For: A Catholic Girl's Valentine's Day Challenge

Disclaimer: I don't own potter property

3

An Unexpected Valentine

Neville bit his lower lip, his heart pounding painfully against his chest. He knew she was going to be here. She was going to be here, right? They had already agreed to it, right? He wiped his hand on the back of his forehead. Today was a Hogsmeade weekend, right? They hadn't picked the wrong weekend? He checked his watch. Fourteenth. Usually they had trips on Saint Valentine's day, didn't they? Merlin, he hoped they hadn't picked a bad day. In fact, he hadn't seen any Hogwarts students. Maybe they had picked a bad day.

Oh, Merlin, what was he going to do? He had put on his best robes and grabbed her a box of chocolate, too, and they cost him a pretty galleon. Goodness, this was not going well. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his robes. Why was he so nervous? It wasn't like they hadn't been out on a date before. Last year they had done more than date, as a matter of fact, although he would never let his Gram know that. But they both had been longing for something more locked in the castle under the weight of the Carrows, and they had found something wonderful between the two of them -- friendship, comfort, love. Just like Ginny and Collin.

Did something happen to her? Is that why she wasn't here? Was she lying dead somewhere, blown to bits by a stray Deatheater or writhing with pain from an unforgivable curse? And it would be all his fault, wouldn't it?

He stood up from the table he had reserved at Gladstone's Railway Hut, the new restaurant attached to the train station, and began pacing. If something had happened to her…if she was caught in a ditch somewhere…if she so much had a scratch on her…he didn't know what he was going to do. Hunt down whoever did it to her and pummel him or her or it to the ground like the dirty mongrel it or she or he was. His hands clenched at his side.

Five minutes…she was five minutes late. She was never late. Not by five minutes.

He struggled to breathe through the tightness shackling his lungs together. He leaned against the table and the pain began to course through his body, reminding him once again of everything he had gone through in the past year -- the irrevocable torture, the irrevocable love. His fingers dug into the wood, his nails leaving behind crescents. The feeling of her hands gently bandaging his wounds after a particularly difficult session with the Carrows, the look on her face when he gently held her, tears streaming down her face, after another Hufflepuff, another Ravenclaw, another Gryffindor, another Slytherin shuffled into the room of requirement with blood seeping through their clothes. He gasped for breath, every rush of air seeming to grate against his throat, inflame his lungs, reignite the curses so many Deatheaters had placed on him. She cared so much. So much. If she died…he felt tears beginning to well behind his eyes. He was so weak.

"Sir, is something wrong?"

"No," Neville growled at the well-meaning waiter. "Nothing's…nothing's…" He closed his eyes and swallowed against the wave of agony reminiscent of Crucio, just the word drawing forth memories of writhing on the floor of the potion's room.

"Sir, I think you should sit down and we'll get a healer here as soon as..."

"No! I'm fine!"

"Sir! Your face is…"

Neville shot him a glance that would rival any of Gram's and the waiter backed off, slinking back to his station in the kitchen. He closed his eyes and bit back the familiar pins sticking into every inch of his body. He couldn't move. Even blinking felt as if his eyes were being gouged out with a toothpick.

"Neville?"

Her light voice carried into his ears, her worry wrought more heavily than he would have liked in her voice.

"Hannah," he whispered, acknowledging her with as many syllables as he could.

"Where's your potion?" her easy, gentle hands wrapped around his arms and directed him slowly into a chair. Her touch seemed to take away his pain, to make him forget about it. He reached for his pocket, but the effort shot a jolt of venom down his arm.

"Front pocket?" She whispered, her hand already reaching into his trousers. She pulled out the narrow vile holding a scarlet liquid. "Open your mouth, Sweet."

Her hand gently rested against his cheek and put the vile against his waiting lips. Gently, slowly, caringly, she emptied the bottle into his mouth. Neville swallowed, relief from the pain and relief from his doubt at her fate coursing quickly through his body.

"Thank you," he said, his voice hoarse from the caustic potion.

"What were you doing that sent you into an attack?" she demanded, standing up straight and putting her hands on her hips. "You know you have to take it easy, Neville! You keep doing these…these…these ridiculous things that always end the same way! With you in…"

Neville watched her rant, her cheeks flushed with red. He couldn't tell if it was from anger or worry. It didn't matter. She was beautiful, her golden locks gorgeously framing her face, her blue robes bringing out the color in the orbs of sky gracing her face, her perfect red lips moving faster than the speed of light chastising him for not taking care of himself, the occasional erratic movement of her hand to emphasize her point catching his eye with its delicate fingers and wrist.

"…and you refuse to do anything about it, Neville! You're…you're going to…you're going to die! And then what? Then what will I do?" She ran her flawless hand through her hair. "Merlin, Neville…Promise me you'll take it easy?"

Neville stared at her, at this woman who cared so much about Hogwarts that she returned in her seventh year to help rebuild morale among students, that she spent hours tending to the sick and wounded of every house, that she loved everyone and everything indiscriminately, that she spent her summer at Hogwarts participating in reconstruction, that she would and did put everything aside if anyone needed her help. His heart swelled with love for this woman, this beautiful, wonderful woman who was standing just feet away from him, worrying about him, of all people. He, who was more than capable of watching over himself, who had been a part of the DA for as long as the legendary Ginny Weasley herself, who survived his share of battles, who withstood multiple unforvigable curses, she was worried about. He, a virtually indestructible man, and she was worried about him. He chuckled.

"This isn't funny, Neville!" she shouted, her shrill scream making the inhabitants of the establishment glance over their shoulders.

His smile faded. His heart throbbed for her, yearned for her, called for her.

"Promise me, Neville." Her eyes glistened with tears.

"Marry me."

She fell into the chair behind her.

"What?" she said.

"Marry me. I…I love you."

"Aren't we…aren't we too young, Neville? Shouldn't we wait until…"

"Until what? Until you're out of Hogwarts? Until I have a steady job? Until we have a place to live? Maybe. But what would be the point? We can figure all that out later, Hannah. We can stay at Gram's until we get a place and then…"

"I am not living with you in your grandmother's house."

"Then we can get an apartment. I know Rosmerta will let us stay there for a fee of work. I've had conversations with her. I promise. We can make it work. I don't want anyone else besides me but you."

"Neville, I don't…"

"We've been through more in the past year than most people do in a lifetime."

"I…I know, but…"

"We're already sleeping together…"

"Hush! What if someone hears who can tell your Grandmother? That's the last thing I want!"

"Do you want to get married?"

Hannah bit her lower lip, her eyes quivering with indecision.

"What will people think?"

Neville reached out and grabbed her hand across the table, hers fitting ideally in his, the warmth surging between the two of them making his throat tighten and his heart fill with love and respect and adoration.

"That isn't what I asked you, Hannah."

Tears welled behind her blue eyes and trickled one by one down her cheek, a march which Neville wasn't sure was one of victory or defeat. For the first time since he rashly proposed it, doubt seized his mind. What if she didn't want to? What if she thought this was just a thing of convenience? What if she didn't love him? What if her emotions the previous year were influenced by imminent danger and weren't actually substantial enough to carry through? What if he had just made a huge fool of himself? Merlin, he knew he should have gotten a ring first. He knew he should have waited, but it just…slipped out. He didn't even know and now…oh, Merlin! He hoped he didn't just ruin everything between the two of them. He never had been terribly good at relationships.

"Yes," Hannah whispered, her face bursting into her brilliant smile that took his breath away every time he saw it.

"What?" He blinked at her.

"Yes, Neville. Yes, I'll marry you," she said, more tears streaming down her face, her white teeth visible through her wide smile.

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

He grinned himself and leaned over the table to kiss her lightly on the lips. She grabbed him by the collar and pulled him across the table for a more aggressive treatment, sending dishes and candlesticks and menus and a vase flying.

"Really?" he whispered, looking into her clear blue eyes.

"Really."

His grin deepened briefly before disappearing altogether.

"What it is it?" Hannah asked. "Are you having another attack? Neville?"

His face paled and his eyes widened.

"Neville? Neville!"

"Gram's going to be pissed," he said in a small voice.

"Shit!" As usual, she echoed his sentiments exactly.

"Do…do you think the chocolates will soften her up?" Neville dared to ask.

Hannah shook her head, speechless.

"How're we going to tell her without her killing us first?"

Hannah shook her head, speechless.

"Merlin, we're dead."

Hannah nodded her head, speechless.