With the permission of "Kelly Chambliss", I present to you a followup fic to her story titled "Roses in December". I was so utterly moved by her unusual pairing, and after rereading it for the fifth or sixth time, I wrote and asked her permission to do this. Thank you Kelly, for allowing me to build on your work!
Minerva McGonagall found herself laying naked in the bed of her grandmother's cottage, with a much younger man's arms wrapped tightly around her. The window was open, letting the breeze cool their sweat covered bodies, and the stars seep into the dark room, furnishing it with dim shadows.
The young man - Neville Longbottom - propped himself on his elbow and looked down at her. Minerva couldn't resist the urge to run her fingers through his damp, brown hair. As he leaned into her touch, he sighed. "I'm afraid I was too fast," he said apologetically.
"Next time, you can be slower if you like," she replied calmly. Minerva's body was humming in satisfaction as it was, and she decided that she certainly was looking forward to spending more time in the company of this young man.
Neville smiled, and lay back on the pillow they shared, pulling her body close. He inhaled the scent of her hair, and she gripped his hand and pulled it tighter against her breast. Deep inside, she knew that somewhere out there, beyond the boundaries of this serene place, there was chaos in the world and it was her duty to help bring order to it. For the moment, however, she was content to just forget about all that - content to just be a woman falling in love.
Minerva woke with a start, heart racing, and feeling a profound sense of loss. She had never looked at young Mr. Longbottom in such a way, but somehow, the dream she'd just had seemed so utterly right that she couldn't help but wonder. She wondered if subconsciously, she'd become attracted to her student; a young man who had grown so very much in this last year, taking charge of his fellow Gryffindors while she tried to keep Snape and the Carrows at bay. Hell, on top of doing all that, he had taken care of her after the Cruciatus curse had robbed her of her memories during the better part of December. It was July now, and with Voldemort's demise the month before, there was now hope of future not so filled with grief.
The newly instated Headmistress of Hogwarts frowned as a thought occurred to her. She remembered nothing of her time hiding out in the Room of Requirement with Mr. Longbottom checking in on her each day, though she'd been told that the Room had taken the form of the very cottage which had been featured in her dream. Suddenly, the horrifying question of if she'd somehow allowed herself to become attracted to a student seems pale in comparison to the question now on her mind.
Had that dream really been a dream, or was it a memory which Poppy had insisted she'd never recover? Minerva gulped as the details of the dream repeated themselves in her mind. Had she taken her student to bed, seven months prior?
After a few more hours of restless sleep, Minerva rose, showered and dressed, and made her way toward the Hospital Wing. It was nearly time for breakfast, but she hoped to catch Poppy for a moment before the day started. While school was not in session due to the damage of the final battle, it had been agreed the week before that those wishing to help with cleanup were to come to the Hogwarts for breakfast at eight, and from there they would organize teams and a plan of action. Other that Mister Potter and Miss Granger, who had both assured her the night before they'd be there, Minerva wasn't sure who all would show up. She anticipated a good many, however, especially from her own house.
While Hufflepuffs were more noted for loyalty and hard work, Gryffindors stuck with their own, and with her as Headmistress, she had no doubts that many of her cubs would remain, if only to ease her burden. Minerva couldn't help but wonder if Mr. Longbottom would be among those to stay. She'd honestly be surprised if he didn't. Dream being fiction or reality, the young man had often show up at just the right time to keep her out of trouble in the course of the last term, even though he seldom went to classes, spending most of his time in the Room of Requirement with other students who were high targets of Snape and the Carrows. Before the early hours of this morning, she'd dismissed the behavior as simple loyalty, made stronger by his assignment to care for her in December. Now, she wondered if there was more to it.
"Poppy?" she called, stepping into the Matron's domain.
"Minerva!" Poppy greeted. "What can I do for you?"
"I was wondering if you could spare a moment to speak with me regarding the incident seven months ago," the Scottish woman posed.
"Are you having problems with pain?" the mediwitch frowned. "I did worry there would be lingering effects from…"
"Rather a query on my loss of memory during the month of December," Minerva clarified. "I know you said it was not likely I'd ever get the memory back, but we never discussed, if it should resurface, how it might manifest."
Poppy looked at her friend curiously. "It's best guess, honestly - memory is so complex you see, but if I were to speculate I'd suspect that since the memory was suppressed to your subconscious mind, that any resurfacing would begin from that origin; an unusually vivid dream, perhaps."
Minerva's breathing hitched. "Do you know anything about my… activities … during that time?"
Poppy shrugged. "Very little. Neville and I were the only ones to see you during that month, and him far more than me. If you have questions, you'd be better off asking him."
She couldn't help the blush rising on her cheeks. "I'm not sure that is really a good idea. You see, I had a dream last night in which Mr. Longbottom and myself were…"
"Were what?" Poppy asked, seemingly oblivious to the tension in her colleague's voice.
"Well...we were…" Minerva could not believe she was saying this. "We were in bed together."
Understanding dawned on the Matron. "Ohhhhh… oh my."
"Indeed."
Poppy cleared her throat. "Well, he turns eighteen at the end of this month, which means he was of age then…"
"Hardly the point, Poppy!" Minerva snapped. "He is my student!"
"He didn't take Transfiguration past his OWLs," Poppy argued.
"A technicality!"
"He has grown into quite the handsome fellow…"
"Poppy!" the Headmistress screeched.
"What on earth are you two rowing about?" Filius Flitwick's voice inquired.
"Minerva shagged Neville," Poppy blurted with a giggle.
"I did not!" she objected weakly, sinking onto a nearby chair.
"My mistake," the Marton said. "She may have shagged him. You know, when he was minding her in December?"
Filius smirked. "Memory coming back?"
Minerva reared on the Charms professor. "What do you know, Filius?!"
"Nothing concrete," he replied, not even flinching. "Only that if one watches closely, they see things others do not, and I have seen the way Mr. Longbottom looks at you."
"And how, pray tell, has he been looking at me?" Minerva fumed.
Filius patted her on the shoulder. "Like a man looks at a woman he loves. I suspect, if nothing did happen then, that he, and perhaps you as well, wishes it had."
"Just bloody great!" Minerva scowled.
At breakfast, Minerva's eyes sought out the young man featured in her dream. She was unsurprised to find him sitting at the Gryffindor table, alongside Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, and Mr. Finnigan. Ronald and Ginerva Weasley were not there, but as they'd lost a brother a few weeks ago, she expected that the family was mourning somewhere privately. As if he'd sensed her looking at him, Neville's eyes drifted to the Head Table, and he caught her gaze. He nodded at her, and smiled softly. For the first time...she hoped… Minerva saw Neville the man, rather than the boy she'd taught for seven years. Gone was the awkward, orphaned child, and staring at her with incredible blue eyes and stubble covered cheeks was a young man, acutely aware of just how much pain there was in the world.
She forced herself to look away, engaging in mindless chatter with Pomona, and after breakfast was over, she focused her attention on the group of six hundred and fourteen people who had offered to assist in the cleanup and rebuilding of the school that each of them had, at one point or another, called home. In wasn't until lunch time that Minerva found herself looking into Neville's eyes again, though this time, she could not look away, as he'd approached her.
"Professor?" he called, walking toward her after the midday meal had been cleared.
"Yes, Mr. Longbottom?" she replied, keeping her tone even and her chin held high.
"Are you alright?" he asked, concern in his tone. "You've been acting a bit distracted today. I only mention it because you said you were going to work on the bridge this afternoon and if you're not really focused, you could…"
"I appreciate your concern, Neville…" she started. Her voice cut off when she realized what she had just called him. She'd used his given name a grand total of once since they had met. It had been the day she'd called him to her office to thank him for his care. She'd been surprised to hear the name coming off her tongue that day, sounding so natural, and it was equally easy and surprising right now.
Neville's face paled slightly, as if he was suddenly very worried about something. "Professor, if you'll excuse me…
"Mr. Longbottom!" she called after him as he turned to walk away.
"Just be careful!" he called back, though he did not stop walking.
She watched him move through the crowd of people, finally stopped in front of Poppy. Minerva discreetly followed, hoping to overhear their obviously heated discussion. She arrived moments before Neville stormed away, catching only his parting words of, "it's up to her."
The next time she saw him, she'd approached him of her own free will. Minerva had gone to mend the bridge, and as Neville had feared, her preoccupation had caused her to be less than focused on her task, and a falling board had left a sizeable gash on her arm. Poppy had mended it straight away, of course, but the fact that it happened at all made it perfectly clear to her that she needed to deal with this sooner rather than later. She had a school to rebuild, and the muddled thoughts consuming her right now were only serving to get in the way. She was a bloody adult, and so was Neville. If nothing happened, a bit of embarrassment at asking was a small price to pay for peace of mind. If something had happened… well, she'd deal with that if and when it needed dealing with.
"Mr. Longbottom, a word," she stated, walking toward the lone figure standing by the Black Lake, watching the sun begin to set.
Neville took a deep breath before replying. "Yes, Professor?"
"I have questions," she started, "about what happened in December... at the cottage."
He turned to face her, sadness in his eyes as he stood tall and proud before her. "What do you really want to ask, Minerva?" he whispered, stepping close enough to her that she could easily reach out and touch him.
The use of her given name was plenty an answer. "Shit," she muttered, looking down. "Mr. Longbottom, I must apologize…"
"Don't you dare!" he insisted. "Please, please… don't be sorry for letting me love you."
"Neville," she said weakly, forgoing formality. Why should she address him as a student, when he'd been her lover only months before? "It should never have happened."
"Neither should this war have," he calmly replied, reaching up and brushing her cheek with the back of his hand. "But it did, and we have to decide if we face what we can't undo, or if we run away from it."
"Gryffindors don't run away," she mused.
"Well, if you want to call it a strategic retreat," Neville smirked, "I wouldn't hold it against you. Though Merlin knows I hope you won't."
"I need time to think about it," Minerva decided. "All my memory has managed to jog up is one night… the first night, I think. If we got to know one another to that level, the month in the cottage, I'm afraid I don't have much information to work with. I only know how I felt…"
"Isn't that enough?" the young man asked.
"I am sixty-three years old, Neville," she said pointedly. "You are not even eighteen yet, and are technically still my student. If we were to pursue what evolved between us seventh months ago, people would undoubtedly find out, and not think well of either of us for it. The consequences must be carefully considered."
Neville chuckled. "You said nearly the same thing after our first kiss."
"Did I?"
"Yes," he nodded. "And yet, you took me to bed the following night."
"Did I ever say why I'd taken leave of my senses?" Minerva asked, trying to remember her reasoning back then. What the bloody hell had she been thinking?
"Not really," he shrugged. "At the time, I was too happy to have you in my arms to even ask. When you got your memory back, and lost the memories of our time at the cottage… I didn't really let myself ask why - I was just grateful for the time we had."
"That's why you didn't want Filius to remove your memory…" she suddenly said, understanding dawning on her.
He nodded, and then leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, like he had that day in her office. "Just think about it," he whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."
Before Minerva could say another word, Neville turned and walked away, leaving her standing there with a gaping hole in her heart. She already knew what she wanted to do, but the question still remained: could she?
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