Written for the Fan Fiction Writers United Contest on Scribophile.
Laughing witches and wizards spilled out of The Leaky Cauldron. Neville wove through the crowd and into the pub. He halted halfway across the worn wood floor, and a floating tray of food nearly smacked him in the face. He stared. His table was occupied. By a couple. Sighing, he dragged himself over to the bar and plopped down on the only open stool.
"Alright?" asked Tom, bald head shining in the lantern light.
Neville's temple throbbed as if beaters had used it for bludger practice. "I spent all day re-potting mature mandrakes, and now I have to go to dinner with my gran and listen to her harp on about my continuing the Longbottom family line."
The wrinkled wizard winced. "Blimey. Here." A shot glass slid across the counter over to Neville. Red liquid hissed out of a beveled bottle and filled it to the brim. Steam rose, followed by a flicker of yellow flames.
Neville gave it a wary sniff. Honey, aged cedar, and cinnamon singed his nostrils. "What kind of fire whiskey is this?"
Old Tom gave him a gap-toothed grin. "It's me own brew. Give it a try. If it sells well, I might retire."
Neville lifted it. The glass was hot to the touch. His gaze flicked around the busy pub, in search of golden hair and glowing pink cheeks.
"She's not here."
"What?" Heat crept up his neck.
"Miss Abbott took the night off."
Neville gaped. Hannah never missed a shift. When she caught dragon pox, her mum had to place a full body bind curse on her.
Tom shrugged. "Hufflepuffs take the occasional holiday."
Maybe for funerals, missing limbs, and the apocalypse, but not much else. Unease trickled along his spine. "Are you sure she's alright?"
"If you're concerned, send her a message. You can use Mercury." Tom nodded at his plump eagle owl perched on a pedestal behind the bar. "Merlin knows the bird could use the exercise. If Miss Abbott keeps feeding him scraps, he won't be able to fly anymore." Tom moved away to serve another patron.
Neville eyed his usual booth. Oh well. It wasn't as if he could have stayed long anyhow. A skinny young wizard put his arm around a red-haired girl. She kissed his cheek, and he smiled down at her.
Neville's stomach twisted. Was Hannah on a date? It was a Friday night, after all. His fingers tightened on the glass. It wasn't his business if she was or not. Just because she always made sure to save him his table in the corner and chatted with him during her break didn't mean anything. Her kindness extended to everyone. His heart gave a heavy thud. She was smart, capable, and lovely, even when spattered with the evening's soup special.
Merlin, how he wished he wasn't her friend.
He'd stood up to Voldemort during The Battle of Hogwarts, chopped Nagini's head off, worked as an Auror for a few years, and was now the Herbology professor at Hogwarts, yet he couldn't find the courage to ask Hannah Abbott out. Risking his life was one thing, but his heart - that required an entirely different type of bravery.
He snorted. Some Gryffindor he was. He tossed back the drink.
Heat filled his stomach, then surged through his chest. Tears filled his eyes. He coughed, and flames shot from his mouth.
Tom clapped him on the back. "What do you think?"
Neville sucked in a startled breath. The ache in his head and heart had faded beneath the fiery onslaught. He hadn't felt this good in ages. "You're going to be rich, Tom. Bloody rich."
Neville apparated inside his Gran's kitchen. The dim lighting left him blinking. Why wasn't the table set? The cauldron which normally contained roast chicken and boiled potatoes was empty and cold. The house was silent and still. His Auror instincts rose to the surface, and he gripped his wand. With a few whispered words and a flick of his wrist, he cast a disillusionment charm on himself. His clothes faded from view, blending in with his surroundings. Balancing on the balls of his feet, he tiptoed down the corridor. Light spilled beneath the closed door leading into the parlor.
A loud squawking rang out, followed by a soothing hum.
The tight knot of tension in Neville's chest burst with a pop. He countered the disillusionment charm, and entered the room.
Augusta Longbottom sat in an armchair, elegant black dress robes gleaming in the firelight. She stroked her pet vulture where it nestled in a voluminous hat atop her head. The blue and grey bird gave another loud squawk when it saw him.
"Where have you been?" Gran asked.
Neville slid his wand back into a hidden pocket in his robe. "I'm only a few minutes late. Are we not having dinner?"
Her mouth quirked. "I'll be dining with Griselda this evening."
Relief whispered through him. A quiet night in his quarters at Hogwarts was just the ticket. "Alright." He shuffled towards the door. "Same time next week, then?"
Her dark eyes narrowed. "Not so fast, young man. You're still having dinner."
"What?"
Gran stood and waved her wand. Seconds later, a wardrobe waddled into the room. Its wooden doors flew open. At the same time, Neville's work robes writhed off his body. He yelped, and grabbed after them, but they disappeared into the wardrobe, leaving him in Muggle jeans and a t-shirt. Navy blue robes darted through the air and slithered onto him. The material felt whisper-soft against his skin.
The wardrobe burped, and his wand spewed out, smacking into his palm.
Gran's thin lips tilted up at the corners. "You'll do, grandson."
Wariness churned in his stomach. She hardly ever smiled.
Again, she brandished her wand at him. It zig-zagged through the air in a complex series of swishes and flicks. Latin, liquid and elegant, flew from her tongue. "Caecus amo incipio ."
An odd fizzing warmth spread from the top of his head, down to his toes, tickling his ribs as it went.
"What in the bloody hell is going on?"
"Language." Her bony chin lifted. "Since you refuse to meet with any of the eligible young women I've suggested, you've left me with no choice. You're going on a blind date tonight."
His mouth fell open. "You set me up on a Muggle blind date?"
Her gaze rose to the ceiling. "Please. The Muggles stole the blind date from us, not the other way around." She sniffed. "Their methods are far less successful."
Any lingering buzz from Tom's fire whiskey fled his body. "What did you do to me?"
She waved an elegant hand, and a mirror appeared on the wardrobe door. "See for yourself."
He stared into the mirror. Mud-colored eyes widened within a face that was neither round, square, or long. His stubble had vanished, and his long nose reduced in size. His hair was a lighter brown and a bit of fringe covered his shortened forehead. He'd never seen more forgettable features.
A strangled noise rose in his throat.
"Calm yourself. It's not permanent. This will allow you and your date to interact without any silly preconceived notions."
He folded his arms. "I'm not going." The Chudley Cannons would win the World Cup before he took a single step out of the house. "How long before it wears off?"
Gran smirked. "The spell will end at the resolution of your date." She shoved a bouquet of purple daisy fluffs into his hand. "Enjoy your dinner."
Neville opened his mouth to protest, but an abrupt yanking sensation behind his navel interrupted him.
The parlor faded from view.
Neville landed on wobbly knees. Frothy white curtains framed steam-covered windows. Small round tables were crammed in every available nook. Young couples filled the place to overflowing. Some sipped at tea, while others snogged merrily away, uncaring of their surroundings.
Great Godric Gryffindor's balls.
Gran had sent him to Madam Puddifoot's tea shop.
The flowers fell from his numb hands, and sweat broke out on his brow. He'd rather remain forgettable for the rest of his long, wizarding life than spend another minute here. Breathing erratic, he hurried for the exit.
"Where do you think you're going?" A woman in burgundy robes with dark curls piled high on her head blocked his path. Madam Puddifoot herself.
"I'm not supposed to be here," he sputtered, trying to edge his way around her.
White teeth flashed. "You're exactly where you're supposed to be, Mr. Longbottom."
His head jerked back. "You know who I am?"
"Of course. It's all part of the spell. You're not the first wizard to have a blind date at my establishment."
"I'm not a willing participant."
"They never are." She shot him a cheerful smile and threaded her hand through his elbow. "Now, let me take you to your date. It's rude to keep the young lady waiting."
Neville considered resisting, but the manners instilled in him by his Gran demanded his cooperation. She guided him through a side door. Feet dragging, it felt like a trio of garden gnomes were wrapped around his ankles.
Adult witches and wizards dressed in fine robes sat across from one another in intimate half circle booths. Floating candles sent shadows dancing across the thick carpeted floor.
Madam Puddifoot led him over to a table in the back. "Here we are." She gave him a wink. "Have fun."
He reluctantly slid onto the curved, red velvet bench.
A brown-haired young woman in deep purple dress robes stared back at him, spine stiff.
She looked terribly familiar. Brown eyes. Brown hair. Fringe on her forehead.
His lips thinned. Of course. The spell. She looked like the female version of him. He fidgeted with the napkin that materialized on his lap. "Hi."
The girl groaned, and her eyes scrunched shut. "This is a horrible mistake."
He blinked. It hadn't occurred to him that his date might not want to be here either. A snort escaped him. "Well, I'm glad we agree."
Her brows disappeared into her fringe. "Oh. Were you forced into this too?"
"Betrayed by my own flesh and blood."
She scowled. "Me too. My mum and dad ambushed me. Why can't they just mind their own business?"
"Well, that's wizarding families for you. Always sticking their noses in." Neville sniffed at the ruby wine in his glass and took a tentative sip. He grimaced. Far too sweet.
"Well, since we're stuck with each other for the rest of the evening, I suppose I should introduce myself. I'm Nrkgjkhlm."
He stared. "Sorry?"
"Nrkgjkhlm." Her mouth twisted. "I can't say my name. I think it's the spell."
"Let me try. I'm Mrphghlsf." When he tried to say his name, his tongue swelled in his mouth like he'd eaten a ton-tongue toffee. What kind of curse was this?
She folded her arms. "This is ridiculous. We can't even introduce ourselves!"
A waiter set down two plates. Neville squinted at his. Lime green liquid leaked from an orange cone-shaped tower of gelatin. She poked at hers with a fork. It jiggled, and a dark shadow moved inside it.
She drew back. "What is that?"
The sharp odor emanating from it reminded him of freshly harvested stinksap. "I don't know, but I don't think we should eat it."
She let out a soft sigh and set her fork down. "Right."
Lovely. Here they were, forced to share an evening together, and they couldn't even enjoy a meal. The door to the kitchen swung closed. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "What do you say we get out of here?"
Her eyes widened. "You mean escape?" She shook her head. "Madam Puddifoot is guarding the front entrance. I tried to leave before you got here."
Nice to know he wasn't the only one. "Why not take the back way?" He nodded at the kitchen.
"How?"
"I happen to know an excellent disillusionment charm."
The odd sculpture on her plate sank into itself. She nodded. "Let's go."
Beneath the table, he flicked his wand at her. She faded from view. Only the faintest outline remained. He murmured the charm again, this time on himself.
"Wow, I can hardly see you." Admiration filled her tone.
Pride warmed his chest. He'd spent hours practicing it, and had gotten top marks on the Auror's exam. "Thanks." He stood and reached out for her. "Give me your hand. We need to stick together."
"Alright."
There was a faint flicker of movement, like spider silk floating through the air. Their arms collided. Fumbling, his hand found her much smaller one. He guided them around the tables towards the kitchen. He paused at the door, and she bumped into him.
"We'll follow the next waiter in," he whispered.
She squeezed his hand in response.
Their confused waiter retrieved their abandoned plates and carried them away.
Here was their chance.
Neville followed closely on the young man's heels. They managed to dart through the door before it swung shut. One of the chefs paused, a large gelatinous tower forming below his wand, and frowned over at them. Could he see them? Neville didn't bother stopping to find out. He hurtled past the startled wizard and out the back door.
Her hand yanked on his, but in the opposite direction. What was she doing?
"Colloportus," she cried. The door sealed shut.
"Brilliant!"
They ran around the corner and down an alley before coming to a stop. Breathless, he ended the charms.
Mischief danced in her eyes. "We did it! I feel like a fugitive or something."
Neville grinned. "It reminds of my Hogwarts days." His stomach gurgled. "Are you still hungry?"
"Starved."
"I'll take you to the best place I know." He offered her his arm.
She took it, and he disapparated.
They arrived outside The Leaky Cauldron.
She eyed the pub's sign, then laughed.
Neville straightened. "What? They've got excellent food." Defensiveness crept into his tone.
She shook her head, lips twitching. "I know, I was just here yesterday. The soup's delicious."
"Oh. Do you mind having it again?"
"Not at all."
He followed her inside to an open table. Thankfully, the crowd from earlier had mostly dispersed. They both ordered the Leaky Soup Special and beer. A comfortable silence fell over them as they consumed their meal.
She pushed her empty bowl away, and gave him a half smile. "You know, you're not so terrible a date, whoever you are. If I wasn't madly in love with someone else, I might risk a second one with you."
"Erm, thanks." He took a sip of his beer. "Why aren't you out with him, then?"
She sighed. "I don't think he feels the same. He only ever treats me like a friend."
"Maybe he's just scared of rejection." He traced the dark grain in the wood table. "I'm a Gryffindor, and I still can't work up the nerve to ask the girl I fancy out."
"We're quite the pair, aren't we?"
Tom's owl flew through an open window and landed on the pedestal behind the bar. Neville's gaze wandered around the pub in search of Hannah again. She was probably out with some bloke having a grand time. What if they were snogging? Jealousy and frustration burned through him. His chest tightened until it became difficult to breathe.
No. He was done.
He slammed his palm down on the table, and she jumped. "You know what? I don't care anymore. So what if she doesn't fancy me back? At least I'll know, right?"
Her confused gaze darted to his empty glass, then back to him. "Are you alright? You've only had one beer."
"I'm going to send her an owl." He grabbed a leftover biscuit, marched over to the counter, and offered it to Mercury. "Here, mate. I need you to send a message. Will you help me?"
The owl nibbled at the treat, then bobbed his head.
"Thanks." He pulled a quill out of his pocket and scribbled down a message on a napkin.
Dear Hannah,
I fancy you like mad. Will you go out with me?
Yours,
Neville
He folded it. "Please take this to her right away."
Mercury picked it up, and took to the air.
Heart pounding, Neville returned to the table.
Smiling, she refilled his beer. "Go, go Gryffindor."
Neville laughed and drank half of it down in one big gulp. "We'll see how I feel after I hear from her."
A hoot sounded, and Mercury landed on their table. He still held the napkin in his claws.
He frowned. "Oi. I told you to go straight to her. You don't need another snack."
The owl ignored him and sidled over to his date, dropping the napkin into her hand. She stared at it.
Oh great. Now she knew who he fancied. Heat rising in his face, he went to snatch it away, but Mercury nipped at his fingers. "Ow. Are you mad?"
She looked up, eyes wide. "No, he's just doing what you asked."
Neville's heart dropped into his shoes, then bounced back into his chest. Was that gold in her hair? Her features blurred and shifted, skin lightening to porcelain. Rose petal pink suffused her cheeks. The mud color faded from her eyes, replaced by the familiar shade of aged brandy.
A shaky breath escaped his lips. "Hannah."
She reached out a trembling hand and touched his face. "Neville."
Electricity zinged through him, ricocheting inside his body. He gasped.
A delighted smile spread across her face. "I fancy you like mad, too."
Neville's heart exploded like one of the Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs. "Thank Merlin." He leaned into her touch. "Does this mean you'll risk a second date with me?"
Without taking her eyes off him, she yelled over the noise of the crowd, "Tom, I'll be needing evenings off!"
fin
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