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“Dean and Seamus are pulling an all-nighter down in Hufflepuff with Ernie to finish their Charms essay,” Neville said.
You only hummed in response.
The majority of your attention was trained on the bookshelf in front of you. You’d been struggling with your latest translation assignment from Professor Babbling, and for as vast and well stocked as the Hogwarts library was, you couldn’t seem to find a proper book on the proto-Germanic phonology of Elder Futhark for the life of you. All the head tilting and squinting at small text was starting to grate on your nerves, and, not for the first time, you were questioning your own sanity for ever thinking that pursuing a N.E.W.T. in Ancient Runes was a good idea.
“And Harry’s still in London meeting with the Minister.”
You paused, your hand poised over the spine of a rather serious-looking tome titled Runic Inscriptions of the First Century, and glanced over at your boyfriend.
Neville hovered next to you, as he had been since the two of you entered the library together, but only now did you notice the nervous way he shifted his weight and twiddled with the strap of your bag currently slung over his shoulder.
“…And Ron always stays with Hermione on the weekends,” he added after a few beats of silence.
You raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”
Neville only chewed on his bottom lip, failing to elaborate any further. You could tell there was something else he wanted to say, but he clearly needed some prodding to spit it out.
You dropped your hand and turned towards him, forgetting entirely about Ancient Runes, if just for a moment.
“Nev,” you began gently, “I don’t want to sound rude, but why exactly are you telling me this?”
He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Huffed and cast a furtive glance around. It was a Saturday evening, and save for a small fifth-year study group you’d seen over by the Alchemy section, the Hogwarts library was deserted.
Neville leaned in closer, his voice low and tremulous. “My dorm’s empty. You could, y’know. Spend the night. If— If you want to, that is.”
Your eyes widened. “Oh.”
It wasn’t a mystery what Neville actually meant. The two of you had been dating for six months now—him having finally worked up the courage to ask you out after the Battle had ended—and you were quite possibly the happiest you’d ever been: back in Hogwarts with your peers, finishing your education, ridiculously in love with your best friend.
Eighth year, as it had been jokingly coined, was a chance to just be normal students. No more looming threats of mortal danger. Instead, these days your interests tended to skew towards more conventional things, like N.E.W.T.-level coursework, and Hogsmeade weekends, and snogging your boyfriend senseless in empty classrooms. Or broom closets. Or greenhouses.
You and Neville hadn’t gone any further than that. But you’d… talked about it. Awkwardly, through a lot of blushing and nervous stammering. Neville’s confidence had improved drastically over the past year, of course, but romance was brand new territory, and he was still easily flustered by it.
You’d assured him that you wanted him, though. He’d said the same. And you were both ready to take that next step, whenever the time came.
Apparently, the time would be tonight.
Even though you felt somewhat floaty with a sudden wash of nerves, you still couldn’t hold back the smile that broke out across your face. “I think I’d like that,” you said.
Neville’s relief was visible, his rigid posture immediately relaxing. “Really?”
You nodded, huffing a laugh. “Yes, really.”
“Right, yeah. Brilliant,” he breathed, grinning back at you.
The rest of the evening passed far too slow for your liking. A shared sense of anticipation hung over you and Neville, which only grew each time you met each other’s eyes, knowing exactly what was on the other’s mind. Unsurprisingly, you failed to make any headway on your Ancient Runes assignment—too preoccupied with the pink flush that colored Neville’s cheeks when you let the tip of your shoe slowly brush up and down his leg under the table.
Curfew came and went, and not long after, most of the students in the Gryffindor Tower were winding down and slinking off to bed. You followed Neville to the boys’ dormitory, trying your very best to act natural as you passed through the common room. You couldn’t help but feel like your intentions were written plainly across your forehead: “We’re about to shag!" in bold lettering. But thankfully, the few stragglers that lingered downstairs didn’t pay either of you any mind. You’d been friends with Neville for years, after all, and had spent a good deal of time hanging out in his dorm. The sight of you climbing the boys’ stairs was nothing new.
The fact that you and Neville had become more than friends, however, was something you’d kept mostly to yourselves. Neville’s gran knew, of course, as did your own family; it was a bit difficult to hide when the two of you had spent all summer attached at the hip. But being relentlessly hounded by the press following the Battle had been difficult for Neville, introverted as he was, and he hadn’t wanted to subject your relationship to their scrutiny as well.
For the time being, here at Hogwarts amongst all your peers, it was nice to have something that only belonged to the two of you.
Once you and Neville were finally alone in his dorm, there was no shortage of awkward fumbling. It was different than the snogging and the occasional wandering hand you’d become accustomed to; it was far more intense, intimate, bared to each other in the low light and laid out across a real bed. Needless to say, you’d never seen your boyfriend so anxious before. Neville, who had led a student rebellion inside the castle walls, who had been tortured by the Carrows, who had stood up to Voldemort and chopped off his snake’s head with the bloody sword of Gryffindor.
Apparently, that was all a walk in the park compared to sleeping with you for the first time. The thought amused you just as much as it made you melt with adoration.
However, after enough time and careful exploration, you and Neville managed to lose yourselves in one another. The movement of your hands, mouths, and bodies relaxed into something natural and instinctive, and your collective nerves gave way to much more pleasing sensations: his breath hot against your neck, your legs wrapped around his hips, sweat-slick skin and quiet moans.
You clung to Neville on the narrow mattress afterwards, hazy and content. And when you fell asleep, you did so gently, slowly, without even realizing.
Hours later—exactly how many, you didn’t know—you woke to the ringing of an alarm clock. The volume had been spelled low, so it wasn’t quite as jarring, but you still made an unhappy noise as the body beneath you shifted. The ringing stopped after a few moments.
In your groggy state of half consciousness, you registered the feeling of Neville’s fingers brushing the hair off your face, stroking the curve of your cheek. The gentle touches had you nuzzling deeper into his chest. You could hear his heartbeat pressed this close, steady and content.
“Good morning,” Neville said, his voice still rough from sleep. The sound hummed pleasantly against your ear.
“Morning,” you responded—or tried to. With your mouth pressed firmly to his skin, it was closer to an incomprehensible grunt than actual English.
He laughed quietly. “I need to get up, darling.”
“Mm. Whatimes’it?”
“Seven-thirty.”
“Too early,” you declared, tightening your hold around Neville. It was warm and comfortable under the covers with him, sharing body heat. You were quite certain in that moment that you could lie there happily for the rest of your life. Not even Voldemort himself waltzing into the boys’ dormitory could pull you from Neville’s bed. Little busy here, Tom, you’d say before rolling over and going back to sleep.
Neville placed a kiss on the top of your head, then another on your temple, making you melt further into his embrace. Your sweet boy. He knew just how to wear you down.
“I told Professor Sprout I’d help her defang the geraniums this morning,” he said, lips still brushing against your face.
“Isn’t it Sunday?”
“Yes?”
“So responsible,” you murmured, turning to press a kiss to Neville’s chest, the sparse hair there tickling your face. You let your mouth trail upwards and began to kiss at the tender skin of his throat. You were careful not to leave any marks, tempting as it was, but delighted in the way he inhaled sharply and squirmed beneath you.
“Are you absolutely sure you need to get up?” you asked.
Neville groaned. “Yes. But you’re making it hard.”
You raised your head, a stupid grin spreading across your face. “Oh, am I?”
He groaned again, this time for a very different reason, and flung an arm over his eyes. “You’re awful,” he said, though he was betrayed by the way his mouth twitched at the corners.
You laughed brightly and tugged at Neville’s arm. “Come on, don’t hide from me now! It’s not like you have much left to hide after last night, anyway—“
Neville cut you off, lunging forward and catching your lips in a demanding kiss. He was insistent, pushing until you were the one being pressed down into the mattress, switching your positions. Neither of you stopped smiling the whole time, even after he pulled away.
For a long moment you simply laid there as Neville hovered above you, staring into each other’s eyes. You reached up and cupped his cheek with one hand, running your thumb over the pink scar that cut along his cheekbone. He’d collected a number of them the year prior—several of which were inflicted by dark magic and would never fade. Even still, they didn’t seem to bother Neville. He wore them proudly, unselfconsciously.
At times like this it was hard to believe that, despite everything, you’d ended up here. Alive and well with the man you loved. That after so much pain and destruction, you’d managed to find this indescribable happiness.
Neville leaned into your touch, his expression soft and affectionate. “Go back to sleep,” he said gently. “I shouldn’t be gone more than two hours. I’ll even swing by the Great Hall and bring back breakfast when I’m finished.”
“Okay,” you finally agreed, keeping your voice quiet, unwilling to disrupt the moment. “I love you.”
“I love you too, petal.”
You burrowed deeper under the covers, trying to soak up your boyfriend’s residual heat, and allowed your eyes to close, half listening to Neville shuffle around the room as he dressed. By the time he came over to press one last kiss to your temple, you were already drifting off.
It wasn’t a deep sleep. Not like the way you’d slept the night before, safe and sated in your lover’s arms, essentially dead to the world. Rather, you could feel yourself suspended somewhere just beneath the surface of consciousness. The transition when you woke for the second time that morning was easier and far more pleasant.
The sun streaming in through the windows was brighter now, making you squint as your eyes adjusted. Craning your neck towards the nightstand, you saw the alarm clock read just a bit past nine. Neville would likely return in the next half hour with breakfast in tow. The prospect brought a smile to your face. Merlin, you were lucky.
You sat up in bed, letting the blankets pool around your hips, and heaved a big yawn. Scrubbing a hand over your face, you wondered if you’d have time to pop in the shower before Neville came back. You could certainly use one. Or maybe if you waited, you could ask him to join you.
That idea was certainly appealing. With all the jitters of your first time behind you, you found yourself excited at the prospect of more times to come with Neville. More firsts to share, more things to learn, more ideas to explore. Your head swam just thinking about the press of your bodies beneath the spray of the shower, all heat and steam, hands slipping over—
You were startled from your daydreams by the door opening.
It wasn’t Neville.
“We still have until class tomorrow to finish— Bloody hell!" Dean cried out when his eyes landed on you, coming to an abrupt stop. Seamus and Ron, who were trailing in behind Dean, bumped into his back.
Much to your horror, you realized that you were still naked.
You shrieked and dove under the covers, tugging them over your head for good measure. The three boys shouted in alarm, and you could hear their panicked clamoring outside Neville’s bed.
“Shit, we’re so sorry—!” Dean was saying.
“Is that really—?” Seamus.
“Merlin’s beard! With Neville—?” Ron.
“I bloody told you so, Weasley! You owe me five galleons!” Seamus.
“Can you two not—?” Dean.
“Fuck off!" you bellowed.
More scrambling. Two sets of footsteps fled the dormitory and thundered back down the stairs, but one remained, hurriedly shuffling about. Heart hammering in your chest, you uncovered your head and peered out over the edge of the blanket.
Ron had his back to you, thankfully, as he rushed to dig through his trunk across the room. Even from behind, you could see that the tips of his ears were nearly as red as his hair.
“Sorry, I just— It’s just that ‘Mione lost her jumper and, uh, I told her I’d, um— I’d look for it here,” he said, rapidly pulling apart the contents of his trunk and discarding them on the floor. When that search turned up empty, he haphazardly shoved everything back inside and scuttled over to rifle through his wardrobe.
You took a few deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. It felt as though your face would burst into flames at any moment.
“Ron.”
He paused, still refusing to look your way. “…Yes?”
“You’re a wizard,” you said evenly. “Can’t you just summon it?”
“Oh! I suppose I could try.” Ron fished his wand out of his pocket and cleared his throat. “Accio Hermione’s jumper!"
The jumper shot out from underneath Ron’s bed and flew straight into his hand. “Brilliant!” He turned to you with a wide grin, which immediately faltered when he saw you still shielding yourself beneath the blankets. He scratched at the back of his neck, fixing his eyes somewhere off to the left.
“So. You and Neville, huh?” he asked with an awkward gesture towards Neville’s bed.
You just stared at Ron, wishing that the floor would open up and eat him whole.
“…Right,” he said after a prolonged silence. “Well, uh, cheers.” And with that, he left the dorm, closing the door behind him.
You took a moment to simply lie there, gazing up blankly at the canopy above you. Perhaps if you escaped out the window (a cushioning charm or a summoned broom would do the trick) and ran away to live the rest of your life in the Forbidden Forest, you wouldn’t have to face any of Neville’s roommates ever again.
Eventually, after enough mortified brooding, you redressed in the clothes you’d left strewn about the floor the night prior. By the time you were slipping your feet into your shoes, Neville returned. He had his wand held up, levitating two plates of breakfast fresh from the Great Hall in front of him. You instantly relaxed at the sight of him, letting out a sigh of relief as he sat himself next to you on the edge of the bed, handing you a plate. His face was scrunched into a confused pout.
“Everyone was looking at me strangely in the common room,” he said. “I don’t have any dirt on my face, do I? I checked before I left the greenhouse.”
You paused, feeling your insides immediately drop. “Everyone?" you squeaked. You might not have been necessarily close with Neville’s friends, but you were friendly with all of them. They were good people. There was no way they would have ran off and told all the other Gryffindors—
“Well, no, just the guys and Hermione,” Neville said. He stared hard at the toast on his plate, contemplating, before glancing over at you. “Did something happen while I was gone?” he asked.
You tried and failed not to cringe at the memory. “Um. Just that three of your roommates barged in here and saw my tits. That’s all.”
Neville made a startled noise and fumbled his plate. His toast slid off the edge and landed on the floor. “They what?"
“Saw my tits—“
“Yes, I-I know! I— They— Fucking hell,” Neville stammered, his eyes wide. He was never one to swear often. Not unless he was really worked up over something. “Are you alright? Did they say anything rude? I’ll— I’ll kill them, I swear!”
“Neville! I’m fine, really.” It wasn’t even a lie, you realized. You still wanted to crawl into a hole and hide your face for a few decades, of course, but Neville’s panicked concern tempered your own embarrassment. The instinct to reassure him was much more pressing.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“...Are you really sure—?”
“Yes! Merlin, Nev, I think you’re more upset about it than I am,” you said with no small amount of fond exasperation, scooting closer to rub circles into his back.
“Sorry, sorry.” Neville dragged a hand over his face. “I should be comforting you, not the other way around,” he muttered.
“I’m flattered enough by the fact that you’d risk life in Azkaban for me,” you said, gently teasing.
“Of course I would.”
You huffed a laugh and leaned into Neville’s side. “Maybe we should hold off on the murder for now. I’d miss you too much if you were locked away forever.”
“I could still tell them off for you. Or I could jinx them for a week straight. Whatever you say.”
“Let me think on it,” you said, just to placate him. “Either way, I appreciate the offer.” You held up your own piece of toast for Neville to take a bite. His was still sitting on the floor next to his trainers.
Once you had both finished eating, having set aside your empty plates to be taken care of by the house elves, you spoke up again.
“Nev?” you asked, hesitant. “You’re not… upset that people know about us now, are you?”
You were aware that it was a stupid concern driven by your own insecurity. You didn’t doubt that Neville loved you and would never be ashamed of you. But the thought still niggled at the back of your mind. What if he didn’t want to go public yet? What if the press caught on? How much trouble would this create for the two of you?
Predictably, Neville’s face softened at your question. “No, why would I be upset?”
“I mean, I know that we were keeping things just between us, and I feel really bad that—”
“Love,” he interrupted, “I don’t mind. It was nice having you all to myself for a while, but honestly? I’ve kind of been looking forward to, y’know. Showing you off.” He glanced away, bashful.
“Really?” you asked, your heart swelling.
Neville nodded. “‘Course. I want people to know that you’re my girl. I mean, as long as you’re okay with that,” he rushed to add.
You beamed. “Yes, I’m okay with that. More than.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I love being your girl.”
The two of you didn’t linger much longer. Neville objected to your idea of escaping through the window, and there was no other way out of the boys’ dormitory, so your only option was to steel your nerves and prepare to face his friends. His friends that had seen you naked and definitely figured out what you were doing the night before. Merlin.
Thankfully, you were helped along by Neville’s hand in yours, leading you down the spiral staircase and into the common room. He didn’t let go. Not even when your joint arrival caught the attention of the five Gryffindors—now including Ginny—seated by the fire, who all abruptly stopped talking and turned to stare at you and your boyfriend.
There was a long, painful silence. A silence that was, unfortunately, broken by Seamus.
“Hey guys. Er— congrats,” he said with an awkward smile.
The others all immediately groaned. Hermione buried her face in her hands. You raised your eyebrows at Seamus.
“What? Oh, come on!” he cried out indignantly, sitting up in the armchair he’d been lounging in. “I wasn’t congratulating them on the sex, I was congratulating them on the— you know!” He flapped his hand towards you and Neville. “The relationship! I mean, you two are dating now, aren’t you?”
You closed your eyes briefly, trying to gather the willpower to not take out your wand and hex Neville’s roommate. “Yes, Seamus, we’re dating,” you said with great restraint.
“Nice going, Finnigan,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes.
“Yeah, thanks for that, Seamus,” Neville sighed.
“Anyways,” Hermione said, shooting an unimpressed look at Seamus before turning back to you, “I think you two make a lovely couple.”
“Same here,” Dean said kindly, though his face was still a bit sheepish. “I reckon most of us were wondering when it was gonna happen.”
“Most of us,” Seamus snickered and gave his own pocket a pat. It jingled.
“Hey, I’m not blind,” Ron huffed, crossing his arms. “Everyone knows Neville’s fancied her for years. I just didn’t think he’d worked up the nerve to ask her out yet. Sorry, mate,” he added, nodding at Neville.
You looked to your boyfriend, whose cheeks had gone rather pink. The fact that he could still act so shy about his feelings despite six months of dating, despite how often he told you he loved you, despite the way he touched you just the night before—it was ridiculous in the best, most adorable way.
“Years?” you asked, a wondrous little smile curling at your mouth.
“At least since the Triwizard Tournament,” Ginny piped up with a wicked grin. “I swore he was ‘bout to pitch himself off the Astronomy Tower when you agreed to go to the Yule Ball with that Durmstrang boy.”
“No, no, it was definitely before that,” Dean said, turning to his friends. “Don’t you guys remember that time in third year when I sent her a chocolate frog on Valentine’s Day and Neville didn’t speak to me for a week?”
“Well I always thought that when we all met in first year on the train—“ Hermione began, but was abruptly cut off.
“Okay!" Neville shouted. By that point, most of the other Gryffindors in the common room were looking over at the lot of you, and the flush on Neville’s face had darkened considerably. “If you’re all quite done, we’ll be off.”
At that moment, the entrance to the common room swung open and Harry stepped in through the portrait hole. Everyone who was gathered in front of the fire stopped and turned to look at him. Harry drew up short, raising his eyebrows.
“Hello,” he greeted you all cautiously. “…Did I miss something?”
“These two are shagging,” Ron announced, pointing his thumb towards you and Neville. Harry’s eyebrows climbed even higher on his forehead.
“Ronald!” Hermione reached over to smack his arm.
“What?” he asked incredulously.
“Seriously? Do you not have any tact?”
“They were the ones screwing in our dorm room!”
Dean scoffed. “Oh, as if we don’t all know what you and Hermione get up to when—”
“Eugh! Stop, stop, that’s my brother, I don’t want to hear it!” Ginny said, covering her own ears.
Ron was sputtering. Hermione’s mouth hung open, mortified. Harry looked supremely uncomfortable. And Seamus was trying and failing miserably to hold in his laughter.
“Oh my god,” Neville muttered. “Come on, we’re leaving.” He tightened his grip on your hand and swiftly ushered you out of the Gryffindor common room, the sound of his friends descending further into chaos fading as the Fat Lady’s portrait swung shut behind you.
You weren’t sure where Neville was leading you, or if he even had a destination in mind other than away, but the two of you eventually came to a stop in the middle of an empty corridor. As soon as your eyes met, you and Neville both broke out into a fit of laughter, only somewhat hysterical.
“Merlin!” you exclaimed. “I suppose that’s one way to break the news to your friends.”
“They’re a bunch of bigmouthed trolls, is what they are,” Neville said, fondness bleeding through his tone despite himself.
You stepped forward to rest your forehead against his shoulder, clutching at the front of his sweater. He immediately brought a hand up to cup the nape of your neck, his pinky finger brushing beneath your collar and sending a nice shiver down your spine. If you breathed in deep, you could still smell a hint of yesterday’s cologne clinging to his skin.
“The whole school is going to know by dinner time with how loud they were,” you pointed out.
Neville hummed. He didn’t sound displeased.
You raised your head, peering at your boyfriend curiously. “You really don’t mind, do you?” you said, more of an observation than a question.
“Well, you heard them.” Neville, wearing a serene—if not slightly embarrassed—smile, moved to cradle your face in his hands. “I’ve been crazy about you for years.”