A/N: This is a work of fanfiction. Standard disclaimers apply.
Kneazle's Creche
The boy had the most wonderful toys.
Pansy set her new doll on the floor. "Let's betend this is our baby and the baby is sick," she said to the boy, who nodded.
"Oh no," the boy said dutifully.
"Okay, try a spell to make her better."
The boy grabbed his toy wand and thought for a moment. "Fixus uppus."
She waved off his efforts. "Okay, that didn't work. Oh! I have an idea!" She grabbed for the boy's Potions set, which was really just brilliant – it sparked and smoked and everything – and set about prodding it with various stir rods. "I need...leafs!"
The boy rummaged around until he found some green rubber leaves. "Here."
"No, red leafs."
He resumed his search. "I only have one."
"That's okay." She tossed it in and smoke began to rise from the tiny cauldron. "Aaaand...eyes!" He found the glass eyes and when she added them and then prodded with the purple wand, they were both showered with sparkles. "It worked!" she declared, clapping her hands in glee as the sparkles began to evaporate. "Hurray!"
She glanced over delightedly at the boy. A moment later, he clapped too.
"I can't believe we're in different houses," Pansy said as she settled on the bench.
"I know," Neville replied, looking glumly across the courtyard.
"They say I'm not supposed to be friends with you."
"They say that about you, too."
Pansy scuffed her shoe in the dirt, then pulled a thin, tangled red band from her pocket. She gave it a sharp snap with a flick of her wrist and the band turned blue. "Want to play Kneazle's Creche?" she asked, looping the string over her fingers. It was one of her favourite games. She loved working through the patterns and coming back to the Creche over and over.
Had she been in Neville's position, she would've given him a sidelong look, but his head whipped around and he met her gaze with wide eyes. Maybe they were meant to be in different houses after all. "I – yeah, okay," he stammered, scrambling to turn towards her.
"What's her problem?" Pansy muttered as Ginny Weasley slammed her textbook shut and jogged up the stairs to the Gryffindor girls' dorm.
Neville let the portrait of the Fat Lady swing shut behind them. "I think she's still angry from lunch."
Pansy rolled her eyes. "I told her I didn't mean to hit her. Draco was too fast for me – although you couldn't tell by how he slowed down right in front of me like that. I would've killed him if I'd spilled any pumpkin juice on myself. Did I tell you he spent all of Charms on Friday jinxing my quill when I tried to take notes? He just won't leave me alone!" A thought occurred to her. "You don't think he fancies me, do you?" Neville shrugged. "Ugh, can you imagine?" she asked, pulling a gagging face, but secretly, she was thrilled.
She was up in the Gryffindor dormitory again, on Neville's bed again, sobbing into his pillows again. Neville's hand was moving in soothing circles on her back – again – and she brought her head out of the linens so that she didn't suffocate. "How could he?" she choked.
"He's just a useless berk," Neville murmured. "You're too good for him."
He always said that about Draco, and it usually made her smile, but today it only made her sob harder. "It's just-" she started choking on her own snot and had to swallow the whole mess before she could go on, "why Daphne? Why my best friend?" The hand on her back stilled and she rolled until her head butted into his side. "Oh, you know what I mean." His disgruntled expression amused her and she nearly smiled, but then she turned back to the pillow as indignation overwhelmed her again. The tears kept coming, burning her already raw face. "How could he make love to me and then have his tongue down her throat three days later? Could you tell me that?" She rolled over to face him, adding, "You're a bloke, tell me."
She knew instantly that she'd made a mistake. His expression was shuttered and he wouldn't look at her. "Oh, for heaven's sake," she snapped, "I'm not insinuating that you'd do anything like that, you at least have a modicum of respect for witches..."
"I can't do this anymore," he muttered.
"Neville, I didn't mean-"
"You've been coming in here to cry over him for months. If you can't figure out what's wrong by now, I can't help you."
She felt like he'd rolled her in his comforter and dumped her on the floor. "What?" was all she could say.
"Stay as long as you like," he whispered, sliding out between the curtains shielding them from his dormmates' view. She heard him renew the muffling charm around his bed, and then she heard nothing. When she slunk out through the Gryffindor common room later, he was nowhere to be found. He avoided her for the rest of the year.
She waited for Draco before boarding the Express back to Hogwarts for the last time. Neville was a short distance away, laughing with Ginny. Hannah Abbott skipped up to the pair and joined in the conversation, but Pansy didn't miss that Neville took her hand and they stood with their shoulders touching. She hadn't even known he'd fancied her, or anyone else for that matter. As Draco greeted her with a kiss, she realised that she didn't really know Neville at all anymore.
The day of Augusta Longbottom's funeral dawned brittle and crisp. After the service on the side of a hill, she nervously waited her turn in the receiving line. She hadn't seen Neville in years, but it was her duty to acknowledge the great lady's passing. She first encountered Neville's great-uncle, who smiled indulgently as he clasped her hand. She waited for Neville to finish listening to the whispers of a middle-aged witch, and once the woman moved on Neville laid eyes on her and instantly she could see the raw depths of his pain.
"Pansy," he breathed and before she knew what was happening, she was crushed in his arms. "You came."
"Of course I did," she murmured into his coat. "I'm so sorry."
His chest heaved under her cheek before he released her, his eyes beseeching.
"I'll be back at the house," she said in answer to his unspoken question. He nodded and turned to the next guest.
Waiting back at the house was torturous. Pansy perched on a stool and nibbled on a date square while family and friends congregated around a cask of ale. Harry and Ginny Potter were present; Ginny gave Pansy a withering look as she brushed by. Luna was there too, with Blaise in tow. Pansy made idle conversation with him, the pain of their breakup firmly in her past. She caught sight of Neville entering the house when Blaise was mid-story and excused herself at her earliest convenience to seek him out. He wasn't mingling in the crowd so she went upstairs. The door to his bedroom was closed and she knocked gently before trying the door. The room was dark and empty. She retreated back into the hallway and saw his gran's door cracked open. He was sitting on her bed, staring at her vanity. "There you are," she said softly.
He looked up at her, but it seemed that the effort was too much and he crumpled, his head dropping into his hands. "I miss her so much already," he said, his words punctuated by a sob.
Suddenly he was crying on the bed and she was the one rubbing comforting circles on his back and she finally understood why he'd had to quit doing this all those years ago – it was futile to try to absorb his pain through her palms, and watching him was breaking her heart. Pansy felt tears well in her own eyes and she buried her face against his neck. "She made the best cobbler, didn't she?" she murmured. "I saw her in her dressing gown exactly once in all those years – she was always perfectly put together. She inspired me to always be the same." A memory came to her and she couldn't help but giggle. "Do you remember that time when she went out to tend the garden and I convinced you to let me come in here and try out her makeup? I loved it so much – that silver-plated powder box of hers had been calling to me for years."
"My arse was so sore that night," he said.
"I got it from my dad when I got home."
Neville took a shuddering breath. "I can't believe she's gone."
She felt him hunch down into himself, a gesture she recognised from when he was a self-conscious adolescent. She tightened her hold on him and brought a hand up to smooth his hair. "If there's anything I can do, anything at all..." She trailed off when she realised how profoundly true her words were. Anything to make the pain go away.
To her astonishment, he screwed his eyes shut. "Please, Pansy, don't," he begged.
She released him immediately. "What? What is it?"
He stood. "Just...don't. I can't – I have to get back to everything."
"Of course," she said, still nonplussed. "Could I owl you later?" She was worried about his mental state.
He nodded solemnly. "That would be great. Thanks again for coming. It means a lot to me."
"Take care, Neville." She stepped towards him, intending to give him a hug, but he took an unconscious step back so she settled for an awkward little wave.
Weeks later, she met Neville for tea. "I have something for you," he said, handing her a small parcel.
Pansy opened it to find his gran's silver powder box nestled in a scrap of velvet, winking up at her. "Oh, Neville, I couldn't!" she stammered reflexively. It was an heirloom and belonged in his family.
"Please," he said, "I'd like you to have it."
"Are you sure?"
A slow grin spread over his face. "I'm sure." It was a smile she hadn't seen in a long, long time. "It's good to see you again," he added, echoing her thoughts.
Over the next hour Pansy was amazed that they were able to fall into a semblance of their old rapport so quickly. It seemed natural to confess to him everything that had happened in the intervening years, from her failed attempt at fashion design (and subsequent wild success as a purchaser for the Icarus Wing boutique chain) to her tumultuous relationship with Blaise and its inevitable demise. He had also done well for himself, working as an herbologist for Lansing Horticulture while keeping his gran's garden as magnificent as ever. She was shocked by how much time they'd whiled away when she heard a clock chime the hour. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, interrupting Neville. "I've got to get going – I've got a reservation at Benvolio's that I can't miss."
"I see." Neville began to rearrange the plates on their table. "Well, it was nice to see you."
Inspiration hit her. "Hey, why don't you join us? For dinner, at least. I mean, we're hitting the Dragon's Claw afterward and I'm sure you wouldn't want to go there, but-"
"Who's 'we'?" he interrupted.
"Padma and Pavarti. It's sort of an unofficial birds' night, but I'm sure they'd have no problem with you joining us before we hit the club."
"I haven't seen either of them in forever," Neville said. "I wouldn't mind joining you – if you're sure I wouldn't be imposing."
Pansy had time to brush the soot off her robes and light the sconces in her living room before Neville erupted from the fire behind her. "Home sweet home," she said, casting an irreverent arm about and yawning.
"Nice place," he remarked. "Which way to the loo?"
She pointed. "Right around the corner." When he was out of sight she tottered to her bedroom and kicked off her heels, rewarding her swollen feet with freedom after a night of dancing. She stretched out on her bed, sighing as the pleasure-pain of circulation overtook her toes. The evening had been wonderful. Bringing Neville to dinner had added an extra facet to a more or less routine outing with the Patils, and he had surprised Pansy by accepting their invitation to head out to the club with them. She hadn't figured him for a dancer – he'd been an uncoordinated child, and not much had changed in the intervening years. He'd gained a sense of rhythm but still looked like a bit of a wally on the dance floor. When she'd told him exactly that after her third drink, he'd laughed uproariously at her and pulled Pavarti into an exaggerated, ridiculous dance. They'd closed the Claw down and after the staff had seen them onto the street, they'd stayed at the kerb with their arms around each other, alternately giggling about the evening's events and making heartfelt promises to do it all again in the future until the chill in the air became too much for them and they'd headed for the public Floo.
"Is this how you make sandwiches?" Neville was in her doorway.
She rolled onto her side to look at him. "I'm taking a break."
He chuckled. "You're the one who promised me a midnight lunch."
"Well, it's a fair sight past midnight," she said, feeling too boneless to so much as lift her head. "Lie down for a bit. It feels good."
He hovered in the doorway a bit longer, surveying her with an amused expression. "Okay," he said at last and left her line of vision.
The mattress buckled behind her as he sat on the bed, and then continued to shake and rock as he settled in. When everything was finally still, he was spooning her gently, his chest at her back and his arm draped over her waist. Well, that wasn't exactly what she'd meant. She was about to take the mickey out of him for being cold but then thought better of it when she realised the other possible implication of their position. It was quite...intimate. She gave herself a mental shake. It was Neville. It was obviously an accident, it wasn't doing any harm, and she wasn't going to embarrass him by calling attention to it. "Isn't this nice?" she said in an attempt to cover her momentary confusion.
"Yes," he whispered. He was still. Too still, Pansy decided; he seemed to be barely breathing. What was wrong with him? She supposed she wasn't qualified to decide that he wasn't acting like himself – for all she knew, these days he customarily cuddled with all his female friends.
The answer struck her so forcefully that she might have gasped if she wasn't already schooling her reactions to remain calm. She cursed herself ferociously, trying to keep her breathing even. It was all so simple. Her oldest friend had asked her a question, and now he was waiting for her answer.
No, that couldn't be right. She thought furiously, which was harder than it sounded given how late it was and the drinks she'd consumed earlier and how disoriented the situation was making her feel. Neville would never...he knew that she wouldn't be...unless he did think of her that way, at least tonight, and she was interested? In Neville? She supposed it wasn't a completely inane question, just one she'd never considered before. He'd always been a good chap, and he'd grown up to be handsome enough in his own way. She had enjoyed her time with him tonight and it did feel good to be held. That's Neville holding you, you know, she reminded herself sternly, and her body's immediate reaction was a thrill up her spine. She shivered with it, and Neville's arm around her waist shifted. Before he could pull away, she clamped down with her elbow and held him there. Pansy bit her lip as his silent acquiescence caused something to twist deep inside her belly.
Neville. God, she'd been a fool, and now he was perfectly still again. This time she moved deliberately and slid her bottom back into his crotch, and she felt his breath catch as she brushed against the delicious hardness there. "Got me confused with someone else, do you, Longbottom?" she asked breathlessly, her fingers caressing the back of his hand.
"Not a chance, Pansy Parkinson," he growled, dragging her onto her back, and then he was kissing her. Any doubts Pansy still harboured over whether or not this was a good idea evaporated as she opened her mouth under his, inviting him to deepen the kiss. Years ago Pansy had imagined what it must be like for Hannah to kiss Neville and had come to the sour conclusion that it would be dry, timid, and boring. The truth was that he was exquisitely sensitive, mirroring her as she started mapping his body with her hands. "Wait," he said when she started tugging at his shirt.
She pulled back to take in the sight of him – hair mussed, lips parted, cheeks flushed – and she wondered how she'd ever seen him as anything but delectable. "Second thoughts, then?" she quipped, unable to bring herself to take her hands off him.
He bowed his head and chuckled. "Not at all. If there are any second thoughts, they'd be yours."
"Yet you stopped," she reminded him.
"I know, I know," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. "It's just...you have to know."
His solemn expression unnerved her. "What, are you married or something?"
This elicited a shaky smile from him. "No, nothing like that. It's that...it's always been you, Pansy. For me, I mean."
She couldn't stop a wide grin from stealing across her face. "Really?"
"Merlin, your ego," he groaned. "I'm telling you this so you know that this isn't just a lark for me. So if you're intending for this to be a one-off-"
"Wait, is this why you ended things with Hannah?" she pressed on.
"It's why I started things with Hannah," he said, looking unexpectedly defiant.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked quietly. "Before, I mean."
"I didn't know how," he murmured, suddenly very interested in her bedspread. "I was young and stupid and scared. I didn't think I deserved you. When I was-"
She sensed that this was the beginning of a very long speech honed over years of contemplation. "Neville, that's fascinating but I'd rather be snogging you right now. Can we discuss this over breakfast?"
"Or next week?" he asked hopefully, reaching for her again.
She reached up to tangle her fingers in his hair and draw him closer. "Whenever you want."
Pansy heard the front door open and then close. "Sorry," Neville called pre-emptively, "I've been out in the greenhouses all day and decided to come straight home – I'll clean the carpet if I get it dirty."
"Bully," she called back, jiggling the crying baby on her shoulder.
Neville poked his head into the nursery. "Someone's upset," he said with an indulgent grin.
"Something's wrong. She won't stop crying."
"Here, I'll try a burping charm."
"I already did. If you'd take her, I'll go whip up an anti-colic potion. You said the other day that you were gathering fresh anise?"
"Yes, it's on the shelf."