This is my response to day 8 of Siriusly Smart's iPod challenge. Credit to Mew-Tsubaki for the pairing. Here is the multi-chaptered Victoire/Neville I promised.
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"She burns like the sun,
And I can't look away."
-Muse, 'Sunburn'
After the war, Neville Longbottom lived a quiet life. He became a successful herbologist, was hired as a professor and enjoyed his professional life very much. His personal life was another story. Neville was very fond of Hannah, his plump, pretty wife, but at some stage he had stopped loving her. It was that simple. They had no energy, no spark, and yet she was happy enough to continue with their hollow marriage. It had taken him a while to come to terms with this, but Neville had slowly, reluctantly, managed to reconcile himself with such a life.
Until her. Until he had noticed that Victoire Weasley had blossomed into a beautiful, beguiling woman.
They had received an invitation to a garden party from Bill and Fleur Wealsey. Neville didn't want to go. He didn't want to stand around in a garden, too hot, reminiscing about times that he really didn't care to dwell upon. However, Hannah had wanted to go, and in an effort to make up for having ceased to feel anything beyond a vague affection for her, he had agreed.
So, they had spent all afternoon making polite conversation. Neville's attention had wandered once Ron started to expound upon the supposed wonders of the Chudley Cannons – it seemed too pathetic for Neville to manage to resent him for it – and he had began to consider what plants he could crossbreed with the venomous tentacula to produce benign progeny. Unable to resist the temptation, he had investigated the Weasley's garden, only half listening to Hannah's muttered apology for his eccentric behaviour.
Neville had opened the door to the herb garden, closing it behind him as surreptitiously as he could manage (the last thing he wanted was to have Molly pressing more food on him, or to be stuck listening to Hugo arguing with James). He had exhaled in relief, and was thankful for a brief respite from the rather tiring company of those around him, an unexpected opportunity to be with undemanding foliage. It was tranquil in the miniature garden, the sound of running water quiet in the background. He caressed the leaves of the herbs, impressed that their soil had been watered in accordance with the need of every one of the little pots on the shelves.
Continuing around the corner, Neville caught sight of a fountain, which explained the water. As he drew closer to the water feature, Neville saw something that he hadn't been expecting.
A woman sat on the rim on the fountain, one small foot dangling in the pool, the other tucked underneath her body, decorated with a glittering ankle bracelet. A metal watering can was on the ground beside her. She wasn't facing him, which allowed Neville to spend a moment gazing at her hair, strikingly blonde, illuminated by a shaft of sunlight, cascading in waves down her back. She was wearing an almost indecently short pair of cut off jeans and a tank top.
It was Victoire. The realisation surprised him.
Aware that he was intruding and conscious that he probably shouldn't be watching her – a girl barely seventeen – like she was a painting or a statue, Neville attempted to retrace his footsteps. Holding his breath, he walked backwards, heart racing. In his hurry to leave, Neville accidentally kicked a plant pot.
Victoire looked up, her blue eyes widening in surprise.
"Oh, hello Neville," A warm smile spread across her mouth. "I hadn't realised you were there."
Some months ago he had ceased insisting upon the formality of her referring to him as 'Professor Longbottom' in private. At the time, it had seemed a little excessive considering he was a family friend, but now he found himself regretting it for the first time.
"Victoire, I hadn't expected to find you back here." He swallowed, throat suddenly dry.
"It's my garden- well, I take care of it, at any rate." The revelation came as no great shock. Victoire possessed a natural flair for herbology. She stood, moving towards him with a fluid grace that Neville couldn't believe he had failed to notice. Her bare feet padded gently against the brick pathway.
"You do- you do an exceptionally good job... it seems." Neville trailed off. He was unable to processor express coherent thoughts as he was drawn in by the magnetic quality of Victoire's eyes, as blue as sapphires. Her lips parted, and for one brilliant, dreadful moment, Neville thought that they would kiss.
Victoire flushed, leaning against an above ground flower bed and toying with a strand of her hair.
"Thanks. I'll show you around, if you'd like." Neville knew that he should leave. She watched him expectantly. He should leave her this instant and break off the dreadful connection between them before it could take root.
"That would be very nice indeed." The words that poured from his mouth were a direct contradiction to the thoughts belonging to the logical part of his brain, instead the product of an instinct too strong for him to acknowledge.
"Great." Victoire smiled once more, exposing a row of perfect teeth, before gesturing for him to follow her. Neville's thoughts had lingered not on the impressively maintained specimens of plants that she had shown him, but the tantalising curve of Victoire's shoulder, her long legs and the enchanting rhythm of her speech, the result of a French accent once removed. As if this wasn't distressing enough, to think such thoughts about one of his students – scarcely more than a child – Neville was plagued by how that sense of panic about how his life was nothing like the way he wanted it to be had simply vanished when he had spoken with her. With her engaging conversation and curious balance of confidence and shyness, without even trying, simply by being herself, Victoire had done what Hannah could not; she had set him at ease, and made him feel like being Just Neville was a gift.
From that bright afternoon things had both improved and declined drastically. Neville dropped the Daily Prophet onto the polished surface of the bar, no longer able to continue the pretence that he was reading and not dreaming of Victoire Weasley. Since that first meeting, Neville hadn't resisted Hannah's acceptance of invitations for social gatherings from former schoolmates. She had been pleased by his compliance, and their relationship, although empty, had run more smoothly as a result. Neville couldn't help but smile at the irony; although it had pleased his wife, all his contact with Victoire Weasley had done was make Neville realise how truly unhappy that he was to be living a mundane, conventional life.
"Where did you go, Victoire?" She had been late for the dinner party hosted by George and Angelina, arriving with her hair gloriously windswept and a healthy flush on her cheeks. Neville hadn't allowed himself to dwell upon the way relief had surged through his veins when she had appeared. They were sat in the back garden, waiting for dessert to be served.
She shrugged elegantly.
"I went for a walk by the sea and I felt so... comfortable, so relaxed, that I couldn't help but stay. It was nice just to look around; to be and to think. Know what I mean?" Blushing, Victoire had looked away from him. "That sounded silly-"
"I know exactly what you mean." Neville smiled at her disbelieving look. "There are times when things can seem... surreal... and if you can reflect, find some time to yourself, then things become more..." He fell silent, embarrassed. It was talk like this that made Hannah grow impatient and tell him to stop dreaming. If he couldn't ask his wife to listen to his musings, then Neville knew that he had no right to expect a girl who was somewhere between friend and student to him to do so. "Sorry."
"What? No, you're right." Victoire had gestured wildly with her hands, as graceful as flying birds, and turned to face him. "Neville, you're right. Keep going."
He was lost for words. In that moment Neville ached to be free; as free as Victoire.
"Pudding's ready!" George's voice rang out, ending the moment.
He had tried to regain his liberty shortly afterwards, unable to cope with the growing sense that she needed to do something, anything, before his life got any farther away from what he wanted it to be. Neville had asked Hannah for a divorce. She had regarded him calmly, finished applying her face cream and insisted that they go through trial separation first. Hannah had neither argued with him nor expressed any sign of distress at the prospect, confirming to Neville that he had indeed made the correct decision in returning to Hogwarts before the start of term.
Had he considered the practical side of his decision rather than focussing on the buoyant sensation in his chest, then Neville would most likely have packed more than his plants, books and research work. In his month away from the castle, he had forgotten what supplementary potions his supplies were running low on and what apparatus he needed.
He left his rooms, navigated through the deserted halls of Hogwarts and walked out of school boundaries. Neville went straight into Diagon Alley, not wishing to pass through the Leaky Cauldron in case he met with Hannah. Things were uncomfortable between them, and he wanted their first meeting since the separation to be on her terms. Ignoring the feeling of uneasiness that thoughts of Hannah always seemed to result in, Neville took in his surroundings and enjoyed simply being one of the crowd. He was anonymous and it felt good. Here, he was simply a wizard on an errand, much the same as anybody else. His faltering marriage did not mark him out as he worked his way along the cobbled street, doing his best not to bump into anybody walking in the opposite direction.
Neville had almost reached his destination when, for a split second, he glimpsed the back of a blonde head. Victoire. He tried to get a closer look, but the witch was quickly obscured by the constantly moving stream of shoppers. Just because a blonde witch wore her hair in a messy updo, the style often favoured by Victoire, did not mean that she was Victoire. It occurred to Neville that he was becoming unhealthily fixated. A tap on his shoulder interrupted his thoughts.
"Excuse me, sir." Flustered, Neville turned to face a bald, impatient looking wizard. "You're blocking the way."
"Sorry." Neville kept on moving, subconsciously looking for Victoire as he continued on his way. Thankfully, he arrived at Slug and Jiggers' without any further incidents occurring. The bell tinkled as he stepped into the shop, quieter and altogether more peaceful than the street outside.
"Professor Longbottom! I was wondering when you'd be back." Slug stepped out from behind the counter and gestured expansively towards the shelves lined with potions. "Are you here on behalf of the school or looking for something for your good self?"
"My own research. My supplies are running dangerously low, and the mandrakes I'm trying to selectively breed are..." All thoughts of his attempts to produce two different sub-breeds of mandrakes slipped from Neville's mind as he looked to investigate the figure descending the wooden stairs. It was none other than Victoire Weasley, clad in a patchwork dress and her trademark army boots, a selection of potted herbs carefully balanced in her arms.
"Hello Neville, fancy seeing you here." Her face was partially obscured by the leaves of what he identified as basil, but Neville saw that she looked cheerful enough for having encountered him. Belatedly, he assisted Slug in helping her line up her prospective purchases on the counter.
"I could say exactly the same of you, Victoire." He felt gratified as she laughed. It was a warm, natural sound.
"So you two know each other?" Slug returned to his position behind the counter and added the pots to large paper bags.
"Yes. Victoire Weasley's in my NEWT class at Hogwarts, and has a natural way with plants. She's about to start her last year." Neville forced himself to look at Slug, to focus on his whispy grey hair and wizened features rather than the radiant Victoire, as he spoke. From the corner of his eye, he watched as she lifted some coins from her wicker handbag and pushed her plants along the counter to make room for his order.
"Thank you, Miss Weasley." Slug returned her change and turned his attention to Neville. "What can I do you for?" Neville pushed his list across the sticky surface and watched as the old wizard held it out before him, sliding a pair of crooked reading glasses onto his nose and squinting. "I told you last time, Professor, you may send a parchment telling me what it is you want and I'll have it prepared in advance of your visits. Give me an hour or so, and then return."
The idea of using his influence to inconvenience the shop owner made Neville feel a vague sense of discomfort. He watched for a moment as Victoire continued to rearrange her bags, unaware of his observation.
"Alright, that's no trouble at all." Neville tried to speak with as light a tone as possible, but he didn't relish the prospect of aimlessly walking through the busy street and trying to keep out of the way of already-stressed witches and wizards out shopping. Victoire at his side, Neville nodded to the apothecary and left the shop, standing underneath the overhang as he planned what to do next.
"Neville?" He looked at Victoire, who was barely level with his shoulder and yet looking resolutely up at him. Her delicate features were in a frown that belied concern. "Neville, are you feeling alright?"
"What? Oh, yes. Why wouldn't I be?" He gave Victoire what he hoped was a reassuring smile, but felt more like a grimace.
"You seem a bit distant. I... Ah... Well, with you and Hannah..." Victoire adjusted her grip on the paper bags, suddenly interested in the leaves being untangled.
"Oh." There was no way for Neville to know how much she was aware of, and he realised belatedly that he should have expected Victoire to associate his recent and increasingly frequent lapses into pensive silences or forced joviality. She was a perceptive young woman. "It's not that at all, actually. I just don't like shopping."
"Right." She was clearly unconvinced despite having been told the truth. Considering their surroundings, Neville wasn't surprised. "Do you want to go for a coffee, then, and maybe something to eat?"
He didn't know if it was kindness or pity that motivated Victoire to give this invitation, or if she genuinely wished to eat. Either way, Neville ignored the temptation to accept.
"I really am fine, Victoire." He spoke with patience, keeping all traces of anything contrary to his words from his voice.
"Well I'm famished, so even if you just have a coffee, we should go together." Having made her decision, Victoire, he knew, would accept no arguments or excuses from him. She was stubborn in ways he simply couldn't begin to fathom.
"On one condition," Victoire opened her mouth to speak, but Neville continued. "You have to let me help you with your bags." Thinking better of arguing, she conceded and allowed Neville to take one before hopping from the alcove and onto the street. He matched Victoire's long strides, not wanting to become separated from her in the midst of the midday shopping rush.
"So, have you bought anything other than plants today?" Being conversational did not come naturally to Neville, but it had been kind of Victoire to insist that he come along with her and he was adamant that she shouldn't come to regret her decision.
"For someone who doesn't like shopping, that's a fairly strange question." She smiled teasingly. "Yes, I've been to the second hand shop – don't tell Dominique or I'll never hear the end of it; 'someone's already worn that, Victoire! Gross.' – and got a few new clothes, and I went to Flourish and Blott's to collect my order."
They finally reached Victoire's choice of cafe, a beatnik little establishment that he had never heard of, and Neville asked more about her plants. The conversation was relaxed and Neville found that he heartily enjoyed himself.
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Thanks for reading. Please review.