Title: Revenge

Author: lena1987

Pairing(s)/character(s): Lavender Brown, Neville Longbottom and one misbehaving Professor Snape. Unrequited SSHG.

Rating: PG-13.

Summary: Distractions abound in the Great Hall during dinner, and sometimes revenge is best served with a sway of the hips. Lavender-centric.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to JK Rowling. No profit is being made.

Note: Yes, dear reader, I did say unrequited SSHG. Whoops! You'll have to forgive the Professor for his lapse in judgement in this particular universe. Written while finishing off my SS/HG prompt fest monstrosity, so there's no need to worry about me ditching the main ship. I've simply discovered this delightful little pairing on the side.

Revenge

Lavender is watching Ron, who is watching Hermione—as usual—who is watching… oh, my. Interesting.

The Great Hall is buzzing, bursting at the seams. Teachers are scowling and pressing at foreheads, and students are dissecting the recent tests. Lavender's done well, she knows she has, but no-one is asking her. Making a point of it, she turns and says to Neville, "Snape gave me an E, you know."

He chokes and forces the mouthful of pumpkin juice down his throat. "Did he?"

Automatically, Hermione, who is across from her, mutters, "Professor Snape."

"Oh!" Lavender huffs, exasperated. "What bee got into your bonnet?"

She's sick of sitting here, with mooning Ron and sourly Harry, strict and dour Hermione, and polite, well-meaning Neville. She'd like to sit with Parvati, giggle a bit, titter perhaps, share an article from a rag or two, but Parvati is having her face set back together tomorrow morning at nine fifteen on the dot. And so here she is, staring at Ron, who is staring at Hermione, who is sending furtive glances towards—

And why shouldn't she sit here? She's as Gryffindor as the rest of them – just ask the flesh of her back, ripped to shreds from the teeth and claws of the disgusting, perverted prick that went for Parvati before her. Lavender taps her fingernails on the table-top, unwilling to stomach dessert. It's some sort of crumble, see, and the raspberries are positively bleeding through the golden crumbs that could just as well be golden skin.

"Lavender?" says Neville under his breath as he nudges her. She flinches, realising she's gone off somewhere for a while.

"Sorry, Nev," she mumbles, offering him a feeble smile. "I think I'll just go to bed."

"Want me to walk you up?"

Sweet, sweet Neville. She waits to see if Ron will even notice, but he doesn't, and so she shakes her head with a regretful—honestly, it really is regretful—smile. "That's fine. See you for breakfast. Congratulations on your results."

He protests with an awkward, "But I didn't tell you them!"

She shrugs, batting her lashes just for kicks. "You don't have to. I know you've done well. You're smart, Nev. That's the way of it." Truly, she means this. Neville is smart; he's brave, honest. He's Gryffindor all over, without the brashness. Perhaps she could do without brashness for a change.

"Is it?" He's pink all over, the same colour as the gloss on her mouth. She licks her strawberry lips, suddenly wondering what the flushed skin at his neck tastes like.

"'Course it is. Night, love."

"Night," he says faintly, then again, "night."

She slides off the bench, smiling at the memory of Parvati and herself, spending one quiet morning in the Hall getting on and off the ridiculous things, so as to do it as seamlessly as possible. Standing, she touches Neville's shoulder. It's hard under her palm, the muscle there tensing with his surprise.

"Bye."

"Bye," he echoes, and she walks away, head held high in the air. She takes no-one's used goods, does Lavender Brown, and she grants Neville a small swing of her hips. Looking at the students from over her shoulder, she's gratified to see his undivided attention on the movement of her body. Ron, as usual, is still looking at Hermione, who's still trying to cover up her covetous glances towards Professor Snape. And Lavender knows triumph then, for even the DADA Professor glances up from his mediocre meal and arches a brow at her daring exit; she's layering it with sex, as, really, dinner is far too dull these days. Snape set his glass down and narrows his black, gleaming eyes. More likely his brow is mocking her but it doesn't really matter does it, because Hermione sees red and Lavender sighs with the pleasure of it as she sashays out of the Hall.

fin.