him. poor little neville who had finally gotten a girlfriend was going to be dumped. his heart was racing, palms clammy and shiny with sweat.

y/n followed him into his dorm, taking a seat on the bed like he gestured her to do. she was confused. so confused. was he gonna dump her, did he cheat?

“so what was it you wanted to tell me?” y/n asked, eyes glued to her feet.

“well,” neville started. “i’ve, i’ve been having these thoughts. and they’re gross and about you. and i dunno, i just had to tell you because ikeephavingdirtydreamsaboutyouandimsorry,”

“what?”

neville looked at the girl in confusion. like she couldn’t have possibly not heard him and he didn’t wanna say it again.

“i keep having dirty dreams about you. and im sorry,” he repeated.

a sharp silence overtook the room. she hated him now. she had to. he had confessed his disgusting thoughts to her. he was done for. would she tell a Professor? Snape or McGonagall maybe? would he be expelled for repulsive behavior? or would he just be laughed at by all her friends?

a painful minute of silence rushed through the room, ended only by a sharp cry of laughter. she was laughing! neville didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing but he soon joined in and began chuckling himself.

“oh my god,” y/n started. “i can’t breathe! i cant, i cant,”

after a good four or five minutes y/n finally looked up from her laughing position and looked at her boyfriend. “that’s normal, nev,” she said.

“what?” neville squeezed out.

“to have dreams like that, it’s normal. i’d be concerned if you didn’t have those dreams,”

neville was very confused to say the least. his thoughts were gross… and here she was saying it’s okay.

“and like,” neville started, “every time we like, kiss and stuff, i get a- erm..”

“a what, love?”

neville vaguely gestured to his crotch, hoping she’d get what he meant.

“ohhhhhh. yeah… that’s normal too i think,”she said. neville was relieved to say the least.

it was nearing dinner time, and y/n had promised to sit with hermione and ginny during the meal. she pecked neville on the cheek and started towards the door. she was almost out when she heard a soft voice call out to her.

“y/n?”

“yeah, baby?”

“could you… maybe stay?”

[ibbythebee]

Hospital Wing Hermits

gif credit: @handknit on wattpad

pairing: Neville Longbottom x year younger!reader

summary: From Neville's second year at Hogwarts to his last, his most memorable times with you have been spent in the hospital wing.

genre: fluffiness all round, slight angst at the end... but only a little, slow-burny

warnings: this fic is so soft that you will potentially combust, slight swearing, SO MUCH hand holding, the reader is an oblivious goofball until she's not, kissing, talks about illnesses and injuries, blood and boogers

words: 6k

masterlist

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville's 2nd Year

Clutching onto Madame Pomfrey is nothing new to Neville. In the middle of the night, however, is a different story. The Nurse coos whenever the boy makes the slightest sound of pain, holding him up as not to put anymore pressure on his right foot.

"We're just about there, dear. Come on, just a few more steps..."

Leading him to the middle of the hospital wing's room, she then guides him onto an untouched bed, and immediately slides a pillow underneath his ankle. A spot of light on the opposite side of the room does not go unnoticed to either the woman or boy as soon as they had entered the room.

Neville rubs his eyes, squinting at the strange glowing mound of sheets. He watches as, with a sigh, Madame Pomfrey marches to the other preoccupied bed and pulls over the white covers to reveal you, a sheepish looking girl.

Under the light of your wand, your face looks puffy, lips and nose chapped, hair amuck. You cough into your elbow and smile a toothy innocent smile, batting your big eyes at the woman, silently pleading your innocence.

Pomfrey, however, does not play games. "Turn off that incessant light, Miss L/N. Do you realise what time it is?"

Your lips shape into a pout, voice stuffy as you answer. "But Madame Pomfrey, it's so boring here. I'm bored."

"No, you should be asleep. Turn that off right now. I don't want to have to send another owl to your mother about you refusing medical help."

"Just a few more minutes please? I'll finish the page I'm reading."

"Absolutely not. It's basic manners and respect for your fellow peer." She motions to Neville, and you finally turn to him.

Despite the fatigue in your features, your eyes seem to glow, piercing through the dark room. Perhaps it's just his lack of sleep or absence of light, but there is something drawing him to you and he fails to look away. Nothing comes out of his mouth even though he knows he's probably supposed to greet you, but neither do you.

A second longer you stare at your new roommate and in eventual defeat, you pout. The light from your wand fades, as you mumble 'nox' under your breath and get comfortable under the blankets.

Satisfied, Madame Pomfrey clears the rubbish bin underneath your bed and turns back to Neville handing him a small flask of some sort of healing potion.

"All right. Off to bed now both of you. Good night, dears."

You both mutter a 'goodnight', closing your eyes, gingerly pulling the covers up to your chins.

It stays mostly quiet in the room, apart from the Nurse's shuffling. Though as time passes, shoes click and click away, and then the door creaks shut.

"Psst!"

Neville stirs.

"Hey, psst!"

"Huh?" Is all Neville can manage, lifting his head with a groggy squint.

"What happened to you?" You ask in a loud whisper and sniffle. Sitting straight, and staring right at him. Your eyes really are big, inquisitive.

"Well I... twisted my ankle," he finally says.

"How?"

"I... I'd rather not say. It's embarrassing, really."

"I won't tell anyone," you say as-a-matter-of-factly. "You can hex me if I do."

He looks at you through narrow eyes again and this time it's your teeth that glow. As you show no interest in falling asleep, Neville's neck admits defeat and his head crashes back down onto the pillow. "Can we just please go to sleep?"

"I caught a cold... or maybe a fever. Runny nose—" you sniff, wiping your face with your pajama sleeve "—wet cough, high temperature. My mum says I have a weak immune system."

"Well, that's not very good, is it?" He comments half-heartedly to the ceiling.

"No, it isn't."

Silence. For a moment, he believes that you've finally surrendered yourself.

"So how'd you twist your ankle in the middle of the night?"

Never mind.

"You don't seem like a rule-breaker," you say.

He carefully shuffles up to sit and sighs. Where on earth did you get your energy from? He hadn't met such a talkative first year before.

Neville takes a moment to answer, debating on whether or not you're harmless enough for him to be vulnerable. "I had a nightmare, okay? I fell off my bed and... landed badly."

"Well, that's not very good, is it?" You echo.

"No, it isn't."

Silence once again ensues, but this time Neville's ready for your chatterbox mouth.

"What's your name? I'm..." You suddenly stop and he nearly laughs when your silhouette jerks and you sneeze. It's loud, like his Gran.

"Nice to meet you, Achoo." He chuckles, holding a hand over his mouth.

You sniff again, face hot in a new wave of humiliation, and this time you wipe your face with more aggression. "Hey, that's not funny! My name is — A-ACHHHOO!"

"Isn't that what I just said?" He can't help but laugh again. Relishing in the groan you emit and how furiously you blow your nose.

With a poke of your tongue, you retort. "Whatever, Mr... mm... Fall-out-of-bed...n-nightmare-broken-ankle-boy."

"Wow, that's really fantastic, Achoo." He slides back down into his bed, closing his eyes with content and tries to hold in his giggles as you continue with determination to clear up your mistake.

Initially, Neville thought he wouldn't even be able to get in a nap, but now with the understanding that you bark more than you bite, he creates a silly image of you in the form of a puppy. As your voice rings in the background, the puppy image barks with you, and he feels his eyes grow heavy, falling into a content and nightmare-less sleep.

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville’s 4th Year

Ever since sleeping the night in the hospital wing, Neville knew he'd be seeing more of you. It was surprising to him that he hadn't noticed you before that night, especially seeing as you were such a social butterfly. And despite being in the year below, he'd always manage to catch your eyes in the Great Hall. And in the courtyard. And in the halls. And through a classroom window. You were everywhere and anywhere. And when you weren't, you were in bed in the hospital wing.

Just like you are now. The fourteen-year-old hadn't seen you for the past few weeks after the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, and needless to say, he had to see you.

And such a perfect opportunity had arose today, albeit a painful one, but an opportunity none the less.

Neville opens the door to the wing as gently as possible as not to wake you, however knowing you, you probably already were.

Entering the room, he clutches his sore hand to his ribs and cranes his neck to spot the nurse. Instead he finds your lying form under a mountain of blankets.

You stir, and Neville curses at his shoes for making so much noise. Sure, his intention of coming here was to see you, but he’d seldom seen you in such a peaceful state and didn’t want to ruin that for you.

“Neville?” He hears you say and then you’re facing him.

He smiles down at you, with a voice just as soft as silk. "Hey, Achoo. Didn't mean to wake you. How you feeling?”

“I’m feeling alright. Kinda headache-y, but fine. Ugh, what time is it?” You rub your eyes and stretch as you sit up.

The messiness of your bed-hair is incredibly endearing and the curve in Neville’s lips only grow at the sight.

“It’s third period.”

“Then… what are you doing here? Are you hurt?”

You’re suddenly on your feet, eyes round and wide, taking in the scene of the tall boy. He flinches, attempting to hide his hand in his robe sleeve.

You snatch his hand, bringing it close to your face. It’s a burn. All over the back of his palm. "Bloody hell— Where's Madame Pomfrey?"

"I was about to ask you the same question." A small chuckle falls from his lips as you examine him. Somehow, in some miracle he watches your big eyes grow larger as you twist his hand, move his long fingers to get as much information about his wound.

He feels like he’s going crazy, your touch is a new kind of burn on his skin. It doesn’t sting, but it is hot. And you don’t even know you’re causing it.

"She's always gone when you actually need her,” you huff.

"It's not as bad as it looks, really. Just hurts a little when I move it."

"What about when I...?" You drift off, as you slide a delicate thumb over his beet-red knuckles.

The tips of his ears turn the same shade of red. "Stings."

With no further words, he lets you pull him to one corner of the hospital wing, searching for a particular ointment on the many shelves of medical supplies. You don't let go of his hand, and he doesn't dare pull away.

"Let me guess how it happened—" you say, grabbing a round jar of blue gel to read the label.

"Seamus." You both state and then share a laugh.

Placing the jar back, you continue your search and Neville fills the comfortable silence. "It's Potions class. For once I thought I was doing pretty decent and then next thing I know, Seamus' cauldron blows up next to me and of course I get the damage."

His hand is held up to your face again and he watches as you grab a new jar with a less solid looking gel, creamy in colour.

"I suppose it's a good way for me to get out of the rest of the class," he shrugs.

"And get away from Snape," you quip and earn a chuckle from him. There was a time in Neville’s third year, when you had come to learn about his amusing boggart. He’d snuck into the hospital wing, claiming he had a nasty headache and ended up staying the night, neither of you getting a wink of sleep. It had also been revealed that the thing you were most frightened of was giants.

“Sit down,” your motioning to the mattress behind him.

He does so without question, still attached to you by your pinkie, making himself comfortable on the edge of a neatly tucked bed. He follows your every action as you place the ointment jar beside his thigh and open the lid. You scoop a teaspoon amount with your fingers and lifted his burnt hand again.

Before the cream touches his burn, you begin to tell him about what illness you've caught today and he barely feels the sting of the medicine. There's no better spell or potion to kill pain than your voice, that much was evident even back when he first met you.

Concentration laces your features and unbeknownst to you, your hips hit the edge of the mattress, unaware to the fact that Neville's knees are on either side of you.

The sight of you between him for some reason makes it difficult for him to swallow. The urge to trap you with his legs increases by the second. "Hey, Y/N?"

You wipe off excess ointment on your pajama top and turn your attention to him. He rarely called you by your first name. Something's up.

"Yeah?"

"Well, the erm... You know in a week or so?"

"Mhm?"

There's a pause as he searches your eyes for confidence, then he finally announces. "Would you say you're a good dancer?"

Creases form between your brows and you pout at the question, really thinking it over. If there was anything else Neville had learnt about you was that you always answered his queries with great interest and thought. You never treat his questions as though they're dumb, and he’s come to adore you for that.

As you ponder, he slides his non-burnt hand under yours, idly fiddling with your delicate fingers; tracing around the length of them, lifting them up and dropping them one by one, and eventually laying his palm flat on top of yours. Were his hands always this big?

The tips of your fingers tap-tap against his, as you finally answer. "I suppose... I would like to think I am."

"Well... that's good to hear."

"What about you?"

"Oh me?" He finds your face and swallows thickly. "I've been practicing lately, so I can only hope I've improved."

A giggle breaks free from your lips and it’s music to his ears. "Practicing? Whatever for?"

"The Yule Ball, of course."

"The..." The creases near your brows form again. "I've completely forgotten about that."

He squeezes a finger of yours. "So, no one's asked you yet?"

You sneeze into your elbow and then for a second time, and your voice becomes stuffy to the amusement of Neville. "Asked me what?"

"Asked you to be their date, of course."

"Oh. No." Scoffing. "Being stuck in here means no social-life. And besides—" You spin around quick to grab a roll of bandage, and gingerly flatten it over his burn "—who's gonna want to dance with someone who sneezes every five minutes?"

"I would."

"That's what I thought — wait... you would?"

In an effort to look nonchalant, Neville shrugs, finding interest in a bird that's flying near the window. The tips of his ears poking out of his shaggy hair are giving you a different response, they're blushing.

You finish with his wound and step away from the bed, fingers feeling cold when you let go of him.

Upon inspection of your medical handiwork, he smiles gently. He hadn't felt a thing. "Thanks for this."

"I... I can't guarantee that I'll be completely healthy that day," you say.

"The Yule Ball?"

You nod in an almost embarrassed way, as you fiddle with the collar of your sleeping clothes.

Neville just shakes his head. "The suit my Gran got for me has a lot of pockets so I’ll carry all your tissues for you. Or anything else you might need, I'll keep them for you."

"That'sssss.... ACHHU!"

"Bless you. So what do you say? Would you... want to go with me? Maybe? I promise not to step on your feet."

"Miss L/N?! What on earth are you doing out of bed?!"

"MADAME POMFREY!" You both exclaim, faces and necks feeling hot.

"Come on, dear, why don't you ever follow simple orders?!"

Mumbles of pathetic protest fall from your lips as the woman drags you back to the other side of the room. You knock into Neville’s knee on the way and so he’s quick to follow behind you with his own incoherent babble about the burn on his hand.

You're settled under the blankets once again and watch as the nurse's eyes bulge at the sight of the tall boy's perfectly cared for palm. She inspects the bandage, inquires about the pain and what the cause was, all while Neville can't keep the flushed look off his face.

"She— well... Y/N helped me out. It doesn't hurt anymore, I'm fine now, Ma'am."

As the said woman keeps a hold of his hand, she turns to you with daggers. "What did you use? A potion? Spell, perhaps? Mr Longbottom could have severe side-effects if you're not careful."

"He won't," you grin toothily as you did back in your first year and point to the shelf in the right corner. "I used the ointment that you gave Theodore Nott not that long ago. Haha, Nott not."

Neville stifles a laugh, and isn't surprised when the nurse doesn't question you further. You might be the only student that can get away with arguing with Madame Pomfrey.

The nurse's face instead takes the form of an appreciative and impressed expression. It's only natural that with your ‘weak immune system’, you've gained as much medical knowledge as you have colds and flus.

"I'll admit, you've done a splendid job with Neville. However, you simply cannot use whatever you like, whenever you like, on whomever you like. Next time this happens you need to wait for me to return, alright? Is that understood?"

Taking a glance at Neville's sheepish state, you sigh and nod in response.

"And Neville dear, don't encourage this behaviour. Especially not from Miss L/N."

"Okay, Ma'am."

She gives the boy a goodbye and immediately turns to you, a full on lecture spilling from her mouth. He isn’t supposed to leave yet, not when he’s just finally had the courage to ask you out.

Neville finds your helpless gaze behind the woman’s shoulder, and sends you a sad sort of smile before turning on his heel to get to the door.

"I-I'll go with you!" You yell.

The tall boy pauses, heart flipping at your words.

"To the Yule Ball."

There’s no stopping the grin that forms, and he finally nods after a second, hair shaking with the action.

Your eyes speak to him as your own smile appears.

Meanwhile, the woman huffs and puffs, cleaning the area around your bed. "Not in this state, you won't."

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville's 5th Year

The last time Neville was in the hospital wing, he'd come to talk to you about his recent endeavours in Herbology and let slip that he's been secretly practicing defensive magic with a group of other students, being taught by none other than Harry himself. There was no doubt that you would also be trusted enough to join, however seeing as you were once again bed-ridden, it felt best to keep it a secret until you got better.

Now it wasn't a secret anymore, and each time he'd visit you'd ask him to put in a good word with Harry, with the group. Neville always said he would, but he never did, fearing that Professor Umbitch would eventually catch onto you and you'd have to pay the ultimate price.

Karma is an Umbitch, however, and now it looks as if the only answer to Neville's current predicament is to let you join Dumbledore's Army, despite all his worries and his efforts to stop you from doing that.

Today’s DA training has been cut short, due to the fact that the fifteen-year old is now incapacitated. Blood refusing to slow down from his nose.

Going to Madame Pomfrey would've required him to come up with a believable story as to what happened, so the next best thing was to send for you, someone who already knows about this secret group.

"Neville!" A Ravenclaw boy shouts, interrupting his thoughts. "Your Bogey Bug is here— ow!"

Someone smacks the kid, and then suddenly the Weasley twins are leading you into the Room of Requirement. You stand over him, adorning new pajamas he hadn't seen before.

"Hey Achoo," he weakly smiles. "Thanks for coming."

The DA gather around, as you crouch to his side and immediately take the cloth he's been holding to his nose. You make a face at him. “Oh Neville… what are we going to do with you?”

A fresh line of blood rolls down to his lip, so you let him leave the fabric there to sink it in.

"Keep your head steady, okay? Don't lean back, just let the blood flow for now."

"I think my nose might be broken?"

"Neville, I swear to..." your head spins sharply, and a few students flinch. "Who did this?"

"We were practicing stupefy," the familiar voice of Seamus answers and immediately your tense shoulders relax seeing his face emerge behind the twins. "I didn't mean to. I swear, Y/N."

"He really didn't mean to," Neville echoes.

You sneeze into your elbow and shake your head, palm making contact with your cheek. "See, this is why you should’ve told me about this secret army group thing so I could've joined and stopped something like this from happening.”

"I'm sorry."

You take Neville's hand again and lift the cloth, checking over the damage. There is damage, alright. You try not to make a show of wincing, fearing that the brown-haired boy would get anxious by your reaction, but his nose really does look quite out of sorts. Out of line. Broken.

He realises you haven't said a word in a while and smiles again, "you can fix, can't you, Achoo?"

"I told Neville I could treat him, but he kept refusing and insisted for your presence," Luna's soft voice interrupts as she crouches down beside you.

Someone amongst the crowd starts to coo and the tips of Neville's ears manage to turn beet red, more so when you turn your attention to him, expression unreadable.

Luna carries on, eyes focused on you. "He wouldn't let anyone touch him. Not until now, anyway."

"Okay!" A sudden clap startles even Luna, and you all turn to the perpetrator. Harry Potter's back is turned to your direction as he addresses the crowd, "I think we'll call it a day. Neville needs his strength and so do you."

The crowd murmurs, exchanging pouts and disappointed shrugs.

"Be proud of yourselves, you all did brilliantly today. Each and every one of you have improved. Next time we get to meet we'll continue with the Patronus Charm."

"What about Bogey Bug? How do we know she's not gonna rat us out?" A girl in Hufflepuff asks.

Neville sees you stand up, slapping a hand over your chest. "I swear on my life and the life of Neville—."

"Hey!"

"—that I will not snitch on this group or expose any of you. I promise to be loyal and keep my mouth shut about this."

Some faces don't seem convinced, as more murmurs and chatter erupt.

"She can be our nurse!" Neville exclaims, stealing everyone's attention. It's time to put in that good word for you. "We won't have to go to the hospital wing if Achoo— I mean, Y/N is here. She's really good at what she does. Plus, I accidentally told her about the army about a month ago and she hasn't told a soul since. I do..."

Your big eyes soften when he turns to you.

"...I trust her with my life."

"All right then," Harry claps once more. "All those in favour of Y/N becoming part of the army, raise your hand."

A few hands come up, whilst others whisper for a moment. One more, then four more, and then more hands raise faster than you can count them. You and the broken-nosed boy share grins, as you squeeze his free hand.

"That's it then. Y/N, welcome to Dumbledore's Army."

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville’s 6th year

Following the events of the previous year of school you and Neville had grown ever closer. Outside of the classroom you'd never be seen without the other. Inseparable. There'd even been a rumour going around that you were dating, but you always denied such claims and Neville could only comply. He hadn't yet told anyone about his feelings for you, although it seemed that those in his close circle were figuring it out on their own.

After having looked like a lost pygmy puff in the Great Hall, Luna found Neville and mentioned to him that you looked 'out of sorts' during class. He hadn't even asked about you. She just knew to tell him.

So, it’s only fitting for him to be by your side now, during lunch hour.

You’re shivering underneath all the sheets and blankets, and yet as Neville glides the back of his fingers across your forehead, you’re sweating as well.

“Hang in there Achoo, you’ll be fine in no time. The spell will take effect.”

You can only give so much as a nod, and groan when your lower abdomen tightens with a deep, stabbing ache.

“Shh,” Neville smooths his delicate fingers over your forehead again, tucking loose strands back to their place with the rest of your hair. “I'm here. Do you want me to distract you with anything?"

"Anything," you squeak, eyes shut tightly as if doing that would stop your cramps and make you fall asleep faster. "Please."

"Alright, erm..." He slides his tongue over his bottom lip and leans in closer to you, elbow pressing into the mattress. "I suppose I can tell you about a dream I had not long ago. You were in it."

"The Hippogriff one?" You tremble.

"No, this is a new one," he smiles when you meet his gaze, finding your fingers peeking through the sheets and taking them into his hands. "It's really stupid, as dreams usually go, but I really like it."

Your fingers are stretched out, as Neville begins to trace over your palm. First he draws a circle and you giggle a little at the feeling.

"This is me," he draws a triangle, "and this is you. It seems like any ordinary day, except you and I have the same classes. In the dream we're both popular. Everyone cheers for us when we get good marks, and even Professor Snape smiles at you."

"No way."

He laughs and traces a shape with lots of spikes. "Yes way. It really seems too good to be true, because there's even a moment where we successfully sneak out at night, we're just in our pajamas and we're watching the stars from the astronomy tower."

"I'm waiting for the 'but'."

"But — here comes the stupid part — you just start flying out of nowhere. One second you're next to me, the next you're just in the sky. I'm freaking out trying to reach for your hand, but you're just so calm about the fact that you mysteriously gained the ability to fly."

You're giggling again, especially as he slaps your palm a few times to emphasise the story. "Accurate reaction."

"And then it just ends with me being able to breath fire."

"What?" You laugh, brows pulling together in amusement. "I wonder what Professor Trelawney would say about that. What all of it might represent."

He draws a line on each of your fingers, slow and tickly. "If it's anything like I've been told before, it probably means bad luck."

"Well I was also in the dream with you, so we'll go through the bad luck together." To his surprise, you thread your fingers through his and squeeze. You're not trembling anymore, you haven't been for the past minute or so, and it doesn't feel like you're being stabbed over and over in the stomach.

"Think you can sleep now?" He asks, fingers hesitantly unravelling.

You nod, grinning at him, those eyes of yours finally shining as bright as they usually do.

"Want me to go get Madame Pomfrey?"

You shake your head. And then your arms are around his neck, head tucked in the space between your bicep and his jawline.

It feels like a millennium till he returns your gesture, arms securing around your waist and back, pulling you in tightly and desperately. The mix of the wing's clinical scent and the smell of baked desserts fills his nose. He could've sworn he'd smelt something like this during Potions class.

"Stay with me," you purr. "Please."

He knows he has class in ten minutes, he knows he can't skip, he knows he'll get in trouble.

So with your arms determined to remain wrapped around each other he bends over, moving till your head meets the pillow. He kicks off one of his school shoes. Then the other.

You feel his knees dip into the mattress beside your thighs, and then you have to part for a moment as he slips under the blankets, his head settling on the pillow right beside yours.

When he's comfortable, you take one of his hands and lower it until he brushes over your clothed belly.

Keeping the heat from entering his ears and cheeks is impossible, as his hand flattens over your stomach, shock evident in his features from your bold action.

"Could you keep it there?" You say, when you feel his uncertainty. "It'll help if the cramps come back." Your own hands smooth over his, trapping him there.

"I will." He swallows thickly. "Are you comfortable?"

You nod. "Are you?"

"Absolutely. Yes. I am."

A content breath passes your lips and you smile, all giddy like, at the ceiling. "Thank you for being here. For being with me always. For not making fun of me being sick all the time. Not calling me Bogey Bug. For... for just being you. For being my most favourite person ever."

"I could really say the same about you." Both your voices are barely above a whisper, seeing as your faces are so close together.

"Thanks Neville," you turn to him, and tap the back of his hand on your belly.

You stare at each other for a moment, and for some reason it doesn't feel wrong. It's not awkward.

Neville breaks the silence. "You... you know how everyone keeps saying that we're... you know going out?"

"Yeah."

Neville pauses for a second, you're staring so intensely, pupils large and beautiful. He tries to swallow past the lump in his throat and squeezes the material of your clothes. He can talk to you, he can ask you the question. He's battled against Bellatrix Lestrange before, he's been put in Gryffindor for a reason. He can ask you. "What do you say we make those rumours... not rumours anymore?"

The corners of your mouth twitch. "You-You mean... you mean like...?"

"Yes. Like that. Like... I want to spend the rest of my life with you, sort of way."

You don't say anything.

He continues, with a small bite of his lip. "Like... I'm completely mad for you and if I don't tell you now I don't think I'll ever get the chance to again."

"This... isn't a dream, is it?"

"Can I prove to you this isn't a dream?"

"Okay."

And it really feels like a dream, as his face leans in and you feels his lips press against the corner of your mouth.

"Did that help?" he whispers.

You twist around to lay on your side, guiding Neville's big hand up to your waist. "You missed, Neville."

"What?"

"You missed."

This time you both lean in, and this time Neville doesn't miss.

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville’s 7th year

The last Horcrux has been destroyed, Voldemort's killed, the Death Eaters have fled. New life has been brought to Hogwarts, sun pooling through the shattered windows of the Great Hall.

People sit on broken stools, torn and ashy blankets, chatter quiet and solemn. A few people manage to tell jokes and liven the mood, others cuddle, kiss, crying tears of relief. Nurses scamper around tending to the badly wounded.

Only...

As Neville limps his way through the hall he desperately scans over the crowds only to realise you're not here. You're not by Madame Pomfrey. You're not by Luna either. Neville finds Ginny's tired but hopeful figure and before he can tap her shoulder, she's already turned to him with a gentle smile.

She shakes her head before he even has a chance to speak. "I haven't seen Y/N. Not since... well not since she took care of Freddie. 'M sorry Neville."

"No," he shakes his head and gives the girl a gentle hug when her voice wavers and her bottom lip quivers. "No, I'm sorry."

"You helped kill Voldemort. That's hardly anything to be sorry for," she smiles again as they part, softly pushing at his shoulder to leave. To keep searching for you. "Don't worry, I'll keep an eye out for her."

Neville sends her a purposeful nod and turns to leave, the sword of Gryffindor still snug in his hand. At times he uses the weapon as a crutch, the pain in his everything starting to take a toll as previous rushes of adrenaline begin to fade. The only thing keeping him going is the thought of you. You and your sneezes, your messy hair, your often nasally voice, your big eyes and equally big grins. You.

He passes what looks to be remnant of the hospital wing's door, merely a pile of wood chips and metal beams now. He hears the distant tweet of a bird, the pitter-patter of loose rubble and someone's sneeze.

The sword clangs to the ground and he's sprinting. Neville rounds the corner of the entrance to the wing and he stops, breath heavy, vision blurry.

You're there, and you're already staring at him, your grin so large and your eyes even more so and you're holding onto something familiar.

"N-Neville?" your voice is soft and so stuffy and gorgeous.

"Achoo, good Godric." His sore legs carry him to your side, and you're running toward him, arms open. And then you jump and he completely forgets about how much pain he's in when he catches you.

You cling to his sweater, to his shoulders, to his neck, to his waist, squeezing him with every bit of strength you've got left.

He's grasping at your hoody, your waist, your hair, your skin, he's touching all of you, scared that if he'll let go you won't be there anymore.

"I love you so much," he says through a trembling voice.

You pull away slightly and return your feet to the ground, legs unwrapping from his hips. You crane your neck to kiss his jaw, and then you kiss his cheek and his other and then finally his lips. And it sets your heart on fire, full of adoration and care and relief. You don't ever want to stop feeling him here, his supple lips against yours, especially as his hands cup your jaw, reeling you in for more and more.

"I love you Neville," you cry when you finally have to pull away to catch your breaths. "Ever since I first met you. You and your twisted ankle."

He chuckles, tenderly wiping a tear from the apple of your cheek with his thumb. He scans over the room for a moment, as he feels your fingers come to dance over the dry trail of blood from his head wound.

"I don't think we're ever gonna leave this place," he says with a caress of your jaw.

Following his gaze, you giggle. Those beds you spent countless nights on, those countless concoctions and medical supplies you've had used on you, they're all here, scattered and battered around the room.

"That's why I came here instead of the Hall," you say, keeping one arm around your boyfriend's waist and unravelling the other to reveal an intact jar of creamy coloured ointment. "I'm so sorry, I must've scared you nuts."

"Scared me to death more like, but all I had to do was listen out for your sneezes. Turns out it isn't that hard to find you."

You poke your tongue out and he laughs. "That's so embarrassing. Always comes back to me being a Bogey Bug."

"Yeah," he smoothly pulls you in for an ardent kiss, "my Bogey Bug."

"You know what else I am?"

You're leaning against his arms that are wrapped around you and he watches as you take off the lid of the jar. Just like his fourth year, you use your fingers to scoop up a teaspoon of the cream.

"What? What else are you?"

You step out and take one of his hands, letting his palm sit over the top of yours. And then the cream is applied over the burns on the back of his hands. In spite of these burns looking way worse than his wound from Potions class back in his fourth year, the pain is still barely felt once the ointment's smoothed over. What's also killing the sting is looking at your breathtaking eyes. He's lost in them, distracted completely.

"I'm also your nurse," you finally say, wiping the excess over your hoody.

Neville's mouth curls into a smirk, snaking his arms around you again and pressing your bodies tightly together. "Well, nurse. My lips are feeling kind of sore, do you think you can fix them?"

You hum, eyes twinkling with mischief as your hands link behind his neck.

His gaze dips to your mouth, trying to fight the heat flowing to his cheeks and ears. There will never be a time when you won't make him nervous and giddy.

You mirror his action, eyes taking their time stare at his lips. "You know what, darling? I think I've got just the thing for you."

[moon-lit-petal]

Believe Me

Neville Longbottom x Fem!Beauxbatons!Reader

Summary: 5 times Dean and Seamus don't believe Neville and the time He proved them wrong.

Warning: not proof read, possibly not so nice friends, Neville being totally in love.

Word Count: 5k

Notes: this takes place when they are much older, I'd like to think that moldy V doesn't exist and the triwizard tournament happens much later in their hogwarts career :) I tried to keep it as ambiguous

----------

The Gryffindor common room was a cozy haven, illuminated by the flickering flames of the fireplace that cast warm shadows on the maroon and gold walls. A rowdy bunch of Gryffindors lounged comfortably on the oversized sofas, laughter and chatter filling the air as they reminisced about their latest escapades at Hogwarts.

"Honestly," Ron said, a frown spreading across his face, "I don’t know what’s worse—having a crush or trying to figure out what to say when you actually talk to them!"

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "Tell me about it. I thought I was doing well with Cho until I accidentally called her 'Hermione' in the middle of a conversation!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, a playful smirk on her lips. "That’s not going to help your case, Harry."

The boys erupted into laughter, the sound bouncing off the stone walls. Dean leaned back, his arms behind his head, a hint of frustration in his voice. "I can’t even get a proper conversation going. It’s like every time I try to flirt, I end up sounding like a complete idiot."

Seamus snickered. "Remember when you tried to impress that girl from Slytherin with your 'amazing' Quidditch skills? You barely made it through the first sentence!"

"That was one time!" Dean retorted, though he couldn’t suppress a sheepish grin.

Just then, Neville spoke up with hesitant confidence.

"I mean, dating isn't that hard when you're with the right person."

The room fell silent, a few eyebrows raised in curiosity. Ron snorted, breaking the stillness. "No offense, Neville, but what do you know about dating? You've never had a girlfriend before, right?"

With a half-hearted shrug and a giddy smile, he looks at his friends. “Well actually, I've been dating this girl for a little while now.”

"Wait, who is she?" Harry asked, genuinely curious.

"She’s from Beauxbatons!" Neville said, his voice gaining confidence. "Her name is Y/N. She’s really nice, we met over the summer when she was visiting some family”"

Seamus squinted skeptically. "A Beauxbatons girl? Come on, Neville, that sounds a bit too good to be true."

Hermione frowned, clearly disapproving of the boys’ reactions. "Guys, come on you shouldn't just dismiss him, I'm sure she's a nice girl Neville." She gave him a small smile, Neville could tell she too, didn't believe him

Ginny crossed her arms and chimed in. "Exactly. Just because you lot can’t seem to get dates doesn’t mean you should tear him down."

Ron raised his hands in mock surrender. "I’m not tearing him down! I’m just saying it’s hard to believe. Neville and a girl from Beauxbatons?"

Neville’s face turned a shade of crimson. "I’m serious! We’ve been writing to each other, and she even sent me a few drawings, she does portraits and sent one shed done of herself"

Laughter erupted around the room, the sound mingling with Neville’s embarrassed smile.

Hermione’s expression softened. "That sounds just lovely Neville. Maybe you could show us next time?"

Neville blushed even deeper. "I’m planning to! Well, I was… but they fell in the black lake the other day and got ruined..”

Seamus grinned. "Well, that's just a bloody shame, isn't it?”

"I swear! I'm not lying!!" Neville replied, sounding both desperate for someone to believe him and annoyed they would think he'd lie about something like this, to begin with.

Ginny smirked. "It's ok Neville, we believe you really."

The boys continued their good-natured teasing, but Hermione and Ginny shot them looks that conveyed they should ease off. Gradually, the teasing softened, and Hermione quickly sought to change the subject.

"So, what about that new potion Professor Snape was on about?" she suggested, her smile brightening, and at the mention of Professor Snape everyone groaned out a whine.

The conversation shifted effortlessly as they delved into tales of misadventures in Potions class, leaving the topic of girlfriends behind, at least for the moment. Laughter filled the room once more, but Neville couldn’t help but shake his head at his friends. He knows they mean well, and as long as he knows he's telling the truth, then they'd eat their words eventually

----------

The greenhouses were buzzing with the sound of shovels scraping soil and the occasional screech from a particularly unruly Mandrake. Neville Longbottom, expertly handling a Venomous Tentacula with gloved hands, chatted absently with Ron as they worked together.

“I was talking to Y/N the other day,” Neville said, his tone casual as he patted down the soil around the plant. “She gave me some really good advice on how to deal with these sorts of plants. Apparently, they grow some massive ones in the Beauxbatons greenhouses.”

Ron looked up from his struggle with his own plant. “Oh yeah? Beauxbatons, right?”

Neville nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, she said they have this whole section dedicated to magical flora that we don’t even study here. She told me about this method they use to calm them down, so they don’t snap at you when you get close.”

Hermione overheard and looked over, curiosity piqued. “Really? I’d love to read up on that. Beauxbatons must have a fantastic Herbology program. Did she mention any specific techniques?”

Neville smiled. “Yeah, something about using lavender essence mixed with dragon dung fertilizer. It keeps them relaxed but still healthy. I’m thinking about trying it on one of the plants here.”

Ron gave him a sideways glance, his expression caught between amusement and doubt. “You’ve got an answer for everything these days, don’t you, Neville? Y/N’s always helping you out, eh?”

“Well, she knows a lot about Herbology,” Neville said earnestly. “We talk about plants all the time.”

Harry, busy with his own re-potting, chuckled softly. “Sounds like you two have a lot in common, Neville. It’s nice to have someone who shares your interests.”

Hermione nodded in agreement. “Exactly. And Beauxbatons is known for their magical plants, so it’s not surprising she’d know a lot. What else has she taught you?”

Before Neville could respond, Seamus, who was struggling with his own plant a few tables away, joined the conversation. “Wait a minute, are we still talking about the mysterious Beauxbatons girlfriend? You’ve got to admit, Neville, it sounds a bit too good to be true. A French girl who’s an expert in magical plants? What are the odds?”

Dean snorted in amusement. “Yeah, Neville, no offense, but you talk about her like she’s perfect. She’s beautiful, smart, loves Herbology… I’m starting to think you’ve been reading too many romance novels.”

Neville flushed, but he shook his head. “No, it’s not like that. She’s real, I promise. She just… understands me. We have a lot in common.”

Ron patted Neville on the back, grinning. “We believe you, mate. It’s just hard to imagine someone who’s basically a Herbology goddess and happens to be your girlfriend. We’ll believe it when we see her.”

Harry, who had been silent for most of the exchange, gave Neville an encouraging smile. “Well, I’m sure she’s real, Neville. It’d be great to meet her one day.”

Seamus, however, couldn’t resist another quip. “Maybe she’ll show up with a rare magical plant to prove it, eh?”

Neville forced a smile but didn’t push the subject further. He knew they didn’t mean to be harsh, but it was clear that, despite their friendly tones, his friends still had their doubts about Y/N. He returned to his work, focusing on the plants.

----------

It was a typical morning in the Great Hall, sunlight streaming through the tall enchanted windows, casting golden beams across the long tables filled with Hogwarts students enjoying their breakfast. The scent of fresh bread, eggs, and pumpkin juice filled the air. Chatter echoed from all sides, students murmuring about Quidditch matches, homework assignments, and weekend plans.

Neville sat at the Gryffindor table, absently pushing his scrambled eggs around his plate. His thoughts were far from breakfast. He had been waiting for weeks now—hoping for a letter or, even better, a package from Y/N.. Their relationship had been going strong, though the distance often made it difficult. But lately, he'd mentioned her so many times that his friends had begun to give him knowing looks, and their teasing, though lighthearted, always made him feel a little self-conscious.

“Oi, Neville! You alright, mate?” Seamus Finnigan asked, nudging him gently. “You’ve been staring at those eggs for ten minutes. Something on your mind?”

Neville smiled faintly, trying to shake off his nervous anticipation. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… waiting for the post.”

At that moment, as if on cue, the familiar sound of wings fluttering through the air filled the hall. Dozens of owls soared through the enchanted ceiling, delivering letters and parcels to their waiting owners. Neville’s heart raced as he scanned the sea of wings, hoping to see something special. And then he saw it—a stunning, silvery owl with long, elegant wings gliding toward him, catching the light as it flew. It was unlike any owl he’d ever seen at Hogwarts.

The owl swooped down gracefully, landing right in front of Neville with a soft hoot. In its talons was a thick package wrapped in delicate lavender-colored paper, sealed with the distinctive wax crest of Beauxbatons. Neville’s eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, he just stared at the package in his lap, hardly believing it.

“Blimey, Neville,” Ron said from across the table, his eyebrows raised. “That’s a fancy delivery.”

“Is that… from your girlfriend?” Hermione asked, looking at the package curiously.

Neville nodded, trying not to look too pleased. “Yeah, it’s from Y/N.”

His friends exchanged glances, but there wasn’t any teasing, just mild surprise. Neville had spoken about Y/N often, but she seemed almost like a mythical figure to them—this beautiful, mysterious girl from France whom none of them had ever met.

“That’s some owl she’s got,” Dean commented, leaning over to get a better look at the package. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one like that.”

Neville nodded again, feeling a bit self-conscious under their gazes. “She mentioned it once. Said it’s a rare breed from France. She’s… pretty proud of it.”

Seamus grinned. “Well, go on then, mate. Open it! Let’s see what she’s sent you.”

Neville hesitated for a moment, feeling all eyes on him. He knew they weren’t trying to be skeptical or mean, but he could sense the curiosity behind their words. His friends had never outright doubted him, but it was clear that after months of hearing about Y/N and not seeing any proof, they were a bit… unsure. Still, there was no mockery in their faces—just genuine interest.

With a deep breath, Neville carefully broke the wax seal and unwrapped the package. Inside was a beautifully embroidered scarf in the deep blue and silver colors of Beauxbatons, along with a folded letter. The scarf was soft, clearly handmade, and it smelled faintly of lavender.

“Wow,” Hermione said, leaning in closer. “That’s lovely, Neville. She made this for you?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Neville said quietly, running his fingers over the delicate stitches. “She’s been learning how to embroider. I, um… mentioned I needed a new scarf for winter, and I guess she remembered.”

Ron nodded appreciatively. “That’s impressive. Not many people make things like this anymore.”

Harry smiled from beside him. “Looks like she really cares about you, Neville.”

Neville smiled, feeling a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the scarf. It felt good to hear that—not just because it was true, but because it seemed like, for once, his friends weren’t doubting him.

But then Seamus, ever the joker, raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You’ve got to admit, though, Neville—it’s almost too perfect. A hand-embroidered scarf? From a Beauxbatons girl who sends you packages by a rare French owl? It’s like something out of a storybook.”

Neville laughed, shaking his head. “I know it sounds a bit… unbelievable, but I swear it’s true. She’s real.”

Dean, who had been eyeing the letter, grinned. “Well, if she keeps sending you things like this, we’ll start believing in miracles.”

Hermione shot Dean a disapproving look, but Neville chuckled along with the others. It wasn’t mean-spirited—they were just having fun. He didn’t mind the light teasing, especially now that he had proof to show them. And even if they found it hard to believe, they weren’t questioning him outright, just amused at the unlikely situation.

“That’ll be the day,” Ron said with a grin, though he quickly added, “But hey, She sounds great.”

Neville folded the scarf carefully and slipped it into his bag, feeling a little lighter. “She is.”

As the conversation shifted back to Quidditch and schoolwork, Neville glanced down at the unopened letter in his hands. He could read it later, in private. For now, he felt content knowing that, whether his friends believed him or not, Y/N was real—and she cared about him enough to send something as special as this.

Even if they still found it hard to imagine, that was enough for Neville. And maybe, just maybe, one day soon, his friends would get to meet her and see for themselves that she wasn’t just a figment of his imagination. But until then, he’d hold on to the scarf, the letter, and the quiet certainty that she was thinking of him as much as he was thinking of her.

----------

The Gryffindor common room was quieter than usual, the usual hustle and bustle replaced with a mellow atmosphere as the school year drew to a close. Most of the students had already packed their things, their trunks neatly stacked and waiting by the fireplace. The chairs around the room were occupied by groups of friends chatting, playing games, or simply lounging around, savoring the last few moments before heading home for the summer.

Neville sat with Seamus, Dean, and a couple of other Gryffindors near the windows, gazing out at the grounds. The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow on the stone walls.

“I can't believe the year’s over already,” Dean said, leaning back in his chair. “Feels like we were just getting back from Christmas break.”

“Yeah, crazy,” Seamus agreed, his tone relaxed. “But I’m not going to miss the essays.”

Neville, absently fiddling with his wand, smiled. “I was telling Y/N about how busy it’s been. She’s had a lot going on too. The end of the year at Beauxbatons is apparently just as hectic as here.”

Seamus shot him a quick glance, his expression neutral, though Dean exchanged a brief look with him. “Y/N, huh?” Seamus said, not missing a beat. “Sounds like she’s got it rough over there.”

Neville nodded, completely unaware of Seamus’s inner skepticism. “Yeah, she’s been swamped. But we’re planning to meet up over the summer. She might even come to England for a bit.”

“That’s great, mate,” Dean chimed in, his voice casual though he raised his eyebrows slightly.

Neville stood up suddenly as if remembering something important. “Oh no! I forgot to pack my Astrronomy textbooks. I’ll be right back.”

With that, he hurried off to his dorm room, leaving the rest of them sitting there. The moment Neville was out of earshot, Seamus turned to the others with an exaggerated sigh.

“Alright,” Seamus said, leaning forward. “I like Neville, you all know that, but I’m telling you, there is no way Y/N exists.”

Dean grinned, leaning in as well. “You’re still stuck on that?”

Seamus shrugged, but the look on his face said he was convinced. “Come on, Dean. You’ve heard him talk about her for months—perfect French girlfriend from Beauxbatons who just happens to love magical plants as much as he does? I mean, sure, it could be true, but she’s never sent a picture, she’s never visited Hogwarts, and the only proof we’ve got are a few letters that could be from anyone.”

One of the younger Gryffindors, who had been listening in, piped up. “So, you think Neville’s lying? He doesn’t seem like the type to make something like that up.”

Seamus shook his head quickly. “No, I don’t think he’s lying, not really. I think he believes it. But I’m just saying—it sounds like he’s being catfished. It’s not like he’s met her in person since they started writing. For all we know, it could be some bloke from Durmstrang having a laugh.”

Dean chuckled. “You reckon someone’s really going that far to mess with Neville? That’s pretty dedicated.”

Seamus leaned back, his arms crossed. “Look, I’m not trying to be mean. I just don’t think she’s real. Or if she is, maybe she’s not exactly what Neville thinks. It’s just a bit… convenient, isn’t it? All these grand stories, but no one’s ever seen her.”

One of the girls nearby, who had been half-listening, frowned. “But Neville doesn’t seem like he’s making it up. He talks about her like she’s the real deal.”

“I know, that’s what makes me feel bad about doubting him,” Seamus admitted. “But you’ve got to admit it’s a bit suspicious. Every time she’s supposed to visit, something comes up. She’s ‘too busy,’ or ‘there’s something going on at Beauxbatons.’ It’s been almost a year and still no sign of her.”

Dean raised a hand to stop Seamus. “Alright, alright. But what if she is real and just… busy?”

Seamus snorted softly, though his tone was lighter. “Then she’s the busiest girlfriend in the world. Look, I’m not saying I’d tell Neville to his face that I don’t believe her. The poor bloke would be crushed. But between us… I just don’t see it.”

There was a brief lull in the conversation, and Seamus’s words hung in the air. The group seemed divided—some more skeptical, others wanting to believe in Neville’s story.

“Maybe she’ll surprise us,” one of the younger students said. “Maybe she’ll show up next year and you’ll all feel silly.”

Seamus grinned, though his expression remained doubtful. “If she shows up, I’ll buy Neville a drink. But until then… I’m betting we’re in for another year of stories about a girl we’ll never meet.”

As they laughed and talked, the door to the boys’ dormitory creaked open, and Neville came back down the stairs, his arms full of books.

“Found them,” Neville said, smiling as he returned to his spot by the window. “I almost forgot the Mooncalf studies Y/N recommended too.”

Seamus caught Dean’s eye but quickly smiled at Neville. “Glad you found everything, mate. All set for the summer, then?”

“Yeah,” Neville said, sitting down and looking a little wistful. “Just can’t wait to see her.”

Seamus nodded, his tone friendlier now. “Hope it all works out, Nev.”

As the conversation moved on to other things, the quiet skepticism lingered, but none of them had the heart to say anything to Neville directly. As much as they doubted Y/N’s existence, they couldn’t bring themselves to crush Neville’s enthusiasm. They just hoped, in their own way, that somehow, Y/N would turn out to be real after all.

----------

The Hogwarts Express rattled along the tracks, carrying its excited students back to school for another year. Laughter, chatter, and the occasional call of a vendor selling sweets filled the air as students reunited after the summer holiday, exchanging stories and catching up on the latest news.

In one of the compartments, Neville sat with Seamus, Dean, and a few other Gryffindors, a wide grin on his face as he animatedly recounted his summer adventures.

“… and then we went to this amazing garden in Kew! She couldn’t believe how many magical plants were hidden in plain sight. I’ve never seen her so excited,” Neville said, his eyes sparkling as he spoke about Y/N for the umpteenth time since they’d boarded the train.

Seamus leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, nodding along. “That sounds pretty great, Neville. So, you finally got to go on a proper date, huh?”

Neville beamed. “Yeah! We went on a few, actually. We had the best time. She was in London visiting her family for a couple of weeks, so we got to meet up almost every day.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, curious. “You said she was visiting family before, right? Didn’t she have plans to stay longer?”

“Yeah, she did,” Neville admitted, his tone dropping slightly, “but something came up. Her family had to leave earlier than expected, so she didn’t get to meet you guys like we’d planned.” He looked apologetic as he said it, clearly disappointed that his friends hadn’t been able to meet Y/N again.

“That’s too bad,” Dean said, sharing a glance with Seamus. “We were looking forward to it.”

“Yeah, me too,” Neville sighed, but then perked up again. “But we did take loads of pictures! I wanted to show you all, but… uh…” He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “She took the photos with her by accident when she left. We were using her camera, and she packed it with all her stuff.”

Seamus blinked, his expression carefully neutral. “So, no pictures?”

Neville shook his head, he saw the clear skepticism beneath Seamus’s question but brushed it off. “No, but she’s going to send them by owl as soon as she can. She promised. There were some really good ones too—us in front of the Leaky Cauldron, at Kew Gardens, and a few near the Tower of London. I can’t wait to show you all.”

Seamus exchanged another glance with Dean, a small smile tugging at his lips, though he kept it from looking too patronizing. “Sounds like it was a great time, mate.”

“Oh, it was,” Neville said earnestly. “Y/N’s amazing. We even talked about coming up with ways to visit more often during the year. Maybe meet up during the Hogsmeade weekends. I’m going to send her a letter as soon as we get back to Hogwarts.”

Seamus nodded along, though his smile faltered slightly. “Yeah, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Dean shifted in his seat, glancing out the window for a moment before leaning forward. “So, Neville, you said her family comes to London often, right? Does she have a lot of family here?”

“Her dad’s English,” Neville explained. “Her mum is French, so they stay over there most of the time but they come back to visit every summer, and sometimes during the holidays. That’s how we managed to spend so much time together.”

Dean nodded slowly, while Seamus leaned forward just a little. “And you didn’t think to borrow one picture, maybe a keepsake for yourself?” he asked lightly. There was no malice in his voice, but there was an unmistakable undertone of doubt.

Neville ignored it. “I didn’t need to. We’ve been writing so much, and she’s going to send the pictures soon. Besides, I’ve got her letters, and I brought back a few things we picked up together. Look.” He pulled out a small, intricately woven bracelet from his bag. “We got these matching bracelets from a little magical shop near Diagon Alley. Hers has a charm for luck, and mine’s for protection.”

Seamus studied the bracelet for a moment before leaning back. “That’s nice, Neville.”

Dean smiled at the bracelet, genuinely trying to be supportive. “Yeah, it looks great. You two must’ve had a good time.”

“We did,” Neville replied, relaxing now that he was surrounded by his friends. “She’s just… brilliant. I really wish you could’ve met her. I know you’d all get along.”

Seamus offered a friendly smile, though his eyes flickered with doubt. “Yeah, maybe next time, Neville.”

The compartment grew quiet for a moment, and the sound of the train clacking along the tracks filled the space. Outside, the countryside whizzed by in a blur of green fields and distant hills, and the feeling of excitement for the new school year was still palpable.

Dean, always the diplomat, broke the silence. “Well, I’m glad you had a good summer, Neville. Hopefully next time, the timing will work out better.”

Neville nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, I’m sure it will. She really wants to meet you all. She’s heard so much about you.”

Seamus shot Dean a look, and Dean just shrugged, his face carefully neutral. No one wanted to say it, but the story about Y/N was starting to sound a bit too convenient—another summer gone by, another set of plans that didn’t quite line up. And now, no photos to show for it, either.

But despite their growing doubts, Seamus and Dean weren’t about to crush Neville’s enthusiasm. Not after he had spent the entire train ride practically glowing with happiness. Still, once Neville got up to stretch his legs and grab some snacks from the trolley, Seamus leaned toward Dean with a raised eyebrow.

“So… still no Y/N, huh?”

Dean chuckled quietly. “Still no Y/N.”

“I swear, if she’s real, I’ll eat my own shoe,” Seamus muttered under his breath. “Every time he gets close to introducing her, something comes up.”

Dean glanced out the window again before replying. “I don’t know, Seamus. Maybe she’s real, but there’s just bad timing. Or maybe…”

“Maybe she’s in his head,” Seamus finished, his tone soft but resigned. “I just don’t get how one person could have this much bad luck when it comes to us meeting her.”

Dean shook his head, a small smile on his lips. “At this point, I just hope for Neville’s sake that she’s real. You can see how much he cares about her.”

“Yeah,” Seamus sighed, leaning back in his seat. “I hope so too.”

When Neville returned with a handful of Chocolate Frogs and a Butterbeer, his smile was as bright as ever, blissfully unaware of the quiet conversation that had just passed between his friends. And as the Hogwarts Express continued its journey, his thoughts were already on the letters he’d be sending to Y/N once they arrived at school.

----------

The atmosphere in the Great Hall was buzzing with excitement. The start of a new school year always brought surprises, but this time, there was something different in the air. The students were seated at their house tables, eagerly awaiting the feast, when Professor Dumbledore rose from his seat to address the hall.

“Welcome, students, to another year at Hogwarts!” Dumbledore’s voice echoed throughout the room, immediately capturing everyone’s attention. “I am particularly pleased to announce that this year, we will be hosting a most extraordinary event… the Triwizard Tournament!”

A murmur spread through the hall, rippling with whispers and shocked expressions. Neville, seated at the Gryffindor table with Seamus, Dean, Harry, Hermione, and Ron, exchanged confused glances with the others.

“Triwizard Tournament?” Dean muttered. “That wasn’t in the usual announcements.”

“Yeah, didn’t see that coming,” Seamus added, leaning in to hear more.

Dumbledore continued, explaining the rich history of the tournament, how it had been revived, and the prestigious honor of being chosen as a champion. Then, with a wave of his hand, he motioned to the entrance of the hall.

“And now, may I introduce our esteemed guests from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and Durmstrang Institute.”

The heavy doors at the end of the hall swung open, and the students of Beauxbatons Academy entered. They moved with grace and poise that captivated everyone, wearing their sky-blue silk robes as they marched in perfect unison. Neville’s heart raced as he scanned the group, but he couldn’t spot Y/N among them.

“Who are they?” Harry asked, squinting to get a better look.

“I don’t know,” Hermione replied, intrigued. “But they look amazing.”

“They’re all so… elegant,” Ron said, trying to take it all in. “Do you think they’re all that good-looking?”

“Probably,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes playfully.

As the Beauxbatons students completed their entrance, Neville’s heart dropped when he didn’t see Y/N. Just when he thought he might be imagining things, she stepped forward, performing acrobatic flips and graceful spins, her hair flowing behind her like a cascade of river waves. She looked more stunning than Neville could ever have described.

“Bloody hell, who is that?” Dean whispered, eyes wide in disbelief.

Seamus was staring, frozen in place. “No way…”

When the introductions were done, Neville leaned closer to his friends. “That’s her! That’s Y/N!”

Harry raised an eyebrow, glancing between Neville and the group. “Wait, who’s Y/N? Which one?”

Neville pointed toward Y/N, who was beaming with joy alongside her classmates. “The one in the front! I didn’t know she was coming!”

The others turned to look, their expressions shifting from curiosity to disbelief. “No way!” Ron exclaimed, glancing at Neville. “You weren’t joking about her being real?”

Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. “She’s absolutely brilliant!”

Before anyone could say another word, a voice called out from across the hall.

“Neville!”

Neville’s head snapped up, and there she was, weaving through the crowd, her face lighting up when she spotted him. “Y/N!” he breathed.

The next thing he knew, Y/N was rushing toward him, a wide smile on her face. “Neville!” she called again, and in an instant, she was there, throwing her arms around him.

Without hesitation, she began planting kisses all over his face—on his cheeks, forehead, and nose—her laughter bubbling up as she clung to him. “I’ve missed you so much!” she said between kisses.

The entire Gryffindor table stared in stunned silence. Seamus’s mouth was hanging open, while Dean could only blink in disbelief. All around the hall, students who had been casually talking or laughing stopped to watch the unexpected display. Whispers started spreading like wildfire, but Neville didn’t care—he was too overjoyed, too caught up in the moment.

“Y/N!” Neville finally managed to say, his face flushed from the attention. “I—I missed you too! I didn’t know you were coming! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Y/N giggled and pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, her hands still resting on his shoulders. “I wanted to surprise you, silly. You should’ve seen your face when I came in!” Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

Neville was too overwhelmed to respond properly. His heart felt like it was about to burst from happiness. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he said, grinning ear to ear.

“I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere,” Y/N said softly, wrapping her arms around him again in a tight hug.

The Gryffindor table was still frozen in place, watching the entire scene unfold with wide eyes. Seamus finally found his voice and leaned toward Dean, whispering, “Well… that is not what I expected at all...”

Dean shook his head in disbelief. “You’re not the only one, mate.”

Y/N finally pulled away from Neville, her smile never fading. She glanced around at his friends, who were still recovering from the shock. “You must be Neville’s friends,” she said brightly, offering them a cheerful wave. “It’s so nice to finally meet you all!”

“Y-Yeah, we’ve heard… a lot about you,” Dean stammered, offering a friendly, albeit awkward smile.

Y/N laughed, completely oblivious to the lingering disbelief. “I hope all good things!”

“Definitely,” Seamus managed to say, shooting Neville a look that was a mixture of awe and apology. “Welcome to Hogwarts, Y/N.”

As the rest of the Great Hall resumed their chatter, Neville stood there with Y/N by his side, his face glowing with pride. After a year of doubt, teasing, and skepticism, here she was—real, vibrant, and wonderful.

For once, Neville didn’t need to say anything. His friends finally believed him.

[luvvyouforever]

suddenly, neville {n.l. x reader}

↳ three times that neville is there for you when heartbreak strikes and the one time he decides to do something about it.

↳ content: sadness, feelings of self-doubt/insecurities, slander against almost every hogwarts boy, fluff, friends to lovers, pining, neville being a shy sweetie. word count: 1684

1.

"and then he," sniff, "he told me he never liked me. that him and dean were just joking." you wiped tears from your eyes violently and neville felt his heart tearing in two for you. "i thought they were nice! why would seamus lie like that?"

"i don't know," neville answered honestly. he knew that his friends were pranksters, sometimes taking jokes a step too far. but he had never expected his best friend to come to him crying over a stupid idea the two had devised. he felt angry with them. how could they have done that to someone as beautiful as you?

"i just don't get it! why does everyone else get to have crushes and first kisses?" you huffed frustratingly. neville's first thought was that he should have kissed you then but his second thought was much more controlled and much more him. he reached out, patting your back and trying to inject as much comfort into the touch as he could. you stayed like that for a few minutes as your tears subdued. one final sniff and you were rising from neville's bed. "i'm sorry for this. you're the first person i wanted to come to."

neville rose immediately after, coming to stand at your side. even at thirteen years old, he towered above you. "don't apologize," he said in a serious tone. "it's okay. i'm here for you. always-oof-"

neville's voice was cut off by your frame crashing into his, pulling him into a tight hug. he wasn't used to the touch or the affection and after immediately tensing, he relaxed and wrapped his own arms around you. something bloomed inside neville's chest and though he tried to push it down, you couldn't help but hear his heartbeat quicken.

2.

neville's experience at the yule ball wasn't as fun as he had hoped for. ginny was a great date and he danced through the entire night but something in his chest didn't feel right. you weren't there, enjoying the once-in-a-lifetime experience with him. he thought that, at first, you were just late or maybe he couldn't spot you among the crowd. but two hours into the night and he hadn't seen you once.

he left the ball eventually and his first and only mission was to seek you out. he slipped through the halls of the castle, narrowly avoiding snape's patrol, in search of you. his feet took him toward an empty stairwell which echoed with quiet sounds of crying.

"y/n?" he called out timidly. the sniff from further up the stairs told him all he needed to know and eventually, he was standing before you. your dress was beautiful, your hair was done in an intricate updo that he knew must've taken hours, and yet you were sobbing alone. "what's going on?"

"cormac...he stood me up. didn't show, didn't owl me. nothing," you said, voice barely above a whisper. he could tell that you had been crying in this very same stairwell for a while based on the puffiness of your eyes and the rasp in your throat. gingerly, he took a seat by your side.

without thinking, your head leaned on his shoulder and the pins in your hair poked his skin. something about his presence visibly eased your pain and he was so glad that he could offer you that.

really, neville wanted to be the one to take you to the yule ball. to be the one that watched you walk down the stairs in your dress. to be the one that danced with you all night long, breathless and laughing. but he was too nervous to do such a thing and instead asked ginny. neville silently reprimanded himself for not being more brave and said, "you look beautiful, you know?"

he could feel your smile against his shoulder. that was all he needed.

3.

"hey neville...did you hear that y/n broke up with zabini last night?" seamus whispered. "apparently it was a whole big scene."

neville didn't know about that actually and hearing it from seamus first hurt him more than he wanted to admit. instead of answering his friend, he poured his attention in to brewing his potion to hopefully get out of snape's class unscathed.

a few hours had passed until he entered the greenhouse for his advanced herbology practices class which he had begged you to take with him. and there you were, carefully plucking weeds out of a venomous tentacula pot. "hey!" he said, coming up behind you.

you turned and he saw the night's effects on your face. dark circles, puffy eyes, a warm sweater covering your body instead of your usual perfect uniform. something tugged at his heart and if he could, he would've wrapped you up and swept you away immediately.

"hey nev," you said with a forced smile. "i'm assuming you heard the news since you're looking at me like i'm a kicked puppy."

he didn't respond but nodded, pulling on his own gardening gloves to assist you in your task. he knew you'd tell him about it without him having to pull it out of you.

"he was nice and all...but he was really mean sometimes and his friends didn't like me. i figured i was too good to put up with more comments about my hair and my uniform and my house but now i'm not so sure." there was a crack in your voice that you cursed.

this time, neville didn't hesitate to pull you into his arms. he had gotten taller, stronger, braver. he was still a gangly mess of limbs but now he knew how to control them and how to offer the best hugs he could. his arms were tight around your shoulders and a few tears slipped from your eyes. his head leaned down and laid upon yours.

"you are too good for that, y/n. you're too good for all of them. i just wish you could see that," neville whispered against your hair. you took in his words, digested them one by one, and felt slightly better. you pulled away and looked at him with watery eyes. from that moment forward, neville knew he would do anything to preserve your happiness and bring a smile to your face. he knew that he was in love with his best friend of six years.

4.

"i don't know what you want from me, draco! i've tried to please you and make you happy a hundred times but it's never good enough!"

"no, it never is and it never will be! god, can't you see i stopped liking you weeks ago? with your nagging and neediness and crying, i don't think you'd ever be good enough for anyone."

neville stopped in his tracks outside the greenhouses. two voices yelled back and forth at each other and he easily distinguished them as y/n and presumably her now ex-boyfriend. neville's fist clenched at the words draco spat at his best friend.

suddenly, he heard stomping and draco flew by him in a rage. quickly, he rushed to where the voices were coming from and found you on the cold ground, upset but not crying. you didn't even look up when he came over and he took it upon himself to sit down next to you. no words were exchanged until-

"i don't know why i try. i don't know why nothing ever works for me. why i keep crying over boys, stupid boys. i don't know why i feel so worthless when those stupid boys break up with me. the worst thing, i think, is that i believe every word malfoy just said. that i won't be good enough for anyone. i will just graduate, work, live alone in a cottage, and watch everyone else fall in love around me but never with me," you rambled. words of self-doubt kept coming from your lips but you didn't know how to stop them. it was a ever-flowing stream of consciousness that neville bared for you. finally, your lips stopped moving and your mouth stopped producing sound. you took in a shaky breath and began to stand. neville's hand flew to your wrist and pulled you back down to the ground.

there, his eyes met yours with such an unwavering intensity that kept you planted. "listen to me, y/n," he started, "i have watched you cry over too many boys to deal with this any longer. not a single one of them deserved you or your love. you give so much and it crushes me that you get so little. do not believe draco, or zabini, or cormac when they make you feel like you're not good enough because you are. you're beautiful, so beautiful, and intelligent, kind, caring, witty, and anyone would be lucky to have you. i know because i have fallen so in love with you the past seven years and even in your ruined yule ball dress or your messy gardening clothes, i feel lucky to be by your side."

your eyes were wide at neville's confession but he didn't back down or take back his words. in fact, he felt relief knowing that his feelings were in the air now. after seven years of growing, he felt brave enough to admit things like that and do things like this.

"maybe the reason nothing ever worked is because i was always seeking you in everyone else," you finally whispered. neville's hand gravitated towards yours and like a moth drawn to an achingly beautiful flame, his lips found yours.

the kiss was everything you had been looking for. sweet, firm, passionate, but gentle. neville would never be mean to you, never degrade you, lie to you, stand you up, or do anything but offer peace and happiness as long as you live.

after a minute of pulling apart then reconnecting, neville leaned his forehead against yours. "i didn't know you had gotten so cliche, blossom." seven years of holding you had led to this and neville wouldn't change a single part of the journey.

[mastermindmiko]

Neville Longbottom Mood board

Masterlist Neville Pinterest board

All of these pictures are from Pinterest and are not mine.

[tisayemate]

Merlin.

Neville Longbottom x Hufflepuff!Reader

FLUFF!!

Summary: falling for the clumsy doofus.

AN: this was inspired by what happened last night, I attended Grad night (which is my school’s little graduation party) and realised I really really like this guy who I’ve casually spoken with in class. He’s exactly what I’d want in a husband but there’s a lot of things in between anything happening for us so yea nothing’s going to happen… I guess I’ll just transfer the experience to our lovely Neville. Enjoy!

UPDATE: (2/1/25) I found out he has a girlfriend now. It’s not meant to be guys. But wtv, I trust that the Lord will send me a true man of God. 🥹 (I’m catholic, I don’t think I mentioned that before)

The new seating chart was a disaster, at least as far as you were concerned. Of all people, you’d been paired with Neville Longbottom, a boy who had a reputation for stumbling over roots—both literally and metaphorically.

You approached your greenhouse workstation, already bracing for frustration. But when you saw him standing there, sleeves rolled up, nervously fiddling with his trowel, he turned to you with a warm, crooked smile.

“Well, if it isn’t my new partner in crime,” he said, his tone light but tentative.

You tilted your head, unimpressed but curious. “Didn’t realize we were committing crimes in Herbology now. Starting small, are we?”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Baby steps. First, we master Flutterby Bushes. Then, who knows? Maybe world domination.”

You snorted, despite yourself, and set your bag down beside him. “If this is your plan for taking over the world, you might need a better partner.”

“Maybe,” Neville said, eyes twinkling. “But I think you’ll do just fine.”

Your lips twitched, threatening to betray the irritation you’d convinced yourself you felt.

Today’s task involved transplanting Flutterby Bushes, which were sensitive to emotion and required a careful hand. Perfect, you thought sarcastically. A recipe for disaster with someone like Neville.

The first few minutes passed in tentative silence. Neville focused intently on untangling a particularly stubborn root system, his tongue peeking out in concentration. You rolled your eyes, deciding to take the lead.

“You’re overthinking it,” you said, reaching over to adjust his grip. Your fingers brushed his, and he startled, nearly dropping the plant.

“Sorry,” he said, his cheeks tinged pink. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “Just… here. Like this.”

He watched you carefully, mimicking your movements. “You know,” he began, a teasing lilt in his voice, “you’re not half-bad at this. I thought Hufflepuffs were all about caring for magical creatures, not plants.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave. Didn’t you flinch at the sight of a bowtruckle last week?”

Neville laughed, full and genuine, the sound warming the chilly air in the greenhouse. “Okay, fair. But in my defense, that bowtruckle had intentions.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “Intentions? Of what, exactly? Poking you to death?”

“Hey, don’t underestimate the power of a well-placed poke,” he shot back, eyes sparkling with mischief.

The banter continued, and before you knew it, the initial awkwardness had melted away. Neville’s clumsiness was still there—he managed to spill an entire pot of soil onto the table at one point—but his easy humor and self-awareness turned every mistake into a shared joke.

“Merlin, Longbottom,” you said, brushing dirt off your robes for the third time, “you’re lucky you’re funny. Otherwise, I’d have ditched you by now.”

“Lucky me,” he said with a mock bow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “But admit it—you’d miss me if I weren’t here.”

You opened your mouth to retort, then closed it again, caught off guard by how right he was.

Over the next few weeks, working with Neville became something you looked forward to. His wit and charm were understated but undeniable, and he had a knack for making you feel at ease, even when things went wrong.

When your Flutterby Bush began to wilt after a botched replanting, you felt a pang of frustration. “Great. It hates me,” you muttered, glaring at the drooping leaves.

Neville stepped closer, his voice gentle. “It doesn’t hate you. You’re just holding it too tight. Here.” He reached out, his hands brushing against yours as he repositioned the plant. “See? It’s all about trust.”

You glanced at him, startled by the quiet confidence in his voice. For a moment, the greenhouse seemed quieter, the only sound the rustle of leaves and your own heartbeat.

When the holidays arrived, you found yourself thinking about Neville more than you expected. At home, surrounded by family, you kept catching yourself smiling at memories of his quick wit, his awkward yet endearing mannerisms, and the way he could make you laugh even on the worst days.

By the time the Yule Ball rolled around, you’d realized something important: Neville Longbottom wasn’t just a good partner. He was… well, something more.

When you saw him waiting at the entrance to the Great Hall, your breath caught. His dress robes were simple but elegant, and there was a confidence in his posture that you hadn’t seen before.

“You clean up well,” you said, trying to sound casual.

“So do you,” he replied, his voice soft but steady. “Shall we?”

The dance was magical, but it wasn’t the music or the decorations that made it special. It was Neville—his warm smile, his steady hand on yours, the way he looked at you like you were the most important person in the room.

As the night ended, he walked you to the courtyard, the cool night air brushing against your skin.

The courtyard was quiet, the cool air brushing against your flushed cheeks as you turned to Neville. He stood close, his fingers fidgeting nervously with the hem of his robe, but his eyes—soft and steady—held yours.

“You looked amazing tonight,” you said softly, the words spilling out before you could second-guess them.

Neville blinked, his face lighting up with a sly smile. “You looked rather… dashing tonight,” he said, his voice low but earnest.

Your cheeks burned, and you looked down, unable to hide your smile. “Oh, thanks,” you murmured, your heart racing. Butterflies fluttering around in your stomach.

He tilted his head, watching you intently. There was something in the way your blush lingered that made his own nerves fall away. Slowly, deliberately, he reached for your hand, his thumb brushing against your knuckles.

When you looked up, his gaze locked with yours, and without a word, he leaned in. His lips met yours in a kiss that was soft and tentative, yet it sent a spark racing through you.

It was over too quickly, but as he pulled back, the shy grin on his face said everything. And for once, neither of you needed words.

AN: well, this is what I can only wish had happened. HES SO FUNNY AND AMAZING AND SMART AND SUCH A GREEN FLAG 😭MAN CAN COOK AND TOLD ME WOMEN IN POWER ARE HOT LIKE- bloody hell his future wife/husband is so fucking lucky 😭

[harrypotterandthefandomaccount]

brushing of noses

pairing: neville longbottom x fem!reader (use of she/her pronouns)

request: Hello! I'd love to order from you, Neville x female reader. Reader is Snape's goddaughter, reader's parents trust Snape a lot so they made him reader's godfather and he can watch her almost ALL the time at school. Reader and Neville become boyfriend and girlfriend (THEY LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH), you know, reader is extremely affectionate with Neville even in public, hugging him, wanting to kiss him every so often and although it's nice to have his bubble of love, it also gives Neville some fear since he feels Snape's murderous gaze on himself every time his girlfriend wants to express her love xD Snape would be like a jealous father and Neville the son-in-law afraid that Snape would poison him

warnings: yule ball is in fifth year instead of fourth, snape being snape

note: i've been WAITING for someone to send me a neville request, he deserves all the love in the world <3

your parents trusted your uncle severus a whole lot, and part of you believed most of that trust stemmed from the fact that he works at hogwarts and is able to keep a watchful eye on you.

they, as in your parents, have never denied your suspicions, but simply respond with, "uncle severus has shown how much he cares for you, and being a professor at your school is just a bonus."

oh, it was indeed a bonus. but at times it was as if you were suffocating.

you loved neville longbottom more than anything in the world, and him, you.

ever since that god-awful professor gilderoy lockhart had unleashed pixies into the classroom and strung neville high up into the air, questioning, "why me?" neville genuinely believed that he was never going to get a break. however, that changed once he heard the incantation, "wingardian leviosa!" and he felt his body being lifted until he hit the floor.

your second-year self had rushed over to him, asking if he was alright after the fiasco. he looked up at you, eyes wide in admiration while nodding his head, "t-thank you, y/n!"

you had smiled brightly, "of course neville! now, let's give those pixies a piece of our minds, yeah?"

from then on, you and neville were two peas in a pod. he knew of you and your family, yet was never one to judge too quickly. sure, your family had power in the wizarding world, but he never heard of any ties to you-know-who or even the malfoys. maybe you were good.

and that you were.

as time went on, well into your third year, neville had learned that you were genuinely the nicest, sweetest person he had ever known. he knew you like all of his plants, and had even named one of his mallowsweet leaves after you. you had patience for him, were willing to hear him talk about herbology or his parents, or how much gran upset him whenever she said that he would never live up to their family's expectations.

as your friendship evolved, you had eventually told neville of snape's relation to you in your third year, calling him "uncle sev" as neville looked at you as though you had three heads. you wanted neville to know that professor snape just wanted to look after you, and if snape was ever mean to him, you would talk to him.

by fourth year, it was evident that you and neville longbottom were best friends - and uncle severus was not a fan. his rude comments toward neville seemed to intensify and though he wanted to say something to you, he was not one to step into family business. he had never told you about what your uncle would say, but just the glares that he would get from snape if he were around you was enough to shut his mouth.

then, by merlin, on the train to hogwarts in the beginning of your fifth year, neville had asked you to be his girlfriend. while he was unbelievably nervous because he did not want to face snape's wrath, you held his hands in a hidden corridor of the express and he calmed almost immediately. your eyes had lit up and allowed neville to hold your face between his hands, your noses lightly brushing. you had considered that your first kiss.

neville loved you with his whole heart, but sometimes he thought that you actually wanted him killed by professor snape.

you loved showing neville attention, whether it be holding his hand when walking to class, kissing his cheek at breakfast, rubbing noses in the transfiguration courtyard, or, at this present moment, kissing under the starry night of the great hall during the yule ball.

neville had asked you weeks ago when you cuddled in his bed, poster curtains giving you both privacy as he gently ran his fingers over your back. your head was on his chest as his head laid atop of yours, pressing his lips into your hair ever so gently.

"petal," he began, "i know this is probably a given, but would you like to go to the yule ball with me?"

you lifted your head, an adoring smile on your face as you lifted a hand to his cheek, "of course, handsome. i would love to."

neville blushed and pulled you closer, his free hand catching your cheek as you both leaned in, lips meeting in a soft kiss. with a rub of your noses as you both pulled away, you gave a soft laugh, "I'm going to blow your socks off, longbottom."

neville brushed some hair out of your eyes, "you do everyday, petal."

you were right, of course. your dress had simply blown neville away and he was rendered speechless when you had walked down the stairs. you met your boyfriend at the bottom of the staircase, "where are your socks?"

neville chuckled, dipping his head as he grabbed your hand, "off somewhere in the world, i suppose, dove. I'm not sure that I'm ready to show you off to the school, you uncle especially."

you blushed, brushing your nose with his, "I'm only focused on you, nev. plus, my uncle can shove it tonight. now c'mon, i wanna dance with you."

the ball was spectacular, and it was an experience to be within a huge group of students dancing together as music played beautifully in the background. however, through the night, a slow dance was needed, and though neville hadn't seen your uncle severus yet, he was still nervous to put his hands on your waist.

you had looked up at him, settling his nerves immediately. with a small smile, you wrapped both arms around his neck, "just me and you, handsome."

he grasped onto your waist, breathing a bit steadier, "just us, petal." neville leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss as you sighed, relaxing into him. he had that effect on you, calming you and just allowing you to feel him.

he pulled away, admiration clear in his eyes, "i love you, flower. with all my being."

tears found themselves at your waterline as you smiled at him, holding his cheek in your hand, "and i love you, nev. more than you could ever know."

soon enough, the song ended and you had excused yourself to the bathroom, kissing neville's cheek before you left. he watched you go from one of the pillars, eyes following your figure as far as he could just to see you.

that was until one professor severus snape stepped into his view.

neville let out a yelp, taking a step back and meeting the cold stone of the pillar. severus towered over him and his eyes were the most unkind he had ever seen.

"pr-professor snape, didn't see you there! enjoying the ball?" neville asked, voice full of nerves as he prepared himself for his untimely death.

snape almost growled at neville as he whimpered, "don't play coy with me, longbottom. who do you think you are, kissing my goddaughter like that? did you poison her with amortentia? I'll have you found out, longbottom, and torture you until you are deemed worthy of mercy."

neville stopped shaking, his fear turning into...anger? he furrowed his brows, "amortentia, sir? you really think i would do that to someone as, as beautiful, as kind, as loving as y/n? no, sir, respectfully, you have it all wrong."

snape glared, "watch your words, longbottom."

"no, sir - i think you better watch yours," neville began, "i love your goddaughter, and i am doing everything in my power to keep her safe, to protect her from this world, and she has shown me what it is like to love so strongly, that it hurts. she is my world, professor snape, and while i am deathly afraid of you, she is worth it. so, in the words of my girlfriend, shove it."

both men hadn't realized it, but you were back from the bathroom, directly behind your uncle as neville had confessed everything to snape. your breath hitched, and snape turned around, eyes meeting yours as a smile appeared on your face. snape glanced at neville, the tiniest hint of a smirk on his face, before he turned and kissed your forehead. then, he was off.

you immediately pranced onto neville, kissing him with all the love you could muster. your heart was full, as was his, and neville couldn't stop his heart from beating so fast. neville pulled away, letting you breathe as you laid your hands on his chest.

you played with the buttons on his suit, "he wasn't too mean, was he?"

neville shook his head, "nothing i couldn't handle, flower. all for you."

with a small nod, you looked at neville, "just give him time, you'll grow on him. with the way you put him in his place, seems like you've already proven yourself. not that you need to, nev, uncle sev is just-"

neville rubbed his nose with yours, "i know what you meant, petal. i just hope i didn't overstep and he poisons me tomorrow morning."

you giggled, "oh, my love. you did exactly what he wanted you to do."

neville cupped your cheek, "you're my world, petal. you know that?"

with a smile, you leaned into his hand, "and you're mine, nev. forever and always."

[dracowars]

Hii! If requests are open could I get a professor!neville longbottom and professor!reader?shes the potions teacher and theyre "enemies"? Always at each others throats and interuppting classes just to throw snarky remarks and the students are like "omg not again🙄"? Anyway one night a student sees him leaving her room and rumors start abt how they're dating/fucking?? And after a few days of trying to deal with a school of nosy students they "talk it out" which ends up being a make out session in the potions room and they get caught by the students who are like "plz we just wna study😭"??

Thank youuu <3

greenhouse hearts and cauldron sparks | neville longbottom

pairing: professor!neville x professor!reader

word count: 3,4k

summary: where rumours are spread about neville and y/n having a thing

a/n: somehow this was difficult for me to write & i don't even know why, maybe because it's my first for neville and i don't know yet if i got his character right (especially since he is older here). i really tried my best and i hope you enjoy it <3 feedback in any form is much appreciated!

warnings: slight angst, cursing

universe: harry potter

With a set goal in mind and pure determination, you strut through the glass door of greenhouse three and are immediately eyed by more than twenty pairs of eyes, all curious but somehow not surprised. Some of them even look like they were only waiting for this to happen. Again.

"Professor Longbottom, forgive my interruption", you apologize with a smile that does not quite reach your eyes, making your way towards him. "But I need to talk to you. Urgently."

"Welcome, Professor Y/L/N", Neville greets you, not moving from his leaning position on the table, fully concentrated on the plant pot in front of him which seems to be housing a Chinese Chomping Cabbage. Suspiciously eyeing the dangerous plant, you take a small step back. Herbology has never been your favourite subject, not when you went to Hogwarts yourself, not now, not ever.

"You burst in at just the right time! We are about to harvest the first cabbages", he explains, strongly emphasizing you interrupting his class, his eyes still fixed on the pot.

"I actually don't really care right now. All I care about is the huge plant or whatever that monstrum even is that has spread over my desk in the teacher's room", you start whispering now, not wanting the students to hear your words. But since they all still stare at the both of you, their cabbages long forgotten, you bet they could hear you either way.

"Oh, I must have mixed up the tables", Neville simply shrugs but a small smile plays around his lips as he finally turns his head to look at you. You have looked into his eyes several times before, million times even, but it hits you differently every time. His green eyes stare at you for a second too long before he clears his throat and straightens, pulling out the cabbage and putting it into a big crate. Removing his gloves, he leans his hip against the table, his big frame towering over you as you still stand there.

"You did that on purpose", you whisper, more to yourself than to anyone, but the little chuckle that escapes his mouth confirms your assumption.

"I would never do such a thing", he replies, placing the gloves on the table behind him. Scoffing, you look at him in disbelief.

How come that Neville Longbottom, the slanky, shy and nervous boy who hid behind his robes and hair from your school days suddenly became such a cunning and especially handsome professor who tests your patience every day. And most importantly, why does he always look at you like that, as if his eyes want to tell you something more, something deeper. And why, for Merlin's sake, is your heart beating faster every single time you interact.

"It would be much appreciated if you could get rid of this monster as quickly as possible before it eats someone or whatever it is that it does", you repeat, but something about the way he looks at you right now tells you that that probably won't happen any time soon.

"Of course, of course. Once I've got- No! Put that down, Henry. Excuse me for a second, sweetheart", Neville interrupts himself all of a sudden, jumping into action as he quickly runs to said student who is about to get attacked by one of the vicious plants, the nickname he called you still ringing in your ear. On his way there, he runs against a table and knocks over some empty pots. If it weren't for you stopping them mid-air with a spell, they would have shattered into a thousand pieces.

He may not look like the Neville he used to be, but he has not lost his clumsiness. Shaking your head, your gaze follows him, watching as he rescues the student from his demise and you can't help but smile a little at that. He also never lost his genuine sincerity and willingness to help.

As you are waiting for him to return, you notice several of the girls staring at you, whispering to each other as they have certainly seen the way you looked after him. Clearing your throat in an awkward manner, you stand up straight and adjust your robes.

"Alright, well, that turned out differently than expected but wasn't that fun? Never underestimate nature", Neville speaks up now, all heads turning to him. "Please finish your protocols until next week, clean your tables and then you are free to leave for the day."

What initially looks like pure chaos ensuing turns out to actually follow a clear order as the students rush around and do what he says. In a few minutes, everything is back in its place and the students rush out of the greenhouse, ready for their break. On their way out, they also say goodbye to you.

The second the last student leaves, Neville claps his hands together, rubbing them as if he still has something planned. "You know, these things only ever happen when you are around", he teases you, walking back to where you are standing to put his bag on the table and gather his things.

"Well, I'm glad it wasn't me who got attacked by one of your experiments for once", you counter, having lost count of the times you had unpleasant encounters with his plants.

"That is just because they can sense your fear, sweetheart", he smiles while packing up his stuff, making sure everything is neatly placed inside his bag.

"I'm not scared of them", you scoff, ignoring what he called you and what it does to you once more, and you cross your arms in front of your chest as you lean your hip against the table he is still standing at. "They just make me feel uncomfortable and I don't like them. Your experiments certainly didn't make me like them any more, in case you forgot."

"How could I ever forget that", Neville laughs. He does not giggle or even try to hold back his amusement - he just straight up laughs at you as the memories find their way back to him. Huffing out an exasperated breath, you softly shove him to the side which only causes him to laugh even more.

"You are so annoying, do you know that? I can't believe I have to deal with this every day", you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"Oh, come on. Don't be like that. You would be bored to death without me", he smiles at you, genuine, and gently pushes his shoulder against yours, coming even closer. He looks at you, the way he always looks at you, and even though you would never admit it, he is right. It would be boring without him.

His eyes are locked with yours, at least until they drift down for a split second, looking at your lips, but it was so fast you are not even sure it actually happened. One of his hands now gently touches your arm and your insides twist.

Until the door to the greenhouse suddenly bursts open and a student comes in. Jumping in surprise, you both put as much distance between the two of you as possible in these few seconds, but the way she stops in the doorway as if she had just interrupted something speaks volumes.

"Uhm- I'm sorry, Professor. Professors. I-"

"Chloe, what are you doing here?", Neville asks her kindly, no signs of nervousness, but out of the corner of your eye you can indeed see how he plays with his fingers.

"I uhm.. forgot my book", she says awkwardly but makes no attempt to move, her gaze switching between the two of you.

"Right", Neville smiles at her, obviously trying to make it less uncomfortable. "Then go get it?"

At his words, she is seemingly brought back to life and quickly runs to one of the tables, grabs her book and rushes out of the greenhouse with lightning speed. Watching her leave, Neville's eyebrows furrow. "What was that about?"

Sighing, you lean back against the table, this time, however, with a lot of distance between your bodies.

"Dear Merlin, we will never hear the end of this now", you say, rubbing your fingers against your temple as you try to wrap your head around what just happened.

"Of what?", Neville asks, curious and seemingly oblivious.

"Of us having a thing."

"What?", he lets out in shock, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you are joking. Oh how much you wish you were.

"Yeah."

"Wh-What do you mean?"

"Don't tell me you haven't heard about it", you answer, turning your body to directly look at him now.

"I honestly don't know what you are talking about."

"I can't believe this", you let out a humourless chuckle before continuing. "The students are talking about us, Neville. Have been all the time."

"And?"

"And they think we fuck", you blurt out and watch as the realization hits him.

"Oh", is all he says to that, his eyes unfocusing and his cheeks turning a slight shade of pink.

"Yeah. 'Oh'. And now we fueled the rumours even more, we have given them even more reason to believe them", you explain, trying your best to not sound too desperate.

When you first heard these rumours, you had to laugh. Neville and you? Never. But over time, you realized where these assumptions came from and you could actually see how someone could possibly come to this conclusion. But there is nothing between you. Right?

"But nothing happened", Neville agrees with your thoughts, looking at you with those beautiful eyes of his. A strand of hair has come loose and hangs over his forehead and you would like nothing more than to gently remove it from his face.

"No. It didn't", you whisper, supporting his statement even though you both know exactly what almost happened. Neville gives you a sympathetic smile before picking up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder.

"Anyway, I believe there is a plant I need to take care of", Neville digresses from the topic and even though you welcome not having to talk about this any longer, your heart feels a bit heavier than before. "Also, did you make the potion I asked you for?"

"Of course", you say as you follow him outside, noticing how his hand hovers over the small of your back as he leads you through the door.

════════════

"Professor?", one of your female students asks for you, sitting in front of her and her groups bubbling cauldron. Quickly, you get up from your seat at the front of the classroom and walk to her, smiling as you are thrilled to help with whatever is going on. You have been these students' Potions teacher since first year and now that they have reached seventh year, you have formed an even stronger bond with them.

"Yes? What can I help you with?", you ask once you reach them, leaning over them to take a look inside the cauldron which is exuding a sugary sweet scent. So far, they seem to have done everything right.

"Do you have a husband? Or kids?", she puts the question out there like it is nothing, the other girls at her table looking at you attentively.

"First of all, that is not a question you ask", you remind her and she only shrugs apologetically, making you feel like she actually does not feel sorry at all. "And to truthfully answer your question: No, I have not."

Apparently, your answer triggers something in them, because suddenly the whispering starts again and they look as if they can hardly sit still due to being incredibly excited about something.

"We asked Professor Longbottom the same question this morning", she continues now, suppressing a giggle. "And he gave us the same answer, so we thought that you two would make a good match."

"Oh girls, please", you sigh, trying to suppress a laugh at their endearing faces. "You definitely shouldn't worry about your teacher's relationship status and focus on your grades and upcoming exams instead."

"But Ms. Y/L/N! You would be so cute together!", they all gush, telling you about all the times they have seen you two, how they can clearly tell that 'there is something more going on'. You know you should tell them to continue their task but you just can't stop listening to them.

"When we asked Professor Longbottom, he told us that he thinks you are a wonderful colleague and also quite attractive", one of the girls chimes in, batting her eyelashes at you.

"He certainly did not say that", you retort, shaking your head with a smile at their determination.

"But he did!", they all say in unison, repeating to you all the words he supposedly said about you.

════════════

"Professor? Do you have a moment?"

"Of course. How can I help you?", Neville smiles at the group of girls in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. He has just finished his last lesson for the day and was on his way to the Great Hall for dinner now if it was not for these students catching him in the middle of a hallway.

"Remember how we asked you about Ms. Y/L/N this morning?", one of the girls says, a smile on her face that he can't quite pinpoint.

"I do", Neville answers, not adding that their conversation had followed him throughout the whole day.

"Well, we just had Potions with her and we asked her about you, too", another student says, a sign of pride in her voice. "Do you want to know what she said?"

"Do I have a choice?", he says, feeling a bit cornered by the four girls in front of him. He was set on eating and then going to his quarters in the Faculty Tower to get some well-deserved sleep. Apparently that was not happening any time soon.

"She told us that you are her favourite colleague and that she also finds you kind of handsome, even though she told us not to tell you."

At that, Neville needs a few seconds and swallows hard. He does not know what he should be more uncomfortable with: the fact that these students are interfering in his private life or the thought that you actually may have said those words. What are the chances that you did?

"That is..", Neville starts, no idea how to best solve this situation. "Certainly very nice of her to say. Thank you for telling me, but I'm afraid we must head to the Great Hall now as dinner will be served soon."

He does not even wait for them to answer and walks straight past them, a blush on his cheeks as their giggling follows him to the end of the hallway. He sighs, their words echoing through his mind as he turns another corner and suddenly bumps into someone.

With wide eyes, he realizes that the person he just almost pushed to the ground is none other than you. His hands are still tightly gripping your upper arms, a measure he took to prevent you from falling, as he stares at you.

"What is wrong with you?! You almost gave me a heart attack", you lecture him, your frozen body slowly coming back to life. Only now do you notice that Neville is still staring at you as if you weren't from this world and the pressure he is exerting on your arms is somehow getting stronger.

"Neville? Hello? Anyone there?", you ask slowly, snapping a finger in front of his face. That seems to bring him out of his trance because he blinks several times in a row and clears his throat awkwardly, letting go of you but not before smoothing down the sleeves of your cloak.

"Sorry", he mumbles, looking to the ground and grabbing the strap of his bag as if it were an anchor to help him from drowning.

"Are you alright?", you ask, a bit worried now at his unusual behaviour. When you hear several voices coming from the hallway, he suddenly takes your hand in his gently and maneuvers you both into the nearest empty classroom, closing the door silently.

"What is-"

"I didn't want them to see us together", he tells you before you can ask and your heart drops.

"Oh."

The sound comes out a lot more sad than you wanted and Neville notices it as well, shooting his head up to look at you. It does not take him long to realize what he said is the reason for it.

"N-No, no. That- That was not what I meant", he immediately starts explaining. "I just- These girls kept asking me questions about you the whole day and since our.. the situation this morning I thought it would be best to not fuel the rumours even more. Like you said."

Switching between his eyes, you don't even know what to say to that. Because you indeed do not want them to spread anymore rumours about you. On the other hand, you can't deny the emotions you feel, especially right now, with one of his hands still holding yours.

"Did you tell them that I'm a wonderful colleague and that I'm attractive?", you hear yourself ask. You have no idea where that came from all of a sudden but somehow you do not even feel sorry for asking. The girls love gossiping and spreading rumours, but a tiny part in your heart still hopes that they did not just make all of it up.

You just need to know.

"What? No", Neville immediately responds with so much vehemence that you take a step back. Again, he realizes a bit too late what he said and you feel your heart crack. You should have been prepared for this, you asked for this, and yet it painfully stings.

"I mean", he tries again, getting ahold of both of your hands now, making you look up at him. "I didn't say those exact words. I- Well, I think they just saw the way I looked at you and probably realized something sooner than I did."

"Neville, you really don't need to justify yourself", you say, not wanting to hear any more to protect yourself but also not moving to leave.

"I'm not, Y/N. What I would have liked to tell them is that you are the most wonderful person I have ever met. You are smart, sweet, sometimes snarky, loyal, helpful and have those little quirks that drive me crazy. The way you are engrossed in your notes and keep pushing the strand of hair out of your face and chew on your lower lip. And I love the way you interact with the students. You can tell how much they adore you and that they see you as their role model", Neville tells you with so much adoration and determination that you think you must be dreaming.

"I love the daily teasing, the banter whenever you get upset about my plants but then help me with the potions I need anyway. And yes, I think you are absolutely beautiful", he continues, mending the crack in your heart. "But I couldn't possibly tell the students all that."

Lowering his head after exposing himself like that to you, showing vulnerability, you are at a loss for words. He said all the things you always wanted to hear from him but never even dreamt about them ever becoming true. Your silence makes him nervous, he shifts his weight from one leg to the other and breathes in deeply.

"They would certainly have loved that", you giggle then, placing your fingers under his chin to make him look up at you. When your eyes meet, he can see yours sparkling and shimmering like they never did before. "And I love you."

With that, you pull him in for a kiss. Neville is too perplexed for a few seconds to do anything, but then he relaxes into the kiss, his hand finding its way to the back of your head to pull you even closer. You relish in the feeling, of how your lips work against each other, of how your hands are pressed to his chest between your bodies.

You forget where you are and what could happen if someone came in any second, but you simply do not care. And Neville does not either as he softly pushes you against the desk in front of the classroom, smiling into the kiss as he says: "Let's spread more rumours then."

[plutodexay]

@flufftober alt 6, "gravestone" With Neville!!

You didn't think it through, forgetting that the most of the wizarding world had a different perspective on the holiday than the muggle world. It was your first time decorating with Neville after the war, it was all starting to feel normal again, so normal that you didn't think about the implications of the decorations.

"I think someone's trying to kill us." Neville whispered, shaking you awake on a random morning, his face riddled with panic and eyes red with swelling tears.

"What?" You groaned, sitting up quickly and trying to steady the shaking man above you, making sure to spot your wand behind him.

Neville pulled you up, not allowing you to do anything but grab your wand before you were dragged down the stairs, barely stopping yourself from falling. His panicked movements lead the both of you to the front door which had been left open by him.

"Oh! My decorations!" You exclaimed, rushing over to the fake tombstones and bringing them into the house.

As you examined the foam décor, checking for any mistakes in the custom works, Neville stood at the door unmoving yet panic lessening. It took a minute before his view moved from the floor previously holding the fake stones to you at the table with them.

"Decorations?" He mumbled, closing the door behind him as he made his way over to your excited figure.

"Yea! Got custom ones this year aren't they wicked?!"

Once you turned to look at him you realized he was still stunned and the expression was turning into confusion. Looking between his face and the décor with your names on it, the minutes prior started to piece together in your mind.

"Oh my god I'm so sorry." You whispered, walking over to hug Neville out of some mix of embarrassment an shame for causing that level of fear.

"You bought them?" He whispered back, slowly wrapping his arms around you, still tense as you nodded. "You bought gravestones with our names on them?"

"It's a muggle thing." You stepped back, reaching a hand up to his face. "Using fake gravestones to decorate your yard for Halloween, decided to splurge and get custom ones." That got a chuckle out of him, causing you to shake slightly as well.

"Muggles really do that? It's not some crazy wizard trying to threaten us?" Thankfully he spoke with a smile, leaning his face into your hand heavily.

"They do, I should've warned you I am so sorry."

"Should have gotten yours with my last name, make it more realistic."

queued 9/20/24

[megwritesriddles]

Sweetest Nectar ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Neville Longbottom x Fem! Reader / You

Summary: Being at Hogwarts at university-level had it's perks, such as unsupervised days in the greenhouse with Neville. Reader finds herself in an unfortunate position thanks to a flower in the greenhouse and Neville has to figure out how to help while being a gentleman and preserving their friendship.

Tags: Sex pollen, Mildly dubious consent, Fingering, P in V, Unprotected sex, Begging, Friends to lovers, Minor yearning, HogwartsUniversity!AU, Post-war/Eighth year, Virgin!Neville (he just is, I don't make the rules), Too much backstory, Sentient Hogwarts, Silly fluffy ending.

Word count: 11.1k

Read it on ao3! | Masterlist

Authors note: Can you see why I've been gone so long??? This had zero business being 11k words but I'm a chronic overexplainer so here we are!! Skip the first 9 paragraphs if you don't care about any worldbuilding. Continuing my 'Neville gets muscular as he gets older' agenda as per. The last line is so dumb... Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

P.S. this is technically day 23 of my kinktober but it's january so lets not talk about that

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Hogwarts worked in mysterious ways, with its own indecipherable motives. This much had always been true but was especially recognised lately. Once rebuild efforts had concluded after the war, Professor McGonagall, like every headmaster before her, bar Severus Snape, had sent out invitations to recent graduates to join the Higher Education program, a two-year program that would prepare its students to become a professor in any chosen field, subject to meeting entry requirements of the course. Demand for this program was higher than it ever had been, so many recent Hogwarts graduates felt like they had missed so much time at Hogwarts, that they were willing to come back on the program just to make up for lost time. At first, McGonnagal thought of shutting the whole thing down or at least raising entry requirements for joiners; there wasn’t exactly enough room in the designated Higher Education quarters for all the applicants. And though the regular student population had dwindled significantly over the course of the war (best not thought about too hard), it seemed wrong to try and room adults with 15-year-olds just to fit everyone in. The night before she intended to send out the letters of amendment to the required marks, McGonagall felt bizarrely compelled to go on a stroll around the castle, feeling drawn down a route she didn't often find herself going. There, she found a brand new door, behind which were brand new living quarters, just big enough for all the applicants. Although she should have been relieved, McGonagall was initially rather frustrated by this. Why now did the blasted old castle decide it could build, when nearly all summer long volunteers had been slaving away to restore the castle? The windows glittered as if to wink at her, she decided that the daft old thing must have liked the attention. McGonagall found herself relieved, she too felt that the recent graduates were not ready for the career world quite yet, having had not only their final year of study lost to the war, but the years before that tarnished by looming threats and incompetent bumblers. Also, there was an urgent need for qualified teachers of magic, so the more the merrier, even if most of them would only use it as a springboard into something else. 

You had always been a shoo-in either way, although you never got to sit your NEWTs, the honourary grades you were given were stellar, supported by fantastic results in your OWLs and overall fantastic conduct in class. The blemishes on your record from the Carrow's note-taking were wiped, leaving your record squeaky clean. You received your acceptance letter and list of supplies and felt like you were eleven again. Everyone was required to specialise in a subject, and while you'd had a couple in which you had adequate grades which you might have chosen, you went for Herbology in the end, as it was something you loved.  In all honesty, you liked Professor Sprout the best and were eager to train under her. 

As soon as you received your letter, you wrote to Neville. There was no doubt in your mind that he would be studying under Professor Sprout alongside you, despite not even knowing if he had applied to the program initially. He quickly confirmed this suspicion when he wrote back to you, saying he had a sneaky feeling about you as well. The two of you had become fast friends in the sixth year, both being in Advanced Herbology. You'd known each other a little here and there before that, but in this class, your friendship truly formed. The class was very small, as the interest in Advanced Herbology was low, most careers only required a decent grade in standard Herbology, so even those with interest had to prioritise other things for the sake of their future, such as Potions or Charms. There were only the two of you and a pair of Slytherin girls who, despite seeming genuinely very passionate about the subject, refused to converse with the two of you and whispered amongst themselves all the time. This was fine with both of you, as you had each other, taking time to study together, walking to and from class, and working efficiently during any pair work. The two of you had been ripped apart during the war, you had to steer clear of Hogwarts for your safety, and Neville, being intensely monitored by the Carrows at the time, refused to write to you and risk revealing your location to them, so you had been out of contact for quite a while. You wrote to him again on his birthday and had been corresponding a little since, but things felt slightly stunted. You hadn't seen each other in so long and Neville was never the best when it came to socialising. 

Arriving at Hogwarts once again had been intensely bittersweet. So many good and bad memories to try and process all at once, it felt overwhelming. You'd had to step outside during the sorting but found yourself far from alone out there. So many people were broken. You apprehensively made your way over to Hermione and said hello. She pulled you into a tight hug, as you hadn't seen her for a long time either. You listened as she explained about Harry and Ron, that they didn't want to go into teaching, and though she'd explained over and over that most people that do the program don't end up teaching, they'd still refused to come. Trying to make the most of it, she tells you it'll be nice to spend time with other friends for once and you nod along. She is somehow specialising in three subjects, she'd wanted to do more of course, but it hadn't been allowed. Trust Hermione to work herself to the bone happily. You'd made it to your room later that night, a private room with an en-suite, which felt awfully fancy for Hogwarts, and settled in. Being back was an odd feeling, you could see the cracks in the stone everywhere you looked, there was pain everywhere, yet so much good to try and find.

To your complete relief, when you started your first day in the Greenhouses, things fell back into place with Neville instantly. At first, you'd greeted him with a hug, which had been awkward as he hadn't been expecting it, but very pleasant once he figured out what was going on. Soon after this though, as Professor Sprout set you her first task (to prepare some plants for her third years), things were back to as they were, perfect. You worked together well, talking and laughing easily, and though occasionally the chat went sour and the mood fell, this was happening with everyone lately, a byproduct of the war, there was so little to talk about that wasn't tarnished that it was a wonder the two of you were able to laugh as much as you were. Neither of the two girls from advanced Herbology were there, and although this initially saddened you both, you conceded that there could be many reasons for it. There weren’t many Slytherin returners, there never had been, but after the war especially, the turnout was pathetic. Most Slytherins avoided their peers after the war for fear of ostracism, which was fair as people had some pretty bad opinions on them but sad because there were several Slytherins who hadn’t been on the wrong side of history who were still facing hostility. 

The course was a lot of independent study of assigned texts and essay-writing, but all day on a Tuesday and half a day on a Thursday, the two of you were in the smaller greenhouse behind the ones for teaching, working on various projects, which also sometimes required your attention out of teaching hours. This greenhouse was set aside initially for research purposes at Sprout’s predecessor's request, but now was being used to train those in the higher education program. Despite this greenhouse being smaller than the two nearer the grounds, it was still fairly large and complex. Upon entering, you came into a little cloakroom, where you would have to don your aprons and gloves before entering, with a sink in the corner for washing up when leaving and entering. The next room was the main growing area, growing various plants that weren’t dangerous but were still perhaps best kept out of the reach of the younger students. There was a long wooden workbench in the middle of the room for potting and taking notes and whatever else you might need to do. Off of the opposite end of this room, there were three doors, one that led to a small room which was always kept humid and at tropical temperatures, one which was always kept cool and dry and one lockable room in which more dangerous plants were kept, such as venomous tentacula or fanged geraniums, only to be accessed with Professor Sprout supervising. 

Professor Sprout would only tutor the two of you on Thursday, so with the exception of the first few weeks, the two of you were entirely alone from 9 am to 4 pm on a Tuesday. Although it sounded a little salacious when you told friends, the truth was that most Tuesdays you were both too busy for anything to happen. Not that anything would of course, but certain assumptions were made when people heard you were alone together for hours with what they assumed was an easy subject. Mostly your days were full of tending to the plants, having to frequently refer to your notes for how each should be cared for (how much water? what temperature should the water be? do they require singing to?), observing any plants that were the subjects of your essays and preparing plants so they would be safe for lessons with younger year groups. 

It’s a Tuesday like any other. Neville is carefully planting some seeds across the workbench from where you’re delicately pruning a particularly active flitterbloom bush, setting the clippings aside to send to the potions department later. One of Neville’s research subjects is observing what methods of growth acceleration work the best and cause the least damage to the plants they’re applied to. He has been planting, growing and replanting dittany over and over for weeks now, but was still gathering more data as he came across more and more methods to test, and each had to be tested several times over to rule out external factors. 

Your research was on the merits and drawbacks of pruning, and which plants took best and worst to the practice. Pruning was useful as it allowed more ingredients to be obtained from individual plants for potioneering purposes, but generally was thought to be harmful to the overall health of the plant. You were attempting to write a definitive list of which of the 25 most common plants used in potions could be pruned and which couldn’t, which to your surprise had hardly been researched before as the belief of its harmfulness had permeated the field since 1870 and most Herbologists had steered clear of it since. Your research seemed to be proving it wasn’t nearly as harmful as thought.

The two of you chat idly as Neville uses a pipette to apply various growth potions to the soil of his newly planted seeds and you carefully measure the regrowth of a stem of the flitterbloom bush that you pruned a few weeks ago, struggling as the stem swayed about. 

“I can’t believe Hermione talked Ron and Harry into actually joining the course next term,” Neville hums, extracting exactly 5 millilitres of potion from a bottle with his pipette. You scoff. 

“For real this time? They keep saying that yet nothing ever comes of it,” you shake your head, scribbling down your measurement on the parchment beside you.

“Yes, really, two new rooms have appeared in the boys' dorms with their names on them, if Hogwarts knows, it must really be happening,” his tongue sticks out slightly between his teeth as he concentrates on dropping the liquid right in the middle of the little pot. Not wanting to throw his research, you wait until he’s done to reply.

“Perhaps Harry and Ron don’t even know it themselves,” you joke, making Neville chuckle. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the castle decided it for them,” he carefully pushes the cork back into the top of the potion bottle. “The castle is quite odd lately, perhaps it has whatever its equivalent of brain damage is from the war, it’s acting much more blatantly,”

“How so?” you tilt your head in his direction, soothing your finger over the agitated stem that you just had to hold taut for measuring. 

“I’m sure you’ve heard all the stories of people getting stuck in rooms with the people they like, doors literally disappearing until they confess or otherwise!”  Neville laughs, carefully moving his pots back to their designated spot on the windowsill. With his back turned, you can’t help but glance at the door despite yourself, wondering if it’s still there. It is. You quickly avert your eyes from the door as he turns back toward you. “It’s why there’s suddenly all these couples popping up, sure the castle has always been a little cheeky, but never so obvious before, it all started with the higher education wing appearing overnight and it’s seemingly been madness since,” he shakes his head, picking up another batch of pots containing little sprouts at various heights that he has to measure. 

“It’s sweet how many people have liked each other and not even known… has it always been people who like each other stuck together?” you ask, stroking your quill, feeling the soft tufts beneath your fingers. 

“As far as I’ve heard, each time it’s happened it’s ended well,” Neville shrugs, rifling through his bag for his measuring tape. You glance at the door again, seeing it still there. Unrequited, you figure, that door will stay right where it is. 

“I wonder where the brain of the castle is if it even has such a thing… it is sentient in some ways, so there must be an equivalent right?” you ponder as he loudly removes his books from his bag and thuds them onto the workbench. 

“The room of requirement? For some reason that comes to mind… a fire in your brain can’t be good,” he chuckles, his voice slightly strained as he peers under the table for the offending measuring tape.

“You can borrow mine,” you suggest softly as he comes up with nothing. 

“No it’s fine, you need it,” he waves his hand dismissively, standing up from his stool. “I’ll fetch mine from my room, I’m fairly certain I know exactly where it is on my desk, can’t believe I forgot it again,” he grumbles the last part to himself. “Be back in 15, watch my plants,” he smiles, although you can tell from his sheepish look that he’s embarrassed to have forgotten something yet again. Luckily, you could head back to fetch things at any time at your level, no longer having to ask to go to the toilet or anything like that. There was no one here to ask. You smile back, watching as he enters the cloakroom. A few moments later, you see his heavily blurred figure heading up the hill through the heavily rippled glass of the greenhouse windows. In the newfound quiet, you return to your work, hearing only the spray of simulated rain in the tropical growing room. 

Finally finished with the flitterbloom, you stand to retrieve your next plant, a valerian bush, for pruning. As you move to stand and step forward, you feel an odd pressure at your ankle. Stepping forward anyway, you realise too late that your foot is hooked on a support between the legs of your stool, sending both you and the stool off balance and toppling over toward the room-length counter that holds all the various plants. Reflexively, your body twists and your arms come up to shield your head as you thud loudly into the solid wood surface, causing a choir of wobbling pots, luckily with no ensuing crash of broken terracotta, you had to count your blessings somewhere. A dull pain throbs through your body, starting from the side that crashed against the counter. Thud! A yelp rips from you as the stool, still twined with your leg, falls onto your thigh. Luckily, it is only light and will leave a small bruise at most, your side colliding with the counter on the other hand…. You shut your eyes tight, feeling utterly embarrassed about what just happened despite being alone. You weren’t normally this clumsy and you were sure you looked a mess, an undignified heap on the floor, too shocked to stand up or even open your eyes yet. In the permeating silence, you sit on the cold stone floor and try not to cry, from the shock more than the pain. 

A violent sneeze overtakes your body, the action of it hurting your side. You sniff and cough, dust seemingly surrounding you. You must have jostled some old dusty plants that hadn’t been touched in a while when you collided with the surface. Surrendering to the coughs and sniffs that wracked through your pained body, you wait it out until the dust subsides, grabbing your bruised side as you double over with violent sneezes and sputters. Finally, a deep breath of clean air, you sag against the counter and try to gather yourself now you can breathe properly once more.

“It was exactly where I thought it was…” The door from the cloakroom creaks open in the silence as Neville enters, clutching his measuring tape. “I can be so scatterbrained,” he huffs, his eyes sweeping the room at the height he expects you to be. In embarrassment your eyes squeeze tighter, not wanting him to see the mess you’d gotten yourself into. Upon not seeing you, he glances around for any evidence you might be in one of the back rooms, though not thinking of a reason you would be. 

“Down here,” you squeak, your voice hoarse from coughing. The words itch your throat and you splutter slightly once more as he rounds the workbench and spots you on the ground. You give a sheepish smile, finally having opened your eyes. It’s painfully obvious from your stool-adorned leg what happened, you just hope he doesn’t think any less of you. He shouldn’t, he has a reputation for being clumsy himself, but you can’t help but worry. “I fell,” you rasp pathetically. 

“Are you alright?” he surges toward you and kneels, immediately examining your head for any bumps, rubbing over your scalp gently. The action makes your cheeks heat up, but you try to ignore it. 

“I’m okay, I landed on my side,” you reply as he carefully removes the stool from around your leg and stands it back up beside the workbench. His arms wrap around you and he carefully lifts you to stand, you yelp as the movement stretches your side and he shushes you gently. 

“It’s alright, there we go… just—,” he holds you steady until you’re stable on your feet. When he lets go of you, it feels oddly painful deep in your stomach, but you brush that off. 

“Thank you,” you whisper shyly. 

“Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?” he asks, bringing his hand up to feel your skull once more, worrying over whether you might have been badly injured. You lean slightly into his hand without meaning to.

“No I promise, it was just my side and my thigh,” you insist, inwardly wishing he’d brush his hand against those spots to check them. For a moment his hand moves like he might, but he stops himself. 

“If you’re sure,” he inspects you once more, hovering behind you as you sit back down on the stool, trying to brush past this whole incident. “Can I grab your plant for you?” he offers. “Which were you going for?” you want to complain, but his eyes are wide and earnest and you know he wants to help.

“The valerian… and could you pop the flitterbloom back for me?” you request, hesitantly testing the tender skin where the stool collided with your thigh, wincing at the throb of pain that followed your touch. Neville dutifully returns the flitterbloom to the counter, then places the valerian bush before you. Behind you, you hear him gently pushing some of the pots that had moved when you smashed into the counter back into place. You flush and keep your head down, pretending to inspect the valerian bush but not being able to focus. Your brain feels a little fogged up, you assume from the shock of the fall. Not wanting to alarm Neville in any way, you grab your tape measure and pretend to measure the leaf regrowth. He quietly moves around the workbench, bringing his pots over to your side of the bench and sitting down beside you to resume his work, his brows furrowed in concern for you. “Really, I’m okay,” you chuckle, but the weakness of your voice does little to reassure him.

“It’s better if I sit here, just in case something happens,” he says, more firmly than he usually says anything. That side of him was new since the war, this ability to stick up for himself in smaller situations. He’d always known how to stick up for the greater good, but little things like this, he would allow himself to be walked all over, too scared of losing a friend. Now that he has more confidence, he’s not so afraid to dispute his nearest and dearest, knowing you’re unlikely to end your friendship with him over this. And if you did, it would be weird and not his fault anyway. The tone of voice is also on the newer side and it stirs something in your belly.

You sit side by side working on your respective projects. Well, Neville is working, you’re more just going through the motions while your mind hovers elsewhere, not allowing you to focus on what you’re meant to be doing. Maybe you were concussed… but you hadn’t hit your head during the fall, so what was wrong? You take a few deep breaths, trying to slow your heart which still seems to be beating slightly fast. Slowly but surely, your body starts to feel a little warm. You glance to make sure the door to the tropical room hasn't opened as your cardigan starts to feel a little stuffy. No matter where you look in the room, you can’t find any source of excess heat. A puff of breath breaches your lips, you’re growing uncomfortable now, the heat only seems to rise and rise. With great unnecessary difficulty, you wrestle yourself free of your cardigan, throwing the wretched thing on the ground beside you with a grunt. Neville gives you a confused look, but not yet seeing anything obviously wrong with you, returns to his measurements. There is relief from the warmth that was engulfing you, but only for ten minutes at most, as soon you are sweltering once more. An awful voice at the back of your head tries to convince you to throw off all of your clothes, but you keep it together, merely squirming in your seat, rubbing your thighs together to try and quell the growing ache in your belly that your mind isn’t quite registering yet. In a last-ditch effort, you sip some water from your lukewarm water bottle, the relief it provides is even shorter than before. Your head whips around now, searching fruitlessly once more for the source of this despicable heat, but finds nothing. Neville is unfazed beside you, still wearing his sweater and looking perfectly comfortable. The only thing you can think of is that Neville must be radiating the heat, as nothing else could explain your sudden discomfort. You reach your hand out toward him, trying to gauge if it gets warmer the closer it gets to his side. This finally catches his attention and when he looks up, he’s met with your flushed clammy face and dilated pupils.

“Whoa! Is everything alright?” he sputtered, leaning back slightly as if worried you’re contagious. This upsets you and you let out an unseemly whine.

“I’m hot,” you huff, pushing your hair back from your face to get more cool air on your skin. “Really hot,” Neville’s eyes brush over you for a moment as he considers just how hot you are, before promptly snapping himself out of it.

“You do look a little… feverish,” he agrees, reaching out and touching the back of his hand to your forehead. You lean forward into the touch, moaning softly. Your skin is burning and slightly tacky with sweat, which makes Neville frown deeply. How could you have suddenly developed such a terrible fever? He pulls his hand back, but you immediately whine and claw at his arm to pull his hand back. Too baffled to protest, he lets you pull his hand to your cheek and watches you lean against it happily. He gently runs his thumb over your cheekbone before catching himself. “Are you alright?” he enquires once more, keeping his voice soothing.

“Don’t stop touching me,” you pout, looking up at him through your lashes with a look that is wholly inappropriate for an academic premises. He swallows.

“Wha-what?” he stammers, watching as you nuzzle against his hand.

“It helps the heat… don’t stop,” you whimper, reaching out to try and pull him closer by his sweater, but not being strong or focused enough to do it. This failure pulls another whine from you. Neville’s mind reels completely and he has to look away from you to compose himself, though he keeps your cheek cradled in his palm. What was going on with you? Were you ill? His eyes find the spot where he’d found you on the floor just earlier in his attempts to avoid the sultry unexplainable look you were giving him. “I need you to touch me,” you mewl, making him shiver.

“I’m not sure that’s–” he cuts himself off when his eyes land on the plant on the counter above where you fell. Lamprocapnos libidinosus, also known as the dripping heart, a magical relative of the bleeding heart flower in the muggle world. A common ingredient in lust potions and aphrodisiacs, highly dangerous in the wrong hands due to the potent amorous effects of its spores. Neville vaguely remembers Professor Sprout's warnings that one of the PhD students was being allowed to grow it for research and to steer completely clear of it. A warning he’s sure you would have headed if you hadn’t been tumbling toward it. Even from afar, he notices a couple of burst spore pods. “Oh no…” he mumbles to himself, dropping his hand from your cheek. You immediately protest but he stops you short. “When you fell… you didn’t happen to breathe in any dust, did you?” his voice shakes slightly, this cannot be happening to you. He always thought they shouldn’t have the plant growing in this greenhouse, even if only experienced herbologists were allowed in. Accidents happened as he knew all too well, and now his vague fears had become a biting reality.

“Yeah, why?” your voice is soft and sweet as you paw at him, trying to get him to hug you, or presumably something more. Neville flushes brightly and shoots upright, making a mad dash for his textbooks, still on the workbench from when he’d been searching through his bag. You wail at his absence, feeling the heat that had reduced to a low simmer return to a full boil. “Please…” you sob at him, not even knowing why you want what you want. “Just hold me, comfort me,” The look in your eye has him breaking, and if he remembers what little he’s read about the plant, you must be rather uncomfortable right now. He returns to your side and allows you to cling to his arm, bumping your head into his shoulder like a loving cat, while he frantically searches for the information he needs to help you. After several panicked flick-throughs, he locates the page.

Lamprocapnos libidinosus; also known as the Dripping Heart or the Flower of Lust.

At the top of the page is information entirely useless to this cause, the best season to plant, how much light is needed, etcetera, but finally Neville finds what he’s looking for under the ‘uses’ section. It’s tough to focus on reading when you’re practically trying to get under his sweater with him, pushing the knit material slightly up his side, your fingertips brushing his abdomen and making him jolt. He pushes your hand away but pulls you into a hug to silence your outcries, which you’re more than happy to sink into. He’s hugged you plenty of times so he pretends this is perfectly normal as he wills his brain to digest what's in front of him on the page. It’s hard to keep this pretending up as he can hear you sniffing him and moaning deeply at the smell of his shower gel, mixed with just a hint of sweat, which in this state only fuels your arousal, acting as a pheromone, worsening your need.

He skims the section frantically. Inhalation of the spores will lead to overwhelming feelings of lust even in small doses, however, the dose may affect who this lust is directed toward. Smaller doses will only worsen lust toward people already lusted after by the infected person, while larger doses will cause these feelings of lust to latch onto whoever is around, no matter prior relationships. The infected person will pursue their object of affection at any cost, they will be unable to focus on anything but the lust that has overtaken them. These feelings of lust, if left untreated, can cause extreme discomfort in the infected person, high fevers, intense symptoms of arousal (such as fluid secretions), shivers, brain fog and other symptoms varying by person and dose. The only way to cure the infected person of these symptoms and return them to full faculties is to have them reach climax.

It seems that you have chosen him as the object of your affections. Neville looks down at you as you hug him tight, continuously trying to slip your hand beneath his jumper. Out of selfish curiosity, he heads for the plant to try and determine how large of a dose you got and whether you may have already experienced feelings of lust toward him before the effects of the plant. When he moves away, you practically sob.

“Please don’t!” you wail, diving for him and into his arms once more. For now, you seemed to be mostly content just being held in his arms, and it’s clear you find it painful when separated from him for even a moment, so Neville has to relent. He delicately lifts you, and although having you wrap your legs around his hips hadn’t been a part of his plan, he supposes it does help keep you steady. He blushes brightly as he walks over to inspect the flower. He’s never held anyone like this, so intimately. Your skirt rides up where your legs wrap around him and he has to tear his eyes away before his thoughts become too inappropriate. You like the sight as much as he does. “You’re so strong,” you purr in his ear, your voice much lower than normal. He shivers and you feel it, the knowledge you’re having some effect on him overtakes your lust-addled brain. 

“Th-thank you, I’ve been exercising a lot since the war,” he mumbles, counting all the burst pods on the plant. He counts five, but he’s not sure if that’s considered a large dose or not. Probably, but the pods do look rather small.

“Mmm, it’s so hot…” you purr, trying to wriggle against him. Neville’s face turns red and he practically drops you, but holds you steady so you don’t fall once more once your feet touch the ground.

“Don’t say stuff like that!” he yelps.

“It’s true,” you pout. “I need you,” you try to hop up into his arms again but he holds you firmly on the ground, practically shaking. Really, this should’ve been a dream come true for him, he’d had feelings for you practically since the day the two of you met, but he felt disgusted with himself for every wave of excitement that passed over him. You were burning up, your cheeks brightly flushed, a deep ache at the pit of your belly and an ever-growing wetness in your underwear. All you could think about was how it might feel to have Neville soothing the fire inside you with deep strong thrusts, you moan aloud, if you focus enough you can almost feel it. “I bet you’re big, I bet you’d fill me up so well,” you murmur, looking up at him seductively.

“I- Merlin…” Now Neville feels overheated, he tries to push you away a little but you aren’t letting him. The image of filling you up won’t leave his head no matter how much he commands it to. It doesn’t help that you’re now trying your best to reach his jaw to kiss it. 

“Please…” you beg once more. “I need it so badly…” his resistance crumbles for a moment and his hands drop from your sides, allowing you to rush forward and attach your lips to his jaw. His eyes slip shut and he whimpers as you hold him close and lavish his neck and jaw with attention. His arms wrap around you, hands gently skimming your back as you continue to pepper him with kisses. “Please,” you whisper against his skin, your hand dropping to the buckle of his belt. The feeling of you tugging at his belt makes his eyes shoot open. He realises in a sudden flood of shame what he’s allowed you to do. You’ll hate him for this once you’re back to normal. He grabs your shoulders harshly and pushes you away. You squeak as he sits you on one of the stools, your eyes filling with tears at the rejection. You’d been so close to what you needed, and now with this newfound distance from him, you were in pain once more, a horrible throb in your stomach. 

“Listen to me,” he breathes shakily. “We can’t do this, you’ll regret it as soon as it’s over,”

“No, I–”

“You’re not in your right mind, you don’t know what you actually want,” he asserts again, reminding himself more than anything. He takes a deep breath and thinks. The only way to cure you according to the textbook was for you to reach climax. In colloquial stories about the plant, he’d always heard that orgasm would have to be reached with the help of another person, but the book didn’t stipulate this, maybe this was the answer. You could do it alone. His cheeks were flushed bright red as he opened his mouth once more. “What you need to do is… er… I’m going to take you into the cloakroom, alright?” he swallows, cautiously pulling you up from the stool onto your feet. You would need to sit somewhere to do this presumably and sitting on the stool or the workbench in here could lead to falling and disaster all over again. The best place he could think of was the bench in the cloakroom where people could sit to remove their shoes. You would have the wall to lean against and wouldn’t be sitting on the cold stone floor. Beneath you, he lays out a towel and then helps you to sit down on top of it. The towel was intended to make you more comfortable, but he considers with a blush that it might be necessary for other reasons also. He clears his throat. “Now, you have to… er… get yourself… uhm…” he can’t seem to make himself say the words. With a soft tug at his sleeve, you pull him to kneel between your legs, your faces nearly level given how much height he has on you. 

Before he can stop you, you kiss him. His brain stops functioning for a moment, all he can do is wrap his arms around you and kiss back, so intoxicated by the way your lips move against his. He didn’t have much experience with kissing, but there was no doubt this was the best kiss of his life. You moan against his mouth and it sets all his nerve-endings alight, making him push even closer to you in desperation. For you, the kiss is a sweet relief, cool water washing over your overheated body, but even so, you need more. There’s an incessant throbbing between your legs, a horrible feeling of emptiness that you know only Neville could fill. Trying to urge him on, you brush your tongue against his lips, hoping for entry. You’re allowed in for one tantalising moment before he pulls away with a start when your tongues graze against each other. The whine that rips from your throat is downright pathetic, but you don’t have the faculties to care at that moment. You look at him through your lashes, watching as he fights to regain his composure, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Never in his life has he felt as weak as in this moment, rendered so malleable by his desire for you. The two of you are friends. How will you react when you come back to normal and discover he let you kiss him in this state? That he’s allowed his selfishness to get in the way of what’s right? He jumps to his feet, ignoring your cries and protests as much as it pains him to do so.

“Look, the textbook says that the only way to cure you of this is… a uh… a climax,” he blushes and chokes on the words slightly. “I’m going to keep watch outside that nobody comes in, all you have to do is… you know…”

“Get myself off?” you supply in a sultry voice. 

“Yes, exactly,” he clears his throat, turning to leave you alone.

“Nev, please… I need your help… I don’t want to do it alone,” you plead, your voice soft and needy.  

“No, you can do it alo– oh… wow,” he exhales heavily as his eyes reach you once more. In an effort to persuade him, you’d pulled up the hem of your skirt and spread your legs, revealing your thighs and your soaked panties to him. The cold air makes you shiver but doesn’t actually cool you down in the slightest. It takes a great deal of strength to keep Neville from lunging himself at you. You look positively delicious, the wetness of your panties allowing him an outline of your most intimate areas, the skin of your thighs soft and plump and enticing. If he was even a slightly feebler man, he’d already be on his knees, devouring you through the thin, damp fabric. Just imagining how you might taste has him weak in the knees. “Oh Merlin…” he breathes, feeling his erection, which has been slightly present for the last half-hour or so, straining painfully against the zip of his jeans. The needy seductive look on your face almost breaks him, he takes a step toward you, causing you to light up, before he stops himself and just stares. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, unable to help himself. He watches you squirm in response. 

“Please, I need you,” you beg, unbuttoning your shirt as he observes. The garment falls to the ground, leaving you in your plain bra. Neville doesn’t seem to mind how simple the garment is in the slightest, his breath hitching as you reveal yourself.

“I really shouldn’t” he tries again, but he cannot rip his eyes from your body.

“I can’t do it alone, I feel so empty,” you whimper, spreading your legs further. “Please, fill me, I need your cock,” Neville nearly faints at those words, at the pleading way you say them, at how desired you’re making him feel. His legs carry him forward before his brain can catch up and he sits beside you on the bench. His brain finally does catch up just in time to stop you from sitting in his lap.

“Maybe I can help a little, but we can’t… I can’t uh… I can’t ‘fill’ you,” he gives in, despite knowing he probably shouldn’t. He had heard many times that another person was needed to reverse the effects of the Dripping Heart, so it was likely he did have to help, given the fact you hardly seemed satisfied with the idea of getting off alone. He could still be as much of a gentleman about it as possible. He knew the both of you had limited sexual experience, he himself was a virgin and though he wasn’t sure about you, he would guess you were in the same boat or had only had one partner before. With both of you having so little experience, he didn’t want to go all the way, as for you it would likely be regrettable. You plead with him softly, trying to climb into his lap still, despite his strong arms holding you at bay. Each plea weakens his resolve and he knows you know it because you’re babbling now.

“Please, please Nev, I need you inside me, to fuck me, I’ve never needed anything so badly, please, I know you want me too,” he deserved a medal for being able to resist you for this long, most other boys would have given in the second the girl of their dreams said something even remotely flirty, but he was somehow just barely resisting your pleas to have sex with him.

“Sit down,” he implores you, and you quickly obey, batting your lashes at him. “I’m going to help you, okay? But you need to stay still and just… take what I give you, don’t ask for more, okay?” These words seem to excite you, you squirm and nod, eagerly allowing him to spread your legs. His shaking hand rests on your bare thigh for a moment as he takes a few composing breaths. He couldn’t believe what he was about to do, it was something he had dreamed of incessantly, but now it felt like it could ruin his life if he wasn’t careful. You tug softly at his arm, trying to get his hand where you want it, bucking against the air.

“Please…” you sob, clenching around nothing as you look at his large hand against your thigh. He shushes you gently.

“I’m about to, just give me a second,” he stammers, trying to sort through his brain for any information he has on how to do this. He averts his eyes, figuring you wouldn’t have wanted him to see you so intimately, even if the damp fabric of your panties had already given him a pretty good look. Slowly, he places his hand on the apex of your thigh, shivering at the damp warmth he can feel radiating from your core. You mewl. Despite the pain in his neck from the position, he keeps his eyes locked on the wall behind you, pointedly ignoring how arousing the sounds you made were. Gathering his courage, he carefully slips the tips of his fingers past the fabric of your underwear and groans aloud at how wet you are. Your nectar gathers on his fingers and for a moment he just gently swipes them up and down to gather as much as possible, hearing your desperate moans as you lean your head on his shoulder. He never knew a woman could be this wet, and sure perhaps the flower was exacerbating it, but the thought still had him unendingly aroused. The angle wasn’t quite right, so he removed his hand, whining in unison with you at the separation. Your essence dripping down his fingers was like a siren song, trying to lure him to lick his fingers clean and finally get a taste of you. How could he ever explain that to you later? To his infinite regret, he doesn’t bring them to his mouth, sliding his hand into your panties once more, now from the top. This angle works a lot better, your hips immediately buck as his fingers slide over your clit.

“There, please, right there,” you beg, and he’s glad for the advice. A little unsure but determined (no point backing out now, at least he might be able to cure you), he relocates the spot that makes you shiver and whine. Your reaction tells you exactly when he’s found the little bundle of nerves once more and he takes a deep breath, before gently beginning to circle his fingers around it. It’s something he remembers hearing in the common room, and it seems it was good advice as soon you’re panting in his ear like a dog in heat, mewling his name softly. He can’t believe the noises you’re making, the sinful way you’re saying his name, it’s like perfect torture, it takes a lot out of him not to look. “Yes, fuck… Nev…” you whine, feeling the syrupy pleasure coursing through your body. “Yes, yes! More!” 

“More?” he croaks, unsure what you mean by that. As a guess, he tries circling faster, and though you definitely seem to like it, your hips canting up into his touch, he can feel you shaking your head against his shoulder.

“Need you inside,” you cry, making his cock twitch in his jeans.

“We- we can’t do- that,” he stutters, although he’s never wanted to more in his life. He wholeheartedly agrees with your pained sob in response, but he knows it’s for the best. “How about… er… my fingers? Inside?” he gulps, flustered that he’s even in a situation where he can ask such a thing. 

“O-okay,” you whimper. Neville fumbles around for a moment, trying to figure out where to put his fingers. It would be much easier if he could see what he was doing, but he’s already decided he shouldn’t. The fact that he touched you will no doubt be mortifying enough once you’re back to normal. With a little guidance from you, he very slowly and cautiously presses two fingers into you, making you gasp in pleasure. You’re wet and warm and tight around his fingers and he practically drools imagining how you might feel around his cock, almost cumming on the spot just thinking about it. Merlin, he was such a pathetic virgin, maybe he should be taking the chance and losing his virginity now, but it just doesn’t feel right when he doesn’t know how you’ll feel about it afterwards. He presses his forehead to the cool wall to calm himself down and prevent him from looking at how you took his fingers in, withdrawing them just slightly and then pressing them back in. The sound that comes from you makes Neville’s heart skip, so lewd and sinful and full of ecstasy. He wants desperately to kiss you, but he knows he shouldn’t. 

At your renewed pleading, he starts up a steady pace, thrusting his fingers in and out the way he wished he could with his cock, feeling filthy for even thinking it. The wet sound that each thrust made, accompanied by your wanton moans makes him feel like he’s the one who has been infected by the flower, so crazed with desire. Could there have been some pollen on you that he inhaled when he helped you up? It didn’t seem impossible, but he was also a young man, they weren’t exactly notorious for being level-headed when it came to sex. You lean heavily against him, gasping against his shoulder at each press of his fingers, the coil in your belly twisting tighter than it ever had before. You mumble incoherent pleas and he simply shushes you, not trusting himself not to give in to you if you keep talking. 

“Thumb,” you breathe between vulgar moans and though it takes his sluggish brain a moment, he realises what you want. He presses his fingers deeper, fumbling a moment before his thumb grazes your sensitive bud, making you sob in pleasure. His large deft hand pleasures you like it was made for it, all you can think of is the bliss he’s giving you as he hits all the right spots over and over. Your hand flies up, nails digging into his arm as you realise you’re dangerously close to exploding, despite the bite of your nails, he doesn’t let up his pace, too addicted to the sound of your moans to slow down now. “Nev… I’m–” you cut yourself off with a shout, pleasure shooting through your body like you were struck by lighting. Your muscles tense and tremble, your eyes rolling back in your skull, walls contracting around his fingers hard. The pleasure goes through you in strong waves, drowning you in it, not allowing you respite from shivers and moans for even a second as it wracks through you. You’d never felt anything so intense and all-consuming before. Neville feels your essence gush onto his fingers and though he should be relieved it’s over, he finds himself disappointed that he has to stop doing this, hearing those bewitching sounds. Gently, he removes his hand from you and guides your skirt back down your thighs so he can finally look toward you again. His fingers are covered in your essence, creamy and mouth-watering, the only thing that’s able to stop him from having a taste is your hand still clinging to his arm. He waits for you to gather your breath, silently smug he was able to help, but also petrified of what happens next. 

“Are you alright?” he asks delicately, shifting his erection away from your back now that you might actually register it. You open your eyes and look up at him, which immediately makes him frown. Your pupils are still almost comically dilated, your cheeks still pink and clammy, and though it could just be from the aftermath of your orgasm, he immediately knows something is still wrong.

“I feel better… but not entirely,” you whisper and Neville bites his lip. Great. He stands to wash his hands in the sink, and during that brief period of absence, he watches you become consumed by the effects of the flower again, pleading for him to come back. He splashes water on his face and takes a deep breath. You had reached climax, he may not be an expert in female orgasms but he knew what he just saw and felt, so what was wrong? Was the plant in the greenhouse genetically modified in some way? Would he have to call Professor Sprout to ask for help? How exactly could he explain that he’d already given you an orgasm and it hadn’t worked? Looking back, he should have taken you to Madam Pomfrey the second he’d realised what had happened to you, but he thought you would have found it too embarrassing. Now things would be infinitely more embarrassing for the both of you if you sought out help. Lesson learned, just because he’d survived a war it didn’t mean he could deal with anything life threw at him alone. He feels you approaching from behind and turns around, allowing you to sink into his arms. “Stay with me,” you plead, holding him close.

“Okay,” he sighs, because what else can he do now? “I’m here,” He caresses your bare back and tries to forget what he just did to you, but he can’t. “I’m sorry,” he huffs, kissing your forehead without thinking. “I’ve made a mess of things, we did all that and you’re not even cured,”

“Why won’t you fuck me?” you whimper. Your boldness doesn’t even surprise him anymore.

“Because it’s not what you really want, you’d never forgive me once things got back to normal, I was just the only person around for the pollen to latch onto,”

“But that’s what the pollen wants, maybe that’s the only way to cure it, I don’t just want an orgasm, I want you inside me,” you suggest. He’s glad you’re slightly more lucid from the relief of your climax, but you’re still not entirely yourself, your voice slow and sluggish like wading through water when trying to formulate logical thoughts. He can’t deny the way his cock, which had softened slightly, was coming back to life at your words. “Please…” you nuzzle against his chest. “I promise you, I want this even when I’m not… whatever I am right now,” you chuckle. He sighs. He doesn’t quite believe you but he’s running out of ideas of what to do, and your friendship is presumably ruined anyway. Maybe he’s making excuses for himself, but it feels more and more like there’s only one thing for it. He prays you’ll remember how much you begged and how hard he tried to be a gentleman and not hate him, even if you avoid him for the rest of your life after this. “I need you,” you whisper and he gives in.

“Forgive me for this,” he pleads, before lifting you into his arms and moving back over to the bench, sitting down and letting you straddle his lap. You smile at him softly, fluttering your lashes. At least the orgasm before made you a little calmer and more agreeable. If nothing else, if he gets you to orgasm again, you might be even closer to normal. He pulls you to his chest taking a moment to embrace you for what he worries may be the last time. You nuzzle into him eagerly. “I’m a virgin, you know?” he mumbles into your shoulder, not knowing why he feels the need to say it. Those words seem to embolden you, you paw at his chest.

“I promise it’ll be good, please…” you purr. He wonders how you might have reacted if you were your regular self. Would you have found it sweet? Would you have pitied him? You probably knew, everyone knew, but you never mentioned it to him. He allows you to pull off his sweater, lifting his arms and watching you discard it across the room. When you lean in to kiss him, he doesn’t even pretend to put up a fight, holding the back of your neck and kissing you back, pouring all his unspoken feelings into it. He tries to keep it slow and gentle, but you’re far too eager, and the heat starts mounting fast. He pushes away all his doubts, telling himself he can enjoy this, or else it would be even more of a waste. The t-shirt that was under his sweater is next to go, as he pulls away to allow you to rid him of it, he studies your face, still flushed and feverish, but so beautiful, full of lust. His hands fall, one to your waist and the other to your cheek, pulling you back in, pressing his lips to yours and sliding his tongue between them. You moan against his mouth, whimpering a soft sound, a thank you or a plea for more, it’s unclear. He groans back in agreement with whatever it was you intended to say. Your tongues languidly swirl together, caressing one another affectionately. Feeling your warm hands on his bare chest makes him shiver, feeling as you explore the newfound definition of his abdomen, only light, but still a change. In turn, he presses a few kisses to your chest, shakily reaching up to rid you of your bra. It falls away and his cock twitches at the sight of your bare breasts, his breath hitching. He could have never hoped he could see you like this, could have never hoped for any of this, and yet here you were, whining and guiding his hands under your skirt. He runs his hands up and down your thighs as he kisses and sucks at the supple skin of your breasts, giving himself some time to enjoy this despite your hurry. Under different circumstances, he would have liked to have left a mark and asked you to give him one in return, but he knew this was crossing a line as if a million lines hadn’t already been crossed today. At this thought he changes his mind and sucks a tiny mark into the centre of your chest that he’s sure will fade in a few hours, staring at the light pink mark a little wistfully. “Need you inside…” you whine, despite enjoying his affection. There’d be time for that later, but right now it felt completely imperative for him to be inside of you, fearing you might explode if he didn’t give you what you wanted.

“Alright, I get it,” he sighs, placing a few more lingering kisses on the swell of your breasts. Your hands find his belt buckle and without him stopping you this time, they make quick work of it. There’s an awkward shuffle as he helps you lower his jeans around his ankles, but once you’ve settled back in his lap, you take in the sight before you. He looks big even through his boxers, just like you predicted, thick and slightly longer than average. Just the thought of him inside you makes you moan and claw off your skirt with no regard for whether it survives the encounter. Neville’s overheated back presses against the cool wall as he leans back to watch you. He doesn’t bother feeling insecure, as you look like you’ve struck gold as you drool over his length, he supposes in this state you would have been happy with anything. His hands slide up and down your sides, being gentle, taking in the sight of your body, so perfect. He wishes in the back of his mind that this won’t be the last time he sees it, but hope feels too dangerous given the circumstances. He helps you slide your panties down, groaning softly as he spots a string of arousal fluid connecting you and the fabric for a while. You want him so badly. His boxers soon follow and he hisses loudly as your hand wraps around his length. “Oh Merlin…” he whimpers, bucking his hips into your hand. “Fuck, I need you,” he parrots. The ghost of a smile crosses your face as you recognise the words as your own.

“You have me,” you whisper, shifting your hips so you’re above his cock, holding him steady as he twitches. Deep brown hooded eyes stare into yours, he can’t believe his luck. Unable to wait any longer, you sink down onto him. Neville’s eyes squeeze shut in pleasure and he grabs your hips to slow you. You feel perfect around him, warm and silky and inviting, engulfing his whole being in sickly-sweet pleasure. He pulls you close, embracing you as you moan in his ear. Slowly, he lowers you down the rest of the way until your hips are flush with his. For a moment, he simply hugs you and kisses your neck. 

“Feels so good,” he pants in your ear. “So good,”

“You fill me perfectly,” you whine, squirming in his lap for friction. “So big…”

“Yeah?” he coughs, trying to sound smooth but failing, causing him to chuckle nervously. “I won’t last, I’m sorry,” he rubs his hands up and down your spine. “I wish this could last forever,” He lets go of you and leans back against the wall, his hands settling on your hips, taking a moment to admire the sight of you on top of him, him inside you. You feel him twitch within you. “Take what you want, love,” he encourages you to move. There’s no point in him trying to remain in control, all he cares about is that you reach climax, he’s bound to anyway. The nickname makes you even needier somehow, the way his voice is deep with desire. Your hands find his shoulders for purchase, eyes meeting for a moment. You’re both flushed and blissful and the look in his dark eyes shoots a jolt through you. He’s always been attractive, but to see him like this, vulnerable, needy, chest-heaving, it was something else. On his advice, you begin lifting yourself up and lowering yourself down onto his cock, moaning unabashedly with each motion. He stretches you open in the most delicious way, exactly how you’d been picturing all day, or for several years really, perfectly endowed. He relaxes and closes his eyes, groaning and whimpering as you move. Every rock of your hips stokes the flames in the both of you, sending you both toward a common end faster than you regularly might. 

“Thank you,” you purr between moans. “I’ve needed this so bad,” 

“I know,” he chokes out with a tired smile. “I’ve needed it too,” he gently massages the fat of your rear as you ride him, watching in bliss as he disappears inside of you over and over. Your moans rise to a fever pitch, your pace faltering slightly as your climax approaches.

“Yes! Yes!” you practically scream, all your senses heightened as you slam your hips down against him. His face scrunches up in pleasure.

“I’m going to– Ahh!” he grunts, body trembling as he releases thick ropes inside of you, whining with the aftershocks as you continue using him to chase your high. It’s so close, you can’t give up now. Neville’s hands weave into your hair, pulling your face down to his to kiss you. Your tongues meet messily as you struggle to focus on the kiss, preoccupied with your orgasm that is on the tip of your tongue. Heat pools strongly in your abdomen, and you feel the familiar ecstasy of the coil snapping in your belly. Your movement immediately ceases, walls spasming around his length as you moan loudly into his mouth, grabbing him and holding him as close as possible. Your vision whites and your brain goes blank, your whole body twitching violently. He tries his best to soothe you through it, but the pleasure isn’t allowing a single thought to form in your mind for several moments. Finally, your muscles relax and you collapse against him heavily, chest heaving with effort, skin slick with sweat. You vaguely register him removing himself from you and wiping you with a towel, but the corners of your mind are fuzzy and you just cuddle closer to him. You sit in silence for a long while and you nearly fall asleep against his shoulder when he speaks up. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” you hum. He tilts your chin up towards him.

“Open your eyes, love,” he implores softly, to which you flutter them open. He sighs a great sigh of relief, seeing your pupils shrink as they react to the light, dilated now a regular amount, and the flush on your cheeks is much less than before. “Do you still need me?” he asks.

“Don’t go,” you panic, holding him closer, but then you realise what he means. “Oh… no, all I want is to maybe have a nap,”

“Thank Merlin, I couldn’t have gone for another round,” he jokes stiltedly. You giggle, cuddling closer once more. “You don’t hate me then?” he mumbles, as if worried he will have reminded you to hate him, gently pushing some hair from your face. 

“No, you… saved me,” you shrug.

“Saved seems dramatic,”

“Well, who knows what would have happened to me if you’d just run away and left me alone? You didn’t have to do what you did, but you did it for me,” you lean up to kiss his cheek. “You gave yourself to me completely, just to save me from discomfort,”

“Trust me, it was my pleasure,” he laughs nervously and you gently swat his chest. “I’d do anything for you,” he whispers, kissing your forehead with a barely contained tenderness.

“Yeah, you’ve proved that,” you grin, kissing his cheek again. “And I for you,”

“You’d have had sex with me if I’d been the one to bump into the plant?” he prompts, sliding his hand up your bare side affectionately. 

“Of course, I’d have done it way sooner too, not wasted time being a ‘gentleman’,” you tease. “Thank you for that though, it was sweet of you, even if it was unnecessary because I don’t regret it one bit,” you promise him, kissing his lips tenderly. He embraces you tighter for a moment and then loosens his grip. 

“We should probably leave, I bet it's past teaching hours now,” he sighs before helping you up and to dress. Your panties are well and truly ruined, so you’re forced to go commando under your skirt. Neville wraps his sweater around your hips to help prevent it from flipping up as you walk through the grounds back to the dorms. He finds it difficult to dress himself as you keep eagerly kissing him, but finally get himself presentable, only to be pulled into another kiss. It’s not desperate or lustful like before, more playful and excited, and he’s happy to accept them. “I take it you like me,” he chuckles as you hug him tight, his arms around you in return.

“Loads,” you sigh into his t-shirt.

“I do too,”

“My room? I promise we can just cuddle and sleep,” you suggest, smiling up at him.

“Hey, give me a few hours, I might be raring to go again,” he jokes.

“Well then definitely my room so I can help you out, I owe you one, don’t I?” you giggle and wink. He blushes slightly and shakes his head. 

“That plant has made a monster, come on,” he takes your hand in his. “Let’s go before someone notices and starts asking questions,” he opens the door into the greenhouse, accio-ing both of your bags over, as well as the open textbook from the workbench. “Stupid inaccurate thing,” he grumbles, stuffing it in his bag. You merely giggle at his frustration. As you turn to leave, you’re met with a gleam of magic, the door to the outside of the greenhouse rematerialising. The two of you exchange a look, neither of you had realised the door was even missing amidst the whole debacle, but it must have been, or else it couldn’t have reappeared. Hogwarts had forced the two of you together, it was likely your fall hadn’t even been organic in the first place. You knew you weren’t usually so uncoordinated.

“Huh,” Neville blinks, checking that the door now works, wondering when exactly it disappeared and how he had missed it. You scoff and shake your head in disbelief before the both of you laugh earnestly.

“Hogwarts is a total perv,”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

xoxoxo

[rainydayathogwarts]

hello! can you write about seamus finnigan or neville longbottom? w a slytherin reader. although the reader is pureblood and comes from a infamous family, maybe she's a little frightening from the outside but never has morbid thoughts and is quite good and kind to those who truly deserve it and a certain gryffindor boy likes her. he very skeptical, indecisive at first but starts to realize her reality and sincerity

Strangers to friends - Neville Longbottom x artist!reader

honestly thinking of making this an au but i feel like no one will read it because people don't really read neville stuff anymore wc: 1.3k+

Neville held his breath, hoping not to annoy you with his presence, watching as you sketched something in your notebook, one leg crossed over the other which you swung up and down in boredom. You blatantly ignored the teacher’s slow drawl, the soft scratch of your pencil on parchment filling the otherwise silent classroom. Feeling someone’s eyes on you, you looked up, making direct eye contact with the Gryffindor boy, who immediately averted his gaze at the revelation of being caught. You squinted your eyes as you observed him, deep in thought, before returning your stare to your notebook, where you’d been drawing Professor Flitwick.

At the first sign of class being over, you stood up, uncaring about everyone’s eyes dawning on you, still sat in their seats. Flitwick sighed, announcing with annoyance “Well since miss l/n decided class is over, I suppose you can all leave.” You slung your bag over your shoulder, slipping past a group of Gryffindor boys to glide through the doorway. “Anything for you princess.” Called one of the boys, and you turned back to shoot the entire group a glare. Neville’s entire face turned hot, and he elbowed Ron in the side for his unnecessary comment. “What? She might get princess treatment at home, but she definitely won’t get it here.” The ginger defended, ignoring Neville’s obvious dislike towards his attitude.

You huffed at Weasley’s comment, speeding your pace up to increase the distance between you. The Gryffindors were just rude because they were jealous, you repeated to yourself, rounding the corner to the staircase. You sped down the stairs, going all the way outside to the Hogwarts grounds for your next class. Charms was always going to be unpopular between Slytherins but at least you had friends in Care of Magical Creatures. You spotted Pansy and Theo from a distance, speeding up your pace to join them when you heard a call of your name behind you. Spinning around on your heels, you sighed in relief at the sight of Draco and Blaise catching up to you. Blaise furrowed his eyebrows when the pair finally neared you, putting a hand on your shoulder in worry. “Are you okay?” “You look… shrivelled.” You hummed, eyes trailing past the two boys in front of you to look where a couple of students clad in their red uniforms strolled across the grounds. “Gryffindors.” You replied, smiling sarcastically. The two Slytherins groaned in unison, used to the unloving relationship between them and the lions.

From where Neville made his way down to care of magical creatures, he could see your gaze trailing to land on his moving figure. He gulped, fearful of your intimidating stare. Neville turned his attention to his book bag, where he aimlessly ruffled through loose papers and notebooks. He would do anything so he wouldn’t have to stay occupied by your scary stare. Unfortunately for Neville, he couldn’t avoid you for long, because when he finally arrived to the empty patch of grass at the edge of the forest where class took place, you were quickly announced to be his partner.

Neville pretended not to notice the way Harry sympathetically patted him on the shoulder, instead shooting you a respectful yet awkward smile. You nodded in response to the shy boy, who nervously ran a hand through his hair. Neville couldn’t read the look on your face, but when Hagrid finally called out all the pairs, he began to nervously approach you. When you and Neville finally stood face to face, he fully expected you to begin barking orders at him. What he most definitely didn’t expect was for you to say “So, I’m not gonna lie here, I wasn’t totally listening to what Hagrid was saying.” You nervously laughed, hoping that Neville was patient enough to explain everything to you.

To your utmost surprise, Neville’s shoulders sagged in relief, thankful that you weren’t going to be strict with the work, but rather the opposite. The boy smiled, running a hand through his hair once more as he flicked through his notebook, describing that you had to sketch and label the chimera, listing out all its uses in other magical areas. You scoffed, saying “You don’t think Hargrid’s going to get a real life chimera in here, do you?” But you were quickly swallowing your words when you spun around to find the half giant leading a chained chimera onto the grounds. You squealed in horror, tripping backwards over your feet as you flinched away from the creature. Neville put an arm around your shoulders to steady you, halting your fall, and he smiled sympathetically at you. “Sorry.” He added, grimacing when he glanced back at the creature.

“So we’re going to stay stationed right here.” You decided, walking a safe distance away and dropping your bag. You struggled to take off your jumper, dropping it on the floor so you could sit on it without dirtying your skirt. Neville put his things down, watching as you flicked through your sketchbook. Catching sight of the drawing you’d done of Flitwick that morning, Neville gasped. “No way!” He put his hand on the page to stop you from turning the page before he was instantly blushing and pulling his hand away, apologising profusely. “It’s fine Neville. Do you like it? Drew it this morning.” “Woah.” Neville admired the drawing when you thrusted the book closer to him, a smile gracing his features. “This is amazing.”

“Yeah? You can have it if you want.” You said, already making way to rip the page out of your book. Neville started waving his hands, saying “No, you don’t have to y/n, really!” But it was too late; you’d ripped the paper off, marking your name and the date. “It’s yours. Flitwick’s my favourite person to draw. Look at how many of him I have.” And suddenly, Neville had forgotten all about the roaring creature in front of him, worshiping each and every one of your scarily precise drawings of the professor. “Does that mean you’ve drawn other people?” Neville asked curiously, watching as a smile bloomed on your face and you immediately delved into a passionate rant about all of the people at Hogwarts you’ve drawn, until finally, you landed on one of him. Well, him and Luna Lovegood in the library, a rough sketch of bookshelves behind them.

“I couldn’t really focus but Pansy was adamant on staying in the library.” Neville took the sketchbook from your hands, his mouth agape in amazement. “These are really cool. You’re really talented y/n.” You felt your cheeks heat up at the unexpected compliment, thanking Neville sweetly as you put a hand on his bicep. “Fifteen minutes left!” Hagrid called out, causing the both of you to scramble for pencils and begin lousily sketching.

What you didn’t tell Neville was that on the way back from class, Draco had nudged your side, teasingly saying “You looked like you were having a great time with Longbottom in class.” His words were loud enough to attract the attention of the rest of the friend group, who instantly joined in. Pansy and Blaise did an over-exaggerated recreation of the way you tripped backwards, Blaise catching Pansy in his arms and pulling her into a tight hug. Even as you said “That’s not even what happened!” you felt the heat rush to your face, and your arm clamped down on your bag, making sure your sketchbook was still in there. Your sketchbook, where you had marked on the newest page ‘Neville and Y/N, The Chimera’, in your horrible rendition of the chimera.

And Neville didn’t let you know, but when he returned to the common room that day, admiring your drawing, he felt his cheeks become rosy. Ron, being the nosy friend he is, snatched the paper from Neville’s hands, immediately begin to question him on the drawing. “Fuck Neville. Do you have a crush on little miss princess, is that it?” And Neville didn’t find himself denying the idea, instead saying “Hey, she’s really nice, okay!?”

[justanoasisimagines]

Blurb (1)

Hey my lovelies, welcome to my heroes and villian event to celebrate Halloween! All month I'll be posting for a Hero and a Villian every single day! Credit to cafekitsune for the banner and the divider!

Summary; Neville doesn't know how to ask you on a date

"Do you have any plans tonight?" You raised your head as Neville approached you. The warmth of the fire created a pleasant warm glow. Neville sat beside you, angling his body towards you. "No why?" "There's a Halloween party, I was wondering if you'd like to come with me." Placing your bookmark firmly in place. Glancing up you were kind blue eyes and a smile that could brighten any dark room. "You hate going to parties." "True, but only when I go alone." "Okay, I'll go, but if it gets too much, tell me." Neville agreed.

The Great Hall had been decorated with floating candles and pumpkins, the ghosts floated around merrily. Elongated tables filled with various food and sweets. Music played from above. Everyone danced, drank and ate allowing themselves to be free of their everyday stresses. Neville sat beside you looking out at the sea of people gathered; dancing and talking amongst themselves. Your little finger took the plunge reaching out to touch his. With a smile, Neville refused to look down in case he imagined it. "Neville, would you like to dance with me?" Neville's lips twitched as he raised from his seat, turning to face you, hand outstretched. Hand taken, Neville led you to the dancefloor, a gentle sway to the music. Something new lingering on the horizon, two friends about to adventure into the unknown with you. "Can I take you on a date?" Neville questioned with his hands on your waist. "Yeah I'ld like that."

[forthehpfanboys]

if you’re still asking for headcanons could you do neville (i love him sm he’s underrated) and his boyfriend who’s taller than him, very outgoing, kinda like a class clown (similar to george and fred)

Oh my god, I have too. Like I'm sorta coming back so I'm sorry of this is ooc. Anyway, Neville is so sweet.

He's so blushy all the fucking time.

Looks up at you with the biggest fucking puppy dog eyes all the time.

Lowkey wants to sit in your lap and read but *knows* you'll probably make fun of him.

You guys are total opposites it's *so* cute.

If you were sorted in to the same house, snuggles happen on the couch after hours and you guys *have* fallen curled up next to each other.

If not, it still happens but like oh my god. You guys get curled up in the couch of your houses common room so he doesn't get teased by the other guys.... Unless your a Slytherin. Then it's in your bed with the curtains drawn.

Oh, and if you *are* a Slytherin, you single handedly put a stop to Draco and his bitches teasing him and he's so greatful.

Literally will take the fall for you if you do pranks with Fred and George but PLEASE do not make him do it, he's high-key a softie.

You guys can hold hands peacefully because he knows you will defend him.

He GENUINELY laughs at all of your jokes- and his laugh ranges from snorts to giggles. It's so cute to you. He's adorable.

Oh my god- if you hug him tightly and spin him around he squeals and clings to you.

He LOVES the height difference because it's just so damn nice being held by you and your big arms and your so warm and it makes him blush.

[btsbabe7]

November Prompt 21: Crisp Air

Words: 905 | Pairing: Neville Longbottom x reader

In the distance, you can make out Neville’s frame hunched on a bench in front of the main greenhouse. Thick brown vines trailing across the giant frosted windows hug the structure behind him and the morning horizon peeks just beyond it. The view is breathtaking, but you can’t bring yourself to stop staring at him.

Your close footsteps draw his attention from the book in his hands and up towards you. His thick brown hair is blowing in the soft morning winds and he shoves his book away, immediately coming off the bench to greet you with a warm smile. His gloved hands rest on your cheeks and he leans down to plant a soft kiss on your lips, warming you more than you’d been with your hands shoved inside your coat pockets on the walk over. When he pulls away, his ocean blue eyes gaze into yours and you get lost in them until the crisp morning air rushes over the both of you. The moment you shiver against him, he reaches into his bag for the extra greenhouse keys he’d managed to get from Professor Sprout at the beginning of the year.

“Next class isn’t due til noon, so we have plenty of time to study,” he grunts while pushing the heavy door open with his shoulder. With a sigh, he turns back toward you, following your lead after you step inside. Shortly after, he locks the door from the inside. “But I don’t understand why you want to study dittany, we’re far more advanced than that.”

You take in the warmth of the greenhouse. All the sunlight that seems to have disappeared over the week has been absorbed inside the frosted glass walls. Everywhere you turn there’s plant pots, soil and fertilizer bags or some green herb growing lushly. It makes you smile, makes you happy to be able to witness life in this form when everything outside of here is withering away and growing colder with winter fast approaching.

You peel your coat off, then your gloves and scarf and earmuffs and toss them on the only empty table you can find before turning to see your boyfriend’s look of confusion.

“Come on, Nev,” you purr softly. “Warm me up a bit?”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip the moment he slips out of his coat and drops everything on the ground before scurrying to you. Neville steps in front of you, allowing his fingertips to curl against the hairs at the nape of your neck before pulling you into an open-mouthed kiss.

He’s gotten loads more attention now due to his changing looks, but you’ve had the real luxury of watching him grow older over the years. His puffy cheeks were the first to go, eventually rounding out into a sculpted, chiseled jawline and soon after, his body had done the same, leaving him with nothing but pure muscle that threatened to tear through the white button up he’d failed to replace. And though he had many physical changes, his kindness and courage and care for you always remained, and that’s what you love most.

You hop on top of the table, shaking a few pots in the neighboring potting tables which gains a laugh from the both of you. And once you’ve steadied yourself, you glide your hands over his, which had dropped to your waist during your kiss. Then, you trail up his wrists and slowly over his biceps until you reach his shoulder blades. You work your fingers tenderly into the knots that always form there and he grunts loudly in relief.

“You’re doing it again, aren’t you?” You moan. “Carrying all the plant pots for the first years?”

He bows his head in shame, knowing that he told you he’d stop two weeks ago.

“You know how heavy those pots can get, Y/n, and they’re so small. It reminds me of us seven years ago,” he admits.

“Nev, you promised. It’s admirable, truly, but you’re neglecting your own body.”

“I can handle it,” he whispers and leans in closer, looking you straight in the eyes with a smirk. “Besides, I have you to rub out all the kinks and knots.”

You scoff softly before giggling against his touch and pulling him closer. He rests his head against your shoulder, his breath steadying against the goosebumps that have prickled across your skin.

“Y/n?” He breathes.

“Mhm?”

“I want you to stay with me over the break,” he answers, pulling back to see the clear excitement and nervousness on your face.

In all the years of dating, he’d never asked, and during the times you’d begged him, he always said he didn’t want to intrude on you and your time with your family; though, he didn’t even have his own anymore.

“Yes. Yes! Of course I’ll come, Nev,” you exclaim and rest your hands against his collarbones.

“Y/n,” he says again and you gaze up into his eyes once more. “I’m absolutely head over heels in love with you.”

You blush hard as he brushes your tears away and pulls your lips back against his. In that kiss, you both make a silent vow to never abandon each other. And that vow, in a world where anything can be frigid and crisp on the outside, having the ability to lean on each other for warmth whenever you may need it feels absolutely amazing, just as love should.

Please be sure to check out my other latest fics:

⚡︎ November Prompt Challenge (days 1-30)

⚡︎ For You Always - reader x Snape

~ Navi: masterlist (all fandoms) & (bts imagines/drabbles)

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction, but please don’t copy! Written purely for fun :) Please only repost to other socials w/my permission and credit! Reblogging w/credit is fine. Thank you! ♡