All Again for You

The corridor that led to the Gryffindor portrait hole was dimly lit with flaming torches that hovered close to the walls. The only other light was provided by the moon’s soft glow that spilled in through the large windows. Neville Longbottom decided that Ginny Weasley’s death grip on his arm was caused by the fact that she was scared out of her wits. Even though he wouldn’t word his fears, Neville had to admit that the strange shadows on the walls were creeping him out, too.

When the quiet duo appeared in front of the Fat Lady – who was, at that moment, drinking what looked like gin and tonic from a large, glass cup – they both came to a stop. Neville turned to Ginny to say something that would end the night in a peaceful manner. But, before he could utter a single word, a stricken look crossed Ginny’s pale features.

“Oh no!” she exclaimed, making Neville jump a little. Even the Fat Lady choked on her drink and started muttering something about ‘inconsiderate little sods’. “I’ve forgotten my sweater in the Great Hall!” Looking apologetic, she rested her hand on Neville’s arm. “I’m so sorry, Neville, I have to go.” With that, she quickly pecked the red-faced boy on the cheek and hurried down the corridor, her sky blue dress swishing as she went.

It took a moment for Neville to gather his thoughts, and then another to rack his brain for the right password. After the Fat Lady chucked a few colorful words at him for being what she called “disrespectful,” Neville entered the Gryffindor common room with a slight smile. In a strange sort of way, he was glad Ginny had had a reason to leave. The black-haired boy wasn’t quite sure he could have thought of something mature and witty to say that would’ve made Ginny swoon and fall into his arms.

Completely lost in his own thoughts, it didn’t come as a surprise when Neville suddenly found himself tripping over the edge of the floor mat. An ‘oof’ escaped his lips as he fell, quickly lashing out with his arms to stop himself from smashing his face. Blinking, he got up and brushed himself off, heat gathering in his cheeks.

“Neville?”

Barely recovering from the fall, Neville jumped about a foot high in the air, a strangled choke escaping him. As he blinked in the darkness and tried to figure out where the voice had come from, he searched his dress robes for his wand.

“Neville, it’s Hermione.” After whispering a quick Lumos, the bushy-haired appeared from behind the armchair that sat in front of the dying fire. “I’m sorry if I startled you,” she said, sniffing. She was lingering in front of the fireplace, which made her silhouette stand out sharply against the dim light.

“It’s, um, okay,” he mumbled quietly.

But it was definitely not okay, Neville thought angrily. Of all the people he could’ve ran into, why did it have to be Hermione Granger? And as if that hadn’t been enough, he’d had made a complete fool out of himself in front of her – again!

After the Yule Ball incident, Neville had thought: Okay, what else could top the embarrassment bar on this one? But, apparently, he’d completely underestimated his ability to be a total dimwit.

If he was being honest, Neville had to admit that he hadn’t exactly planned on asking Hermione to go with him. It had just happened, really. They’d both come down for breakfast at the same time, and, while they were walking to the Great Hall, he’d popped the question, a little impressed that he’d managed to do it without stumbling over his words. But then Hermione had said no and a thousand bricks had crushed his ego to a gooey pulp.

Now, as he stood there, feeling uncomfortable, he wondered what senseless, ludicrous force had convinced him that a girl like Hermione would ever, ever want to be seen with a boy like him.

It was only when Hermione suddenly said “I’m sorry,” and started to sob into her hands that he was pulled harshly away from his depressing thoughts. He took a tentative step forward and then, with some sort of bravery he’d apparently had hidden away, gathered the fragile girl into his arms. Hermione clutched at his dress robes and buried her face in his chest, bawling her eyes out. Neville had no idea why his fellow housemate was crying, but he let her shed tears and consoled her with soothing words, whispering into her hair.

When Hermione’s breathing finally evened out, and she pulled back to wipe at her eyes, Neville found enough courage to ask: “What’s wrong?”

Hermione sighed and turned away from him, sitting down gracefully in the armchair. She motioned to the one across from her, and Neville dropped down into it. The fire had almost completely gone out, but Hermione’s Lumos still provided enough light for him to see her face. When he’d had a glimpse of her earlier that night, in the Great Hall, he’d had to contain himself to not gasp out loud. Hermione had looked absolutely beautiful; her hair was curled atop her head, framing her face in an exquisite way, and the gown she wore had hugged her curves in all the right places.

Now, however, Hermione’s hair hung limply around her shoulders, and her eyes were bloodshot. Her make-up was smudged and she looked absolutely broken. Neville wanted so badly to reach out and hold her again, but he restrained himself.

“Ron… Ron and I had an argument,” Hermione said finally, sniffling. “I’d been having such a good time with Krum, but— He just had to ruin it by saying something completely absurd!” Tears welled up in her eyes again, but didn’t spill over. Smiling a little, she reached out and took Neville’s trembling hand in her own. “Thank-you, Neville.”

Neville was taken aback. He wondered if he should console Hermione about whatever Ron had said, or offer to slug him or…something. But he was completely speechless and all he could do was smile back at her.

Something seemed to come over Hermione then, some sort of realization perhaps, that made her frown. “I’m sorry about not going to the Yule Ball with you,” she said sincerely, squeezing his fingers lightly. “I’d already said yes to Krum, and I was so angry with Ron that I didn’t even think of apologizing to you.” She blinked, and her brown eyes shone. “I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Neville gulped. “Hermione, you— you don’t have to apologize. It wasn’t your fault.” Even as he said the words, he couldn’t help but feel happy inside. At least now he knew why she’d turned him down so mercilessly.

Hermione smiled and glanced at his dress robes. “I’m sorry if I ruined those,” she said, a giggle escaping her.

Neville looked down at the wet spot and chortled. “It’s alright.”

They had lapsed into a sort of comfortable silence when Hermione asked, “Did you have fun at the Ball? I saw you with Ginny – you guys looked great together.” Grinning, she added, “And you’re a very good dancer.”

Neville blushed. He didn’t know if she was joking or not, but, glancing to see her smiling at him, the Gryffindor boy decided that he didn’t care. “You looked beautiful. I mean, uh, you look beautiful. You and Krum, when you danced… It was good, really good. I mean, I wasn’t staring at you or anything but—”

Hermione’s soft laugh made him stop mid-sentence. Sometime during the time they’d been talking, he’d leaned forward in his chair without realizing it, and it seemed as though Hermione had done the same. He meant to say something, to pull away, but, before he could, some unknown part of him took control, and he moved forward and kissed Hermione.

At first the teenagers stilled, getting used to this new feeling. Then, Hermione was moving against his lips, and he was kissing her right back. He’d never been kissed before – not on the lips, at least – and he’d always worried that when, if he would ever get the chance, how would he know what to do? But it wasn’t all that hard, apparently.

Snaking a hand around Hermione’s waist, Neville tugged at her hips lightly. As though in a trance, Hermione got up and came to sit on his lap, their kiss not yet broken. Hermione’s lips were soft and tasted sweet, like Butterbeer and toffees. She ran her fingers through Neville’s curly, black hair and he drew circles on her back with his fingers, feeling as though he could do this forever.

They both pulled back at the same time, and when Hermione’s wide, chocolate eyes met his, he smiled at her reassuringly. Without another word, he kissed her jaw line. Hermione’s eyes closed as she sighed softly. Neville’s hands moved further up her back, where her gown exposed some bare skin. At the sudden contact, Hermione flinched but didn’t pull away. Taking this as some sort of sign to continue, Neville leaned forward to kiss Hermione’s neck when—

“Oh, bugger!” the frenzied girl suddenly whisper-shouted. She glanced towards the portrait hole hurriedly and smoothed down the front of her gown, which was slightly rumpled. As Neville, more than a little confused, craned his neck to see what was happening, the portrait hole opened and in came Ginny, her wild red hair somehow shining in the darkened room.

“Ginny!” Hermione said a little too loudly, smiling. “I thought I heard someone say the password.”

Neville got up and smiled sheepishly at the younger girl. “Hey,” he said as a way of greeting, although everything suddenly felt so very, very wrong.

Ginny grinned, oblivious to everything and came over to stand by Hermione. After saying a quick hi to Ron, she grasped at Hermione’s elbow and started pulling her away, saying, “Just the person I wanted to see. I need to get your opinion on something—”

“You go on,” Hermione mumbled, prying the other girl’s hand away gently. “I’ll be there in a minute. I have to, uh, do something first.”

Ginny, apparently not seeing the other girl’s odd behavior, shrugged and skipped up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory.

A pregnant silence weighed down on the two as Neville thought of something to say. Before he could think of anything to say, however, Hermione turned to him, looking apologetic.

“I— I’m sorry, Neville. I… I didn’t mean for that to happen. I was so confused and you were being so nice.” She shook her head, as though ashamed. “I can’t believe I took advantage of you like that... I’m sorry.” She took a step back. “We can’t do this.” Then she was running up the stairs, and away from Neville.

The dark-haired boy stood in the Gryffindor common room for a long time, pondering his thoughts and wondering what the hell had just happened. He traced his lips with his fingers and closed his eyes, memories of the lingering kiss replaying over and over in his mind.