FIC: Secondary Succession - Part 2

[featherxquill]

Title: Secondary Succession
Author: ncp
Pairing: Neville/Lavender, Neville/Cho
Rating: NC-17
Words 18,000
Prompt: Even after everything they went through together in their Seventh year, Lavender hasn't gotten over her neediness and clinginess, and it's too much for a newly confident Neville to handle.
Warnings: PTSD, Infidelity
Summary: “Chopping off snake heads doesn’t really qualify you for Herbology work.” It doesn’t qualify you to be a good boyfriend either.
Author's Notes: This fic got away from me, and it’s strayed a bit from the prompt. It’s also my first long fic, so I’m nervous about how I did. Con-crit and general ego-boosting appreciated.

Go to Part 1



By the time he Apparated to Lavender’s flat, he was feeling much calmer. The walk from the castle to the gate had done a lot to relax him, and he’d made a resolution not to let himself be affected by things in his past any more. It was time to move on with his life. He poured himself a drink from a bottle of Firewhiskey he’d bought a few days ago and flipped through the Prophet half-heartedly.

“Hi Neville. You’re here early.”

“Oh, hi Penelope,” he greeted Lavender’s flatmate. “Yeah, I had a rough day at work.”

“Well, I hope you feel better. I’m off to have a kip.” He waved at her retreating back and stared out the window, nursing his drink and counting the owls flying out of the shop below. He’d counted eighty-seven by the time Lavender walked through the door.

“Neville! Why...”

“Long story.”

“Hmm... Me too.” She sat and put her head on his shoulder. “Day, I mean. Long day.” Neville snorted. They cuddled together and stared out the window at the owls for a while. Eighty-eight... Eighty-Nine....

“Did you miss me?”

“Hmm?” Ninety...

“At work today? Did you miss me?”

What was she on about? “I spent three hours in the Restricted section tracking down eight-hundred year old scrolls and two hours fixing the wards on the dorm windows, then I got in a fight with a guy at work, and then I came here. So no, I didn’t have time to think about you. Sorry.”

“Well, you don’t need to take that tone.”

“What tone?”

“That tone.”

He placed his glass on the table and got up. “I’m sorry Lav. I’ve just had a really rough day and I don’t really have time for your needy, clingy bullshit.”

“Please don’t swear.”

“I’ll use whatever fucking language I like and you can just piss off.”

“What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing is wrong with me, I told you. I’m just tired and pissed off and you’re annoying me.”

“I’m annoying you? I asked you a simple question and you nearly took my head off! And I’m not being clingy!”

“‘Did you miss me?’’ he mocked. “That’s classic Lavender Brown. I know how you work, I shared a dorm with your last boyfriend.”

Lavender turned pale, then red. “That’s -- I can’t believe --- You---” She finally found her tongue and her voice was icy with rage. “You have no right to talk to me like that. I haven’t done anything wrong, and you’re being horrible for no reason.”

Neville knew he should be sorry, but he’d already apologized once today; he wasn’t ready to humble himself yet. “Well, you shouldn’t ask such stupid questions. Why would I think about you at work? It’s not like I sit for hours mindlessly sewing ribbons onto robes. I have actual work to do.”

“Oh, I’m sorry if my career doesn’t match your high standards. Whatever will you tell your Auror friends, that you’re dating a lowly seamstress? How humiliating for you!”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous. Do you not even listen to what I’m saying?”

“I don’t listen? You’re the one who never listens! You don’t care at all about the things that are important to me.”

“That’s because the things you care about are stupid! I tried paying attention once, and you went on for forty-five minutes about silk vs. satin wedding robes!”

“Well, if I’m so boring, then why are you even ---”

“Oi!” Penelope stuck her head out her door. “Some of us worked two shifts and reattached twenty noses today! Go fight somewhere else. And don’t use that buzzy sound-muffling spell, it keeps me awake!”

Lavender slammed the door as she went into her room. If he followed her in there, he’d have to apologize for saying hurtful things. On the other hand, if he stayed away... well, then he might have to stay away permanently. He poked his head into the doorway. “I’m sorry.” Lavender stared stonily at a crack in the wall. “Lavender, please. I shouldn’t have fought with you. I really did have a rotten day at work, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” She continued to look at anyplace except him. He sat next to her on her bed and leaned his forehead against her shoulder. “I don’t want you to be mad at me.”

“Well, I am.”

“Well, don’t be”. He turned her face to his and kissed her cheek.

“Don’t, Nev---” He stopped her with another kiss. “You can’t just--- mmpf...”

Neville smiled into her mouth. “Knew you couldn’t stay mad at me.”

“What makes you think I’m not mad at you?” she replied, pulling him down on top of her. He grinned and brushed his hand over her breast, eliciting the reaction he was looking for. She arched up into his hand and sucked on his earlobe, feebly protesting that she was still very angry with him and this meant nothing. Neville unbuttoned her robes and nuzzled her breast through her bra, her soft groans getting him more aroused by the second. She couldn’t be that angry with him if she was letting him touch her. He slid his hands down her body and looped his fingers around her knickers and nudged her hips up to slip them off. Sex was good. Sex made everything better. They’d fuck and then she’d forgive him and he would forget all about why he was so stressed. His tongue dipped into her navel and she squealed and the sound got him instantly hard. He flipped them both over and she settled over his hips, straddling him and shrugging off her robes. He reached up and cupped both her breasts through her bra and rubbed his fingers over her nipples, enjoying how they puckered at his touch.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered. Lavender blushed.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I love your skin.” She shivered pleasurably as he smoothed his palms over her shoulders, along her sides, and settled at the curve of her waist.

“You’ve never said anything like that before.”

“Well, I should have said it a long time ago.” Had he really never told her how pretty she was? He thought it all the time, especially when she undressed for him. Her skin was flawless and every time he ran his hands over it, he felt like the luckiest bastard on Earth.

She stretched out beside him and kissed him “You look really good too.”

“Please, I’m fat little Neville Longbottom who everyone makes fun of and I have no idea how I got the prettiest witch in Gryffindor into bed.”

“You haven’t been fat little Neville Longbottom since the middle of Sixth year, and no one dares make fun of you, and you got me into bed by being brave and confident and sexy and a good kisser.” They lay there for what seemed like forever, kissing and touching while she unbuttoned his robes and his shirt and he shuddered when she ran her hands all over his chest. He figured she wasn’t mad at him anymore. Her fingers dipped into his waistband and he groaned as she cupped him through his underwear and began stroking him. He thrust into her hand, hoping for more contact, and he soon got his wish as she slipped his trousers and pants off and kissed her way down his chest and Neville grinned at the ceiling. He loved when she did this. She smiled up at him from between his legs just before taking him into her mouth. Neville groaned and bucked his hips as she sucked and licked and swirled that clever tongue around his most sensitive area and this was incredible and he looked down and saw her head bobbing up and down and he twisted his hands in the sheets and he shouted in ecstasy as he emptied himself into her mouth.

She hauled herself up to embrace him as he caught his breath. “That was amazing,” he finally said. “You’re amazing.”

“Hmm...”

“I’ve been meaning to ask... Not that I’m implying anything, but where did you learn to do that?”

She giggled. “Well, when a bunch of witches sit around mindlessly sewing ribbons all day, they start to talk about all sorts of stuff, including all the things they get up to with their boyfriends.”

“I’m never criticizing your job again.” They both laughed. “No, I’m serious, I shouldn’t have said those things. I didn’t mean them, and I’m sorry.”

“That’s just it, though. You did mean them. I wish you’d be honest about it.”

“I am being honest!” he insisted, a little guiltily. He did think her job was pointless, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to spend time with her. She was kind, and she was always cheerful, and she was pretty. And it didn’t hurt that she let him see her naked on a regular basis.

“I don’t know why you’re even with me if you aren’t interested in paying attention to me.”

“I pay attention!”

Lavender growled and turned her back to him. “No you don’t,” she muttered into her pillow.

“Lav...”

She slapped his hand away. “You never ask about what I’m feeling or thinking, or what I might want. We’ve never been on a real date, we just stay in and read the newspaper and have sex.”

Neville sat up, surprised at her outburst. “You want to go on a date? You’ve never told me that. I can’t read your bloody mind, you know! How am I supposed to care about the things that are important to you if you don’t tell me about them?”

“You could ask!”

“Well, I like staying in and reading the newspaper and having a drink. My job is really stressful and the last thing I want ...”

“There you go with the job again. My job might not be as glamorous as yours, but I work hard and I enjoy it and...”

“You’re completely mental!”

“And you’re selfish!”

“Selfish? What the fuck are you talking about? Because I didn’t know you want to go out on dates, I’m suddenly selfish?”

She sprang out of bed and pulled on her knickers and robes. “In bed. You’re completely selfish. You’ve never once gone down on me...”

“That’s what this is about? Oral sex? Which was your idea, by the way!”

“It’s not my favorite thing to do, but I do it because you enjoy it. The only time I ever get off is if you’ve had too much to drink and you’re taking forever. Which happens more often than not, but...”

“Are you calling me a drunk?” That was absolutely ridiculous. He’d been drunk exactly once in his life, and that was the night Seamus died. The night after the battle, when everything was supposed to be over and the world was celebrating and it was time to be happy again. He’d gone to have a few laughs with Seamus in the hospital wing, only to be told that he was dying. His lungs had been scarred from breathing Giant’s blood fumes. Had that been the only problem Madame Pomfrey could have saved him, but his extensive battle injuries combined with the long-term effects of Cruciatus were too much for his body to take. Neville and Dean were barely able to hold themselves together long enough to say goodbye. Lavender had needed to be sedated. Percy Weasley had found him hours later, trembling from grief and guilt and exhaustion in the charred remains of the Room of Requirement and had dragged him off to Aberforth’s so they could both drink themselves into oblivion. It had worked for a while, but the next morning Seamus was still dead and it was still his fault and his head felt like a herd of Thestrals had run through it. Neville and Percy had made a pact not to get drunk like that again, and for his part he’d stuck to it. He only had a few drinks these days because it relaxed him after a long, hard day of trying to forget. It was completely unfair of Lavender to accuse him of drinking too much, when every damn day he walked past the blackened grass and didn’t fall apart.

“Fine. Fine! I’m an insensitive boyfriend, I’m a horrible lover, I’m a fucking drunk. And I am leaving.” He gathered up his clothes and Apparated.

*********

“Get out, you bastard! What’s wrong with you?” Neville yanked harder at what was left of his Gran's hedges. She’d been wanting to tear them up for years, and until now Neville had refused to let her. Today, however, what had started out as a reminder at breakfast that the Climbing Roses needed their hats and scarves laundered had turned into a day-long effort to replace the hedges with a flowerbed that would win prizes for decades to come. It had been immensely satisfying to strip down to his waist and get sweaty and dirty and pull at long-buried roots with his bare hands. He had successfully avoided thinking about the two things he was avoiding thinking about. It was getting dark he was looking forward to a hearty meal and a good wank before bed.

Gran walked down the path and surveyed the mess of branches, roots and dirt strewn across the lawn. “I trust you will clear up this mess before you are done for the day?”

“It’ll have to wait until tomorrow, I don’t have my wand. I’m going to look for bulbs in the afternoon. What do you think of Travelling Tulips for the border?”

“I never much cared for them. I suggest you try some Muggle plants, they require less care.”

“I can handle it. They only migrate in the summer, the repairs should be finished by then and I’ll be out of a job anyway.”

“Will your girlfriend be understanding of your commitment to chasing flowers?”

“Girlfriend?” He hadn’t told Gran about Lavender, how did she know?.

“I’m not as unobservant as you seem to think I am, Neville. Either you’ve taken to sleeping in the stables, or you’re warming someone else’s bed four nights out of the week. The horses don’t seem out of sorts, so I can only assume some young lady is enjoying your attentions. Or young man, as the case may be.”

Neville turned purple. “Gran!”

“One never knows, these days,” she remarked, dryly. “Judging by your reaction, I assume you have a female companion?”

This was humiliating. Being set on fire by Voldemort had been more comfortable. “Um.”

“Will I be meeting her any time soon?”

“Probably not.”

“Is she a Muggle or a Death Eater?”

“Huh?”

“If she is a Muggle, you are hiding your magical ability from her, which is why I do not expect to meet her until you are sure of her feelings for you. Although if she is a Muggle, I hope she isn’t one of the girls who has those unsightly metal fittings in her lip. If she is a Death Eater, I expect you to end the relationship as soon as possible. If she is neither of these, I expect to have her for tea in the near future.”

“It’s not that, Gran. She’s a friend of mine from Hogwarts. She’s even a Gryffindor! It’s just complicated. I’m not even sure if she’s still my girlfriend or not.”

Gran pressed her lips together -- she’d been doing that a lot around him lately -- and changed the subject. “Consider azaleas”.

Neville made a face. “Gran, I hate azaleas. They have no personality.”

“Very well. I expect you at dinner in half an hour. Wearing a clean shirt.” Halfway up the path, she turned to him. “By the way, I noticed you haven’t been to see your parents since before your birthday. I’ve told the staff at the Janus Thickey Ward to expect you tomorrow afternoon at three. The flowers can wait.”

*******

“Excuse me sir, may I help --- Neville? My goodness, I haven’t seen you in so long. I hardly recognized you!” The nurse raked her eyes appreciatively over him.

Neville turned redder than he’d imagined possible. This was not happening. Sweet, kind-faced Miss Greevy, who used to slip Jelly Slugs into his pocket when he was eight, was not looking at him like he was a Special Edition Chocolate Frog. “Visiting my parents,” he explained, trying to get away.

“Wait. Neville, can you just... My nephews will be just thrilled when I tell them I ran into you. They run around the house playing Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom all the time! If you wouldn’t mind...” She held out a piece of parchment and a quill. Wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole, he scrawled his name and ran away.

His parents were in a good mood today. Dad was muttering to himself and scribbling on a scroll, crumpled pieces of parchment lying all around him. Mum was occupied with opening and closing the drapes over and over. “Morning, Mum and Dad. What’re you working on?” he asked.

“KNEAZLES!” his dad yelled gleefully, and continued to make marks on his scroll.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you in a while.” Visiting his parents had never been a happy occasion, but the day he had visited them after the war had been downright uncomfortable. Their blank eyes had reminded him too much of those he’d seen on too many faces after the battle, and he’d left as soon as he could. “I’ve, er... I’ve been busy. We won the war. I told you that already, didn’t I?” He ran his hands through his hair, wondering what else he could talk about. They wouldn’t remember anything he said, of course, but just sitting there watching them didn’t seem right. “I have a new job.” he continued. “At Hogwarts. Well, not technically, but I work at the castle. It’s a good job. We’re repairing the wards on Ravenclaw Tower. It fell down, you know. During the battle. So, that’s what I’m doing, repairing it. Well, helping to repair it. There are about fifteen wizards and witches on the project.” He paused. “Oh! I think you knew my boss, Mum! Do you remember a wizard named Phoebus MacPherson? He used to be an Unspeakable, like you! I think you were at the Ministry at the same time, anyway. He’s pretty old, like almost as old as McGonagall, so maybe he left before you worked there. Actually, all the people I work with are pretty old. I’m the youngest. They call me names, you know? Like ‘Lion Cub’ and ‘Squire’ and stuff. Like I’m some little kid, like I didn’t face down V-Voldemort and survive. I’m not the same clumsy little baby I used to be! I have an Order of Merlin! I deserve some respect, you know? I don’t care about the fame and all that, but my Cementing Charms are almost as strong as Hornby’s and no one calls him any funny nicknames!”

He stopped, suddenly realizing that he’d come perilously close to shouting. Thankfully Mum and Dad hadn’t noticed. Dad was listing potions ingredients under his breath and scrawling random lines on his bedsheets. Mum still hadn’t moved from the windows. Neville took a deep breath and rubbed his hands over his face. He sat there silently, not knowing what to say, and not being able to leave.

“I have a girlfriend,” he finally said. “Well, sort of. Her name’s Lavender, we were in Gryffindor together. She, er, she works at Gladrags. She sews clothes. I sort of made fun of her for that, and we had a huge row, but I think I’m going to apologize to her. I mean, it’s not really her fault, you know. She likes that kind of stupid stuff, like clothes and hair and who’s snogging who. I guess it’s sort of... sort of nice sometimes not to have to think about important things. I don’t know if she’ll take me back though. I was pretty awful to her. She said I don’t care about her, which isn’t true. I do care about her! She’s beautiful, and we went through so much together last year, me and Seamus and her and Parvati. She’s really brave, too, you should see her fight. Well, actually I hope not, because I don’t want any more fighting, but you know what I mean. And this is a weird thing to be telling my parents, but she’s great in bed too. But she says I’m too selfish and I don’t pay attention to what she wants. Which isn’t fair, because she’s the one always doing... stuff, like, sex stuff, and how am I supposed to know that she wants me to do things too. She never tells me anything, just expects me to read her mind! Are all girls like that, Dad? Did Mum ever drive you completely round the twist like this?” He looked from one parent to the other, but they were still locked in their own minds, not even noticing that he was in the room.

“Stupid of me to think you’d answer me. I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe I was thinking that you’re my parents and I need some advice, but I don’t know why I thought you’d have anything to say to me. You didn’t know when I won the House Cup for Gryffindor, you couldn’t help me when everyone hated me for letting a deranged killer into the tower. You sure as hell weren’t around when Bellatrix Lestrange tried to kill me!” He paced the room frantically. “I killed my best friend, did you know that? Seamus is dead and it’s my fault and most people have parents they can talk to about this kind of thing, but not me! The entire Wizarding world wants a piece of me because I stood up to Voldemort, but my parents don’t give a flying fuck if I even exist!” He knew he was being completely unfair, that they would have been there for him if they could, that they certainly hadn’t chosen their fate. But seventeen years of feelings he didn’t even know he had been suppressing were suddenly bubbling out of him and he couldn’t stop himself. “You didn’t even have the decency to die for me, like Lily Potter did. You just hang around drooling and gibbering.” He snatched the quill out of his father’s hand, broke it in half and threw it at the wall. “TALK TO ME!” he screamed, grabbing his dad’s shoulders and shaking him. “WHY WON’T YOU WAKE UP? The war is OVER! Bellatrix Lestrange is DEAD! Do you like living like this? Do you prefer this to actually spending time with your son? Do you hate me that much? WHAT’S WRONG WITH --”

“Petrificus totalis!” Neville felt the familiar sensation of all his muscles freezing up as he fell to the ground. He saw a flurry of green robes and curly hair hurrying in and casting spells to quiet Mum’s frightened keening and keep Dad from battering himself with his own fists. Furious -- at himself, at whoever had hexed him, at Bellatrix Lestrange, at the universe -- he wrenched himself free with a great effort and sat up. “What the h-hell was that for?”

Penelope Clearwater shrieked and looked at him in shock. “How--?”

“When you’ve been put under a Body-Bind as often as I have, you figure out how to get out of it.” He got to his feet, ready to argue.

Penelope recovered her composure. “Well, in that case, you can sit outside while I tend to my patients.” She pointed to the door, looking every inch like a younger, less Scottish version of McGonagall. Neville had no choice but to slink out the door and sit in on a small wooden bench at the end of the hall. He stared numbly at the wall, replaying the scene over and over in his head, barely recognizing the words coming out of his own mouth. Had he really said those things? Was that how he felt deep down, that they’d abandoned him? That couldn’t be true. He’d never missed having parents, because he’d never known them; he didn’t have any memories of his childhood with them, or any stories of them other than the narrative of their heroic martyrdom. Going to visit them and making small talk to their empty shells was all he had ever experienced. When he was little, he used to cry after every visit because they never smiled and their eyes scared him. Gran would insist that he stop that ridiculous noise because his parents were heroes who gave their lives for a noble cause and he should be proud of their sacrifice. Then Granddad would sit him on his knee, give him a Pepper Imp, and say “Listen, Neville. Your dad and mum loved you very much, and if they knew how upset you were, it would make them sad. You wouldn’t want them to be sad, would you?” To this day, Neville hated the taste of Pepper Imps.

Penelope was standing in front of him. “I need to make a notation in your parents’ chart about why they were each given a double dose of Dreamless Sleep. Shall I just write ‘Patients’ son is a giant prat’?”

Neville sprang to his feet. “Are they all right? Do they hate me?”

“They’re sleeping. By tomorrow they won’t remember any of this.”

Neville sank down onto the bench and clutched his head. “I... I don’t know where that came from. I... I...” He felt his throat prickling and an uncomfortable warmth behind his eyes, and clamped his hands over his face before he did something he’d regret.

“Neville, I’ve only been working in this ward for a few months, but your parents are well-liked and the Healers only have good things to say about you and your grandmother. And you’re dating my flatmate, who is a nice person, so I can’t imagine that she’d choose to be with someone so cruel.”

The mention of Lavender was too much to bear and the tears came, followed by loud wails that wracked his whole body. He didn’t know how long sat there, crying for his parents, his lost childhood, his Granddad, the war, Seamus. All of tears he had been suppressing his entire life came out at once and he didn’t know if he would ever be able to stop and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

Eventually his sobs quieted and he realized he’d been crying on Penelope’s shoulder. He lifted his head. “Got snot on your robes.”

“I’m good with Scourgify,” she replied, conjuring a handkerchief. He took it and honked his nose into it.

“This is humiliating; big damn war hero blubbing like a girl in front of everyone.”

“I put up a charm, no one else saw.”

“Thanks,” he said. Then, not knowing why, he leaned in to kiss her. She jerked her head away, horrified. He looked at his shoes. Why had he done that? Was his day not going badly enough?

Penelope stood up. “I have patients to check on,” she said flatly.

“Penelope, I ---” He needed to explain, to apologize, to try and make sense of things.

“You’re dating my flatmate, or close enough to it, even if you did just have a huge row. By the way, she’s been crying herself sick all weekend. Your parents will be fine. I don’t think you are, though.”

“Please don’t tell her,” he pleaded. “Especially about that last part. I’m an arse.”

She turned to go, then looked back at him. “You know, I went through a rough time once. Do you know how I got through it? I talked to my boyfriend about it. You should try that sometime.”

**********

Neville sat in the corner and picked at his lunch, staring listlessly at the knot of workers eating at one of the workbenches. He hadn’t been hungry lately, and even a roast chicken prepared by the Hogwarts elves wasn’t enough to tempt him. He'd been working harder than ever lately, throwing all his effort into work during the day and making lightning-fast progress on the garden in the evenings, but paradoxically, the more he exerted himself, the less he felt like eating. He wasn’t sleeping well, and when he did, he was plagued by nightmares about his parents and his Seventh year and snakes and swords and giants.

Also, he was horny all the time. Having gone the last five years with just his hand for company, he was surprised at how quickly he had come to depend on waking up next to a warm, soft body and the feel of her lips on his and her skin under his hands and the promise of more. After three days of being thoroughly frustrated, he’d broken down and owled Lavender, apologizing for the way he’d treated her and begging her to give him another chance. Evidently Penelope hadn’t said anything, because Lavender had written back and they had made plans to go out for a nice dinner that night. Neville hoped she would forgive him and everything would be all right between them again.

He was startled out of his thoughts by what sounded like an explosion coming from the direction of the Ravenclaw Common Room. Everyone in the workroom dashed into the hall, wands drawn, and skidded to a stop at the entrance to the tower.

“Why did the Bundimun cross the road?” the door knocker asked. Neville’s mouth went dry and he nearly dropped his wand. He knew the answer to this... what was it? The crowd of people pounding at the door swam in front of him...

“WHAT’S THE PASSWORD?” Neville screamed, gripping Michael’s limp, bloody form and kicking at the door.

“Why did the Bundimun cross the road?”

“He’s dying! I don’t have time for games, let me in!”

“Hold still!” Romilda yelled. “He’s lost more blood, I need to...” She tipped another half-vial of Blood Replenishing Potion into Michael’s mouth.

“Who’s a Ravenclaw? What’s the answer?” Neville heard MacPherson shout through the heavy fog in his brain. He couldn’t catch his breath. All the Ravenclaw crew members were inside, having insisted on putting the final touches on the Common Room wards by themselves. They needed to get inside, he was bleeding, he was dying... Where was Romilda?

“All the Blood Replenishing Potion in the world won’t help him if Goyle and Zabini catch up to us! What’s the password, you bitch?” he screamed again at the door.

“Why did the Bundimun cross the road?”

“It’s a riddle, Neville! You have to answer the riddle to get into the tower.”

MacPherson swore and drew his wand. “Reduc---”

“There isn’t time for any FUCKING guessing games! Stand back, I’m going to blast it open!”

“Wait! Don’t you know the answer to this one? It’s the most common joke in the world!”

Neville opened his mouth to answer, but the words wouldn’t come. He licked his lips and tried again “To get... to get...” he whispered, but no one heard him. Someone from one of the other construction crews sprinted up the hall and said “to get to the other side,” and they all streamed through the open door into the Common Room.

The damage was extensive. Three of the beams supporting the ceiling had snapped, and there was a pile of rubble covering half the Common room. Whatever had caused the accident had also blasted half the outer wall away, and there was no telling where the blue of the walls ended and the blue of the sky began. Dawkins, dust and blood smeared in her hair, was leaning up against the remaining beams to keep them from falling down. “Someone reinforce this thing!” she screamed. Four more workers sprang into action, wands slicing through the air as they tried to keep the walls of the tower from collapsing under their own weight.

“Where are the rest?” someone asked, levitating a supporting beam into place.

“Boggs and Fawcett went up to the dorms to check on the first floor walls. The rest....” Everyone who was trying to clear the rubble began working even faster, looking for a sleeve, a foot, any sign of their colleagues under the destruction. Neville saw a shard of wood that looked like it might have been a wand --

“There!” he began hauling rocks away with his bare hands, hoping the wand would be attached to a person, and that person would still be alive. Two more came to help him, lifting and levitating rocks, plaster, and bits of a broken bed, until Oscar Hornby’s battered and crushed body was revealed. “NO!” he cried, grabbing the unconscious man under the arms and dragging him towards the entrance. Blood was dripping from a gaping wound on his temple.

So much blood... so much blood... Neville couldn’t do anything but pace and panic while Romilda and Morag bent over Michael’s bleeding body and argued about the best course to take.

“Insanguinium! Epiderma cretum!”

“Are you mad? It’s Sectumpsempra, an ordinary Skin-Growth charm won’t work on this!”

“Well, I don’t know what else to try!”

“I’m out of Blood Replenishing Potion! We need Madame Pomfrey!”

Terry removed his robe. “We can’t risk having her sacked,” he said, tearing his robe into strips and wrapping them tightly around Michael’s’ chest.

“He’s going to DIE if we don’t take that risk!” Padma shrieked, whipping off her own shirt and joining Terry in creating bandages. “Neville, go now!” Frantic for something to do, even if it was completely mad and dangerous and might get him killed, Neville sprinted through the door.

He pointed his wand at Hornby’s head. “Insanguinium!” Nothing happened. Neville forced his voice to stop trembling. “Insanguinium!” His hands were shaking so badly he nearly dropped his wand. “Epiderma cretum!” On the edges of his consciousness, he heard MacPherson shouting at him that he was no Healer and he needed to get out of the way and Madame Pomfrey was coming. Neville blasted him out of the way and turned back to Hornby, pressing his palm against the wound to staunch the blood. Someone shot an Incarcerous at him and bound him tightly with ropes. Neville thrashed and grunted and swore while around him everyone continued to shore up the walls and ceiling and look for the missing crew members. Finally he saw Madame Pomfrey’s familiar face over his, and she poured a potion down his throat and his world went black.

*********

“Ow.” A Blast-Ended Skrewt and a Hungarian Horntail were having a duel in his head. Neville covered his eyes and explored his surroundings through the slit in his fingers. Dingy coverlet, dim light filtering in through dirt-covered windows, and a distinct odor of goats. He was in the Hog's Head. Why was he in the Hog's Head? He didn’t remember anything from the day before. There had been an accident in the Ravenclaw Common Room, and MacPherson had yelled at him... had he caused the accident? That didn’t seem correct. Hornby had been there. Or was it Michael? There was blood, so it must have been Michael...

The previous day’s events fell into his brain with a thunk. The door knocker; the destruction in the common room; the blood dripping from Hornby’s grey head; the mad, reckless, completely irresponsible way he’d behaved -- it all came flooding back to him and his heart filled with dread. Idiot. Idiot. He’d put everyone in danger, he could have killed Hornby, he’d hexed his boss. He’d never felt so out of control before; not even Imperius had made him feel like this, like someone else had taken over his body and was making him do things that he would never have done on his own. He’d spent an entire year operating on pure instinct and making life-or-death decisions, and some of them had gone horribly, tragically wrong, but that was a risk you had to take during wartime. What was his excuse now?

He’d come to in the workroom, still bound by Dawkins’s Incarcerous. MacPherson had been livid. He’d ranted for half an hour about Neville’s lack of brains, his hero complex, how much worse things could have been. He’d ended by placing Neville on suspension “until I’ve figured out if your skill with a wand is worth the trouble you’re capable of causing.” Neville had headed straight for the Hog's Head and told Aberforth to keep the firewhiskey flowing.

Gingerly, he hauled himself up and sat on the edge of the bed. Whoever had put him in bed had stripped him down to his underwear. And that person was now coming out of the bathroom, dressed in a short bathrobe and drying her hair with a towel.

“Oh, you’re awake!” Cho Chang was unnecessarily cheerful for this hour of the morning. Neville rubbed his head and glared. “There’s a Hangover Potion next to the bed,” she continued, chirpily. “I think it’s been long enough; you won’t vomit if you take it now.”

He downed the potion in one go, then made a face as his head cleared. “That’s disgusting. I think I prefer the hangover.”

She sat on the bed next to him. She looked different from when they’d met at the Order of Merlin ceremony a few months ago. Her new chin-length hairstyle suited her very well, and he preferred her face when she was scrubbed clean, not covered in Cosmetics Charms like she normally presented herself. He’d always liked Cho. She’d featured in a few of his random fantasies over the years -- usually involving her wearing Quidditch pads and nothing else -- but he’d put a stop to them out of loyalty to Harry. He watched as a drop of water dripped down her cheek and plopped onto her leg. “What am I doing here?”

“Well, you could barely pronounce your own name, so letting you use the Floo would have been a disaster. Aberforth was willing to risk it, but he hasn’t met your grandmother.”

“You live here?”

“Well, my flatmate eloped with her boyfriend last week and my new flat won’t be available until Tuesday, so I’m staying here for a few days.”

“And I’m naked because...”

“Because you vomited all over your clothes. Don’t worry, I didn’t take advantage of you.”

Neville watched her out of the corner of his eye. “That’s a pity,” he said, and then he was kissing her.

She kissed him back, slowly at first, then more deeply once he made it clear that he didn’t want to stop, tangling her fingers in his hair and opening her mouth to let him in. He lowered her to the bed and traced his hand up her leg, untying the belt on her bathrobe and letting it fall away. She was thin and strong and a hundred times sexier than any fantasy he’d ever had. She nibbled his ear and he groaned and pressed his erection into her thigh.

“Well, I guess you’re not gay.”

“What?”

“You were mumbling about Seamus and Michael all night, so I thought... But I guess not.”

“No,” Neville chuckled. “I’m straight. Very, very, very straight.” He proved it by cupping her breast and rubbing her nipple, making her gasp.

“Wand,” she said, and Neville grabbed his from the side table and pointed it between them and she whispered the charm. “Suck on my tits,” she breathed. She certainly wasn’t wasting time making him guess what she wanted -- he liked this. Neville eagerly obeyed her command, bringing his mouth down to her breast and flicking her nipple with his tongue and making her breath come in tiny little gasps that aroused him more than he thought was possible. “Not like that! I said to suck on them!” She sounded a bit annoyed, which turned him on even more.

“My, you’re aggressive,” he chuckled, drawing her nipple into his mouth and sucking on it. She groaned her approval and he smiled into her breast, pleased at the reaction he’d gotten. He skimmed his hand over her body, enjoying the feel of the muscles under her skin tightening in response to his touch. She reached down and grabbed him and pumped her hand up and down his length and he groaned into her mouth and thrust into her strong, tight grip. His body felt like it was on fire, in the best way possible, and he fucked her hand repeatedly, feeling her squeeze his length. “That feels so good,” he murmured into her collarbone.

“Shut up,” she replied, kissing him again and grabbing his hand and guiding it down between her legs. “Touch me.” He paused -- he didn’t know how to do this -- but he didn’t want her to think he didn’t want her, so he slid his finger against the wet, hot flesh hesitantly, and then as she gasped and moaned and twitched underneath his fingers, he stroked her more forcefully. He watched her, amazed when she threw her head back and the muscles in her neck tightened and she groaned with pleasure. Her reaction caused him to pause in his ministrations -- he needed to touch himself, because watching her was causing his arousal to become painful. But she growled in frustration, and grabbed his wrist and one finger slid inside her and she begged him to do that again, please, Neville, fuck me with your hand, and he slid another finger into her and he’d never known that he could do this, that he could make a woman scream and shudder and plead for more. It was the hottest thing he’d ever heard. He had to know what other sounds she was capable of making. He had no idea what he was doing, but he wanted to taste her. He slid down and buried his face between her legs and licked and sucked at her innermost parts. She tasted... weird... but who cared how she tasted, she was begging him for more and he wanted her to keep saying those things and making those sounds. He stroked his tongue along her wetness and then he did something that made her shout in ecstasy and push against his tongue so he did it again, and again until she was babbling incoherently and curses streamed from her mouth. Her scent was intoxicating and the sound of her voice was doing amazing things to him and he reached down between his legs and stroked himself hard and fast, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted her now. He scrambled up and slid into her and if he’d thought he was turned on a minute ago, it was nothing compared to feeling her around him. This was so much better than anything he’d ever felt in his entire life. He began to move in and out of her, and she wound her muscular legs around his thighs and dug her fingernails into his back and he couldn’t tell if he was shouting in pain or in pleasure as she moved under him and matched his thrusts with her own. He felt the end approaching and he forced himself to slow down, wanting this feeling to last longer, to hear her panting and moaning and screaming as she begged him to fuck me harder, harder, Oh God, just like that. She finally shuddered and arched her back and clenched around him and it was more than he could take as he finished and collapsed on top of her, totally spent.

He lay on top of her, both of them laughing as they caught their breath. He slid out of her and kissed her hair, and licked the sweat off her neck and heard her murmuring nonsense in his ear. It was true, he realized. Sex was better when you paid attention to what the girl wanted. “I guess Lavender was right,” he whispered to himself.

“Who’s Lavender?” Cho asked, still trailing kisses across his shoulder.

“My girl---,” He froze as the post-coital fog in his brain vanished. Fuck. Fuck. What had he just done? Cho shoved him off her and sat upright, clutching the bedsheet to her chest, her eyes blazing.

“Your girlfriend? You bastard! You have a girlfriend and you just...”

“I... I...” He wanted to apologize, to explain, but there was nothing to explain because he didn’t know what had just happened and he couldn’t begin to understand why he had done it, and bloody fuck, he was supposed to have taken Lavender out on a date last night!

“Get out.” She threw his alcohol and vomit-stained clothes at the door. “Now. Leave before I hex your bits off so they don’t grow back.” He gathered up his clothes and ran out of the room as she shouted after him. “And you owe me two Galleons, you fucker! I paid your tab last night!”

***********

For someone who rarely drank, Gran certainly kept a lot of high-quality alcohol in the house. Neville took another large swig of scotch from the bottle as he stared out his window. He was sprawled on his bed in just his underwear. He wasn’t drunk yet, but he was planning to be soon. And then when he sobered up, he might get drunk again. He had no job, he had no girlfriend, and once everyone found out about what he had done, he’d probably lose all his friends as well. “You’re all I’ve got,” he told the bottle of golden liquid in his hand.

Maybe he was a little drunk.

A knock at the door startled him. “Jus’ a minute, Gran, ’m not decent,” he slurred, hiding the bottle under his bed and looking around for wherever he’d tossed his robe. He pulled it on and got to his feet a bit unsteadily. “Ready”. A man poked his head into the room. It was Hornby, looking tired but otherwise healthy, the wound on his head a dull purple.

Neville was stunned. “What’re you doin’ here? I thought...”

“I was dead?”

“No, but a ceilin’ fell on you yesterday.”

“Poppy can’t terrorize me the way she does the students; I know she used to cheat at Gobstones. I’m well enough to use the Floo network.”

“But you were bleedin’. I saw blood. You were bleedin’.... I said that already.”

Hornby peered at him. “How much have you had to drink, boy?”

“Not enough.” He swayed on his feet. “‘M not drunk enough yet.”

Hornby grabbed Neville’s arm and forced him to sit on the bed. “Neville, you made a mistake. A very big mistake, but it was still a mistake. That’s not an excuse to crawl into a bottle. Merlin, I thought Gryffindors were supposed to face their problems head-on.”

“Oh, nononononono. I did all my drinkin’ for that mistake yesterday. T’day I’m drinkin’ ‘cause I cheated on my girlfriend this mornin’.”

“I see.”

“Yeah. I went to the Hog’s Head after I got sacked.”

“Why on earth would you go there?”

“Barman’s a friend, he don’t ask questions. Anyway, I went to the Hog’s Head an’ got good an’ drunk and I woke up in an upstairs room an’ a girl I knew from Hogwarts was there and I fucked her and it was good.” He laughed bitterly. “Then she threw me out. So now ’m gonna get drunk. Drunker.” He looked at his knees. “My robe’s on backwards.”

Hornby sighed. “I’m tired and in a lot of pain, boy, and I don’t have time to wait for you to regain what little sense you have left, so I’m going to risk a Sobering Charm.” He transfigured a sock into a bucket and made Neville hold it. A wave of his wand later, Neville felt a chill, followed by a sudden warmth as his head cleared.

“That’s not so bad,” he said. “Why don’t people use Sobering Charms more often?” Then he threw up. Ten minutes later, he was still on his hands and knees over the bucket, stomach in spasms. “Make it stop, please,” he sobbed. The agony of Cruciatus was one thing - that was fueled by rage and hate. This was his own body turning against him, and it redefined torture. Hornby patted him on the back. Finally the cramps subsided and Neville was able to sit up.

“I feel like a manticore just crawled out of my throat.”

“Be glad that you only threw up. I’ve had to clean many a pair of soiled knickers in my day. Here, drink this.” Neville took the proffered glass of water and poured it down his throat.

“Thanks,” he said, staring fixedly at his Hobgoblins poster on the wall. Now that he was able to think clearly, he could hardly believe all the things he’d done in the last twenty-four hours -- the mess he’d caused in Ravenclaw Tower, getting sacked, getting drunker than he’d ever been before, the humiliation he’d just gone through in front of Hornby, and worst of all, the things he had done with Cho that morning. He buried his head in his hands. “Why are you here?” he finally asked.

Hornby’s voice was laced with concern. “I’ve been talking to your professors. It seems you’re some sort of Herbology prodigy. Pomona Sprout couldn’t stop praising your abilities.” Neville just shrugged at the compliment. Being good with plants was small comfort when he’d just ruined his life. “And you didn’t get sacked, you’re on suspension. I would suggest, however, that you find some other employment as soon as possible, because Hogwarts is the last place you should be right now.”

“If I’m allowed to come back, I’m not going to say no.” He’d defended the castle against Snape and the Carrows for an entire year, he’d inspired the entire school to follow his defiant example, he’d told Voldemort he’d see him in hell. He wasn’t going to let a few bad memories send him running now that Hogwarts was safe again.

“You’ll change your mind in a minute. My sister is married to Quercus Greengrass. I’ve arranged for a tour of the greenhouses for you at one o’clock tomorrow. If you’re interested, that is.”

Neville had to ask Hornby to repeat himself before he allowed himself to believe his own ears. Getting a glimpse inside the famous Greengrass Greenhouses was something he’d dreamed about since Third year. There were plants inside those buildings that he had only read about in obscure books in the Restricted Section. “Do you think I could see the Timorean Snakeskin Vine?”

“I take it you’re interested, then?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I’m interested! Why would I pass up a chance to see the only animal-plant hybrid in existence?”

Hornby chuckled. “I’ll send an owl to confirm. Mind you don’t smell like Goblin piss. Quercus is very particular about maintaining the environment in his greenhouses.” He licked his lips, and continued matter-of-factly. “By the way, when they had me over for dinner last week, he couldn’t stop complaining about his most promising apprentice leaving him to work for some potions suppliers in America. If you play your cards right, you could get yourself an interview.”

Neville’s heart sank as quickly as it had risen. “I don’t have a Potions NEWT. I didn’t even bother applying to Greengrass because I’m nowhere near qualified enough.”

“Surely Neville Longbottom has other things to recommend him.”

“I’m not interested in getting by on my fame. I didn’t ask for it, and I refuse to take advantage of it.”

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about your determination, and your excellent spellwork, and that fifty-foot scroll Professor Sprout showed me about -- what was it?”

“The Effect of Glumbumble Pollination on Euphoria-Inducing Plant Extracts,” Neville recited, dully. Thinking about his NEWTs project made him depressed all over again. He’d started the research months before Dumbledore had been killed, and being around Glumbumbles at all times of the day and night had him in a foul mood during most of his Seventh year. Most of the DA had started keeping track of pollination cycles just so they knew when to stay away from him. “So I’m good with plants, that doesn’t mean I deserve to take the most prestigious Herbology apprenticeship in Europe away from someone who’s actually qualified.”

“You’ll never get anywhere in life with that attitude, Lion Cub. Besides, you’re not the first talented wizard to be traumatized by Severus Snape. My granddaughter finished Hogwarts eight years ago, and she still has the odd nightmare about her cauldron melting.” Neville snorted. “And I don’t know much about Herbology, but I know good research when I see it. Quercus recognizes talent, and if he turns down a man who can produce a project of that caliber while running a rebellion and being tortured on a weekly basis, he’s the biggest fool on the planet. And that includes that Muggle from Texas I kept hearing about last year.”

“I knew your father a little,” Hornby continued thoughtfully. Neville looked at the older man, startled at the sudden change of subject. “He was in the same Auror class as my son, and I met him several times to train him in new combat spells I’d developed. He was a good man. Brave, principled, loyal almost to a fault.”

“Yeah, he sacrificed himself for a noble cause. I’ve heard it all before,” Ever since his outburst at St. Mungo’s he felt a little sick whenever he thought about his parents.

“He was also an arrogant son of a bitch and I regretted every minute I had to spend staring at his sneering face.” Neville jerked his head around, shocked out of his skin. No one had ever spoken of Frank Longbottom like that before. “He was reckless with others’ lives and feelings. He thought he knew what was best for everyone, led them into the most dangerous situations without a thought for the consequences. He went through five partners in six years because saner men refused to work with him. I’ve been watching you work for a month now, and until Phoebus told me what you did yesterday, I never thought of you as your father’s son.” Neville had waited his whole life to be told he was just like his father, but Hornby didn’t mean it as a compliment.

“I only met your mother once,” the older man continued. “It was at the home of a mutual friend, and I noticed right away that Frank seemed calmer, more humble, more mature. Your mother didn’t talk to the other guests much. Some might have called her snobbish I suppose, but I think she was just reserved. But the effect she had on your father was remarkable.” Neville held his breath, hungering for more. No one had ever talked to him about his parents like this. Granddad would sometimes tell hilarious stories of the (yes, foolhardy and dangerous) antics Dad got up to when he was a boy, and Gran was obsessed with letting Neville know he would never measure up. But to hear what his parents were really like, to know that they were human, that they made mistakes and people disliked them -- Neville couldn’t wait to hear more.

Unfortunately, Hornby had run out of stories. “This girlfriend of yours, is she a good woman?”

“Lavender? She’s nice. We’ve been having a bit of a row, but she doesn’t deserve what I did to her.”

“Nice. I see.” Neville got the distinct feeling Hornby was judging him. “And this other girl?”

“Cho? I don’t know her very well. She went out with my friend for a while, and she’s not a Death Eater or anything. And she was really narked at me when she found out I had a girlfriend, so I guess that’s good?”

Hornby was silent for a long time. “I met my wife when I was twelve,” he said finally. “It was the first day of Herbology, and we were repotting Mandrakes. She saved my life when she pointed out that my earmuffs had a tear in them. When my son died, I went out of my mind and she was the one who kept me whole. Breaking my wand and moving to Canada was the easiest decision I ever made. I hope you find someone like that someday, son. You deserve it.” He stood up. “I’ll see myself out.”

Neville stared at the door for a very long time, trying to process the conversation. He’d nearly killed the man yesterday with his recklessness, and today he was getting Neville connected to his dream job, and telling him about his parents, and encouraging him to break up with his girlfriend? Why was he doing all this? He barely knew Hornby; he couldn’t even call him a friend, not even if they’d been close to the same age.

An owl tapped at his window. Dreading the message -- it was either from MacPherson or Lavender -- he took the scroll and tore it open, wanting to get it over with. Lavender’s curlicued writing looked up at him.

Dear Neville,

Are you all right? I was really angry with you last night when you didn’t show up for our date, but then Tamsin said that there was some sort of accident in Ravenclaw Tower and I haven’t heard from you at all, so I’ve been fretting all day. Please tell me you’re all right, and we can reschedule our date for whenever you’re feeling better.

I miss you.

Lavender

She missed him. Reading those words made him feel ill. He hadn’t missed her. He’d missed having sex with her, but he hadn’t really missed her at all. He didn’t even remember that he had a girlfriend until after he’d fucked another girl and enjoyed it. She was right; he didn’t really care about her. Not the way Ron cared about Hermione, and Hornby cared about his wife, and Dad had cared about Mum. Neville couldn’t even stand to listen to Lavender talk about things she enjoyed. He’d rather drink than talk to her about his day. And, as it turned out, the sex wasn’t even that good. Really, she deserved better than him. She should have a boyfriend who could think of better words to describe her than “nice”. She was nice, but there was more to her than that. If he hadn’t cheated on her, then he could have rescheduled their date and tried to make things right between them.

Neville wanted to throw up all over again. He needed to send her an owl to break up with her. He needed to tell her he wasn’t in love with her, and he’d cheated on her, and he was a total fuckwit who didn’t deserve her. And then he was going to get himself a Butterbeer and go replant some bulbs, because he never wanted to get within a wands-length of a Sobering Charm ever again.