Lost at the Hog's Head

Hermione sat down with a huff at a table in the deserted inn.

“Firewhiskey, please, Aberforth,” she told the man washing tables with an attempt at a smile. He looked slightly confused as he straightened from his work.

“Hermione. You don’t drink. Something wrong?”

“Oh, Ronald and I just got into a fight. You know how we are.” She gave a dejected smile. Aberforth still looked concerned, but nodded and went into the back.

She was tracing the grains of wood in the table when she heard a familiar voice.

“Hermione!”

She looked up to find her old classmate Neville wearing a waiter’s apron and carrying a Firewhiskey.

“Neville!” He put the drink on the table and she stood up and gave him a hug. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in ages!”

Hermione sat back down and he took the seat across from her.

“Well, I took the job here, ‘cause Aberforth was so generous – work for food and board. We’re bonding, you know? Something clicked during the Battle, I guess. I kinda look at him as my older brother now. Anyway. I’m studying up on my Herbology so I can get a teaching position at Hogwarts.”

“That’s great, Neville!” she said, excited for him.

“So how’ve you been, Hermione?”

The memory of their fight came back, as she struggled to keep the smile on her face. She took a sip of her drink.

This fight had been worse than any before. They hadn’t been spending much time together and their jobs were wearing them out. Sometimes they said no more than ten words to each other in a day. And they were married. She couldn’t remember what was said, just that she’d had to wipe tears from her face once she’d Apparated to Hogsmeade.

She traced the circular rim of her glass. Despite her efforts, when she looked up, her smile was gone.

“Ron and I had a fight. Our relationship’s been a bit rocky for the last month or so. Work, you know?” Another smile attempt. Another sip.

“Hermione, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Longbottom!” Aberforth called from the bar.

“I get off in a little while. I’ll get myself a drink and we can catch up. Maybe you could get some stuff off your chest. How does that sound?”

“Wonderful, Neville. I can’t wait to hear what else you’ve been up to,” she told him, and this time her smile was genuine.

Half an hour later, Hermione and Neville were talking, him on his second drink, she on her third.

She had brushed off her fight, telling him she’d get over it, as always. She prodded him about things at Hogwarts, the happenings in Hogsmeade, and how Luna was doing. She didn’t see Luna much either. He told her about Professor Sprout readying for retirement and passing him hints. He talked about the look on the students’ faces on Hogsmeade visits. He said Luna was doing well, enjoying naturalist research, and that he didn’t see her much, but they were pen pals. Apparently, she was traveling the world.

As he talked, Hermione moved her chair around the table in increments, coming closer to him. He was telling her about a time when a student got lost and wound up in the Hog’s Head when she placed her hand on his thigh. It wasn’t high enough to be completely improper, but high enough to bring a flush to his cheeks. He cleared his throat and continued to speak.

“Aberforth’s not exactly friendly to most, as you know, so I had to give the poor kid directions. He was third year, at the most. So I told him where he was and that if he went left after leaving, then left again –“

Suddenly Hermione’s lips were on his. Caught completely by surprise, he didn’t pull away. At first the kiss was gentle and she moved her hands to his face. Then the kiss deepened and she began to come closer, nearly sitting in his lap.

Once he got his wits about him, he gently pushed her shoulders back. She pulled away for a second and he spoke as fast as he could.

“Hermione, don’t. You’re married, you love – “ She covered his mouth again, going from a deep kiss, to short ones she could speak between.

“I don’t care.”

He tried to push her away again. “No, Hermione –“ She kissed him again and again, resisting his attempts to stop her. Her lips missed his mouth, catching the corner, then moved to his jawline, his neck… then she collapsed into him, clutching his shirt and crying into his chest.

At a loss, he wrapped his arms around her as she began to mumble incoherent nonsense. He rubbed circles on her back and said comforting things. Her cries got quieter until they stopped completely. Neville looked down at her. She had passed out.

“Aberforth,” he said, not shouting, nor whispering. He waved his hand at the man behind the bar. “She’s out,” he said when the older man reached them. “She’s had too much to drink. Can you help me get her to my room? She needs somewhere to stay tonight.”

Aberforth nodded, and together, they awkwardly carried Hermione upstairs and into Neville’s room. They laid her on the bed. She never stirred.

“Hmm,” Aberforth said. “Probably shouldn’t have brought her that third one.” He shrugged, then left the room. Neville followed, closing the door behind him. He had another Firewhiskey downstairs and said goodnight to his friend before pulling a quilt out of the closet and laying it on the floor for himself to sleep on. He checked on Hermione before going to bed himself.

She still hadn’t stirred, but her chest was rising and falling in soft movements. He brushed her hair out of her face and pulled the quilt on his bed over her. He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, then lay on the quilt he’d put on the floor, dragging a pillow from the bed down with him.

~

The next morning, Hermione woke with a splitting headache. She rolled over for a few more minutes of light sleep, then sat up quickly, realizing she wasn’t in her own bed. She groaned and put a hand to her spinning head. When her vision cleared, she looked around.

Neville was leaning against the side of the bed, reading a book. She could see a picture of a strange-looking plant on one of the pages. He looked up at her.

“Good morning,” he said. “How’s your head?”

“A shambles,” she responded.

He chuckled. “Aberforth’s right. You really don’t drink, do you?”

She just stared at him. “What happened last night?

“What do you remember?” he countered.

“Not much… getting a few drinks, talking with you… crying… oh Merlin.” Her voice got quieter as she spoke.

“That’s pretty much it,” he said as he closed the book, stood, and stretched.

“Oh, Neville, I’m so sorry.”

“’Bout what?”

“That I- well, that I- That I came on to you like that. It’s just-“

“It’s fine, Hermione. You were drunk.”

“But I shouldn’t have- God, I’m so sorry. Wait- so nothing else happened?”

He sat on the bed next to her. “Nope.”

“God, I’m sorry. Again. I trust you. I know you’d never do that. Just- God…”

He gave a small sardonic laugh. “You have no clue how much I wanted to…” he said to himself, but she heard. When he noticed he spoke aloud, he blushed, but looked at her anyway.

This time, her smile was sad. “I know you love him,” he told her. “I completely understand. But I’ve been wishing you didn’t since – I can’t remember when. Since school.”

“Neville,” she said.

“I know. It’s fine. Like I said, I understand.”

She reached forward and brushed a bit of his hair off his forehead. “You are the best friend I could ever ask for. I never noticed that and I’m sorry.”

She looked into his eyes and wondered whether or not she’d go home today.