Pairing: Neville/Hermione

Genre: Romance/Hurt/Comfort

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the setting etc. Just me, once again playing around with scenarios.

Say something

For years now he had watched her. At first, it was as a friend. Her kindness brought him to his feet every time he stumbled on the road, and she encouraged him to try harder. Yet somewhere along the way, he realised that she was on his mind constantly. The way her eyes sparkled when she laughed, and how she self-consciously held her hand over her mouth; even now, years after she had her front-teeth shortened. How she so excitedly waved her hand in class; long before the whole question had been asked. Her innate warmth that she herself could not see, covering up her insecurities by trying to come across as confident and certain of her own abilities. To others, that made her seem bossy and uptight.

But she stood tall and that was what made him take a second look. She, who was ostracized because of her smarts and her blood, could stand without bowing in a world that wanted to bring her to her feet. She was everything he wanted to be, and more.

She was the only one he wanted to be better for.

Hermione Granger was in a class of her own; above and far ahead of everyone else. She was meant for greatness, and grandeur; to save all the house-elves and give all equal rights. Her name is supposed to be written in history books to come; her brilliance shining through pages upon pages worth of achievements.

Yet she was sitting on the staircase to the Astronomy tower, head buried in her knees and curly hair trailing down her back and frizzing at the top. Her fingers curled tightly around her jeans-clad legs; knuckles whitening and tendons shifting beneath the frail looking skin.

He had never seen her look so weak, yet so heartbreakingly beautiful.

Cautiously he threaded the stone floor, trying not to trip as he was prone to do, having feet slightly larger than average. But as he took the last step, his foot caught in something and he stumbled, but did not fall, having caught himself in time by clasping the pillar that supported the stairs. She looked up, startled and wide-eyed; her face blotchy. As her eyes focused on him, she let out a small gasp and whipped her head around, rubbing at her eyes and dragging the sleeve of her red-and-gold striped sweater under her nose. The red on her skin evened out; her eyes looking everywhere but at him.

'Are you alright?' he asked hesitantly, moving to sit beside her. He tried to sit as far away as possible. She had always intimidated him with her infallible intelligence, but what scared him was her infamous temper that could flare up at any time. And he wasn't sure if she wanted to talk, or just be alone. By the way her shoulders hunched together, she looked like she wanted to shut out the world, but sometimes that is just a coping mechanism to not get hurt. He was kind of an expert on that.

The seconds ticked by without her moving, and he started to wonder if he had misjudged her; reading too much of himself into the situation when she turned her head slightly to glance at him. Her eyes had a glazed look, as if she wasn't really present and his blood boiled at seeing her like this, so not like herself. She was vibrant, and took the world by storm. She was not meant to be sitting alone, looking like her world had shattered into pieces.

She looked away, playing with the end of her shoelace, wrapping the thin strand around her finger until the tip turned a reddish-purple. More seconds ticked by, and he moved to take her hand in his, watching as her finger turned to its original peachy colour. Even though he had only grabbed her hand to get her to loosen the strand, he didn't want to let her go. So he marvelled at the vast difference in size; how her slender fingers only seemed to be two-thirds of his own hand, and despite the fact that from afar they looked really soft, they were filled with calluses; hours of writing essay after essay had left a slight imprint on her left-hand index finger, the padded areas along her fingers were hardened from years of holding a wand.

Slowly, he threaded his fingers through hers, loosely clasping their hands together; imagining how happy he would be if he could do this every day. His heart was pounding loudly; he could almost feel his blood rushing through his veins, pumping up his adrenaline.

Suddenly flustered, he cleared his throat, his other hand sweeping through his hair in a twitchy-motion. His neck burned as he dared a glance, feeling even warmer when he saw that she had a small smile on her face, one she wasn't even aware of.

He could embarrass himself a thousand ways, if it meant she would smile like that.

'What are your parents like?' she asked suddenly and he froze; not daring to look at her as an image of a woman in a bathrobe flashed across his mind, a bubble-gum wrapper held in her shaking hand; the vacant expressions and questions.

'They are –'he hesitated, wondering if he should tell her the truth. He had never told anyone, not wanting the pity and awkward silences; the look in their faces as they searched for the right words. But when he looked at Hermione, she looked so genuinely curious he decided that just this once, he would take the risk. 'I haven't really ever known my parents.'

'I'm so sorry!' she exclaimed, her other hand springing forth so that both her hands encased his, and his heart beat more loudly, and he could feel her warmth deep down, reaching for the cold places he had never shown anyone. He was, yet again, amazed at how she could disregard her own feelings so easily to tend to others. His eyes itched and he dragged one finger under one eye; stretching the skin back and forth.

'They are not – dead, well, not dead-dead. My parents were tortured by – by Bellatrix Lestrange and when their bodies could no longer bear the immense pain, their minds just shut down. They can still move around, and talk, but they don't – they don't remember. Anything. Or anyone.' The last part was added in a whisper, but the twitch he experienced through their linked hands told him that she heard. And if not for that, the arms that wrapped around him seconds later did.

He tried to hold it in, but being held like this, like he mattered and was cared for crumbled the wall that held him apart from everyone, and he felt a few tears trickle down his face and drop down on her sweater. He tried to pull away, and started apologising for ruining her clothes, but her arms tightened and dragged him closer.

Very slowly, his own trembling arms wrapped around her small frame, holding more tightly when he realised she wouldn't pull away from him. His buried his face in her messy curls, inhaling deeply, comforted by the smell of parchments and dusty old books. It felt like home. When she, moments later tried to untangle their bodies, he clung to her desperately, needing to feel her against him for just a little longer. He couldn't bear the thought of letting her go, knowing they would never be like this again.

'Neville –'she started to say, but he shook his head and she went quiet, hands slowly reaching up to thread through his hair. He felt content, and would happily stay like this forever, just the two of them.

But when his back started aching, and he could feel her hands fall heavy on his shoulders he backed away, a dusting of pink dotted over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He was startled out of his embarrassment by Hermione jumping up on her feet, and with a hurried, and very silent good-bye she ran away from him.

Instead of going after her, like his heart told him to he just sat there long after she had gone, head buried in his hands; crushed by the devastating knowledge that she would never come to care for him as he cared for her.

The next day he saw only brief glimpses of her, and his face would heat up; heart pounding a fast rhythm against his chest, throat drying up and eyes itching. But then she would be gone, and he only had the bitter aftertaste of regret lingering.

And that was how the next month played out; the days darkened and the castle became bitingly cold at night; extra blankets becoming a crucial necessity. Until one day, when Professor McGonagall assigned them to work on a spell together. He couldn't quite remember what the spell was supposed to do, having been so occupied with staring at the back of Hermione's head, which was directly in front of him. If he inhaled deeply enough, he could get a whiff of her scent.

He realised that he was being even more pathetic than usual, but he couldn't get her out of his thoughts. She was all he could think of, day and night. And he was growing tired of her distance, when all he wanted to be close to her.

When Professor McGonagall had finished speaking, Hermione reluctantly turned her chair around to face him, and he saw that her face looked gaunter, as if she had not been eating well; purple smudges under her eyes a clear sign that sleep had not been her first priority. He wanted to ask her, wanted her to tell him everything; let him hold her and bring her the same peace she had given him. Though he was not sure she would appreciate that, with how she had run out so quickly last time.

'Well, um, shall we get started?' asked Hermione, her face colouring as she looked anywhere but at him. Neville's heart, which had jumped when she spoke, plummeted at her actions. She wanted nothing to do with him. Not that that was surprising, considering who he was.

'Yeah.' he said dejectedly, flipping through the school-book until he found the right place.

'Are you alright?' a small, warm hand landed on his, which was splayed out over the pages and he gave a start, quickly snatching his hand back as if he had been burned.

'Oh, yeah, just peachy. Nothing wrong with me.' he said in a rush; his neck heating up as his mind replayed her warmth against his skin.

The rest of the hour was awkward and the tension was so thick someone could've cut through the air around them with a knife. When the bell rang they were both quick to pack their things together and Neville hit his knee against the desk; a searing pain cutting through his embarrassment. To add to this humiliation, he felt unbidden wetness trail down his face and he was in such a hurry to escape that he didn't hear Hermione calling his name repeatedly. All he could think of was get somewhere where there were no people, and where he could be miserable without having anyone as a witness.

He was lucky that it was just before lunch, and that most people had already gone down to the Great Hall for lunch; that meant less people in the hallways, and he was safe to find an empty alcove where he could curl up; the side of his face pressed against the cold glass as he watched the rain that trailed down the window. The sound of thunder rumbling in the background was faint, and occasionally the sky was broken by a streak of lightning.

'I thought I had grown up.' he whispered to himself, bringing his knees to his chest; arms going around his legs. It was a tight fit, the alcove almost too small to fit his tall frame, but somehow he managed. He always managed.

That night, no matter how he tried, Neville just couldn't seem to be able to get any sleep. For the better part he had tossed and turned in his bed; his mind whirring with thoughts he couldn't grasp. Giving up, he decided that he wouldn't get anywhere by just lying in bed and rose up; a shiver wracking his body as his feet touched the cold stone-floor.

The common-room appeared to be empty, and he made a beeline for the comfy armchair by the fire, but when he came closer, he saw a small form huddled in it already; a wild mass of brown hair alerting him to who it was. For a moment, he contemplated returning to his bed, yet when he noticed her shoulders shaking he couldn't bear the thought of leaving her here, crying, without at least trying to do something.

He cleared his throat, and her head swivelled around, eyes yet again rimmed with red and her lips trembling as a tear slid down her face. His fingers reached out to wipe it away, and her eyes closed; eyelashes fluttering when she seconds later opened them again to peer at him. He let his hand linger on her face before withdrawing, sitting down on the couch closest to her armchair and looking at her imploringly, but not saying anything. He wanted her to start speaking; wanted to show her that she could trust him.

This time, her voice came a lot sooner than last time; his chest became tight as she spoke, barely audible and with great shuddering breaths in between. He now understood why she asked about his parents and the compassion when he told her. She understood. She knew what it was like, having parents that didn't recognise their own child. Their circumstances were different, but that didn't mean it hurt any less.

Before he could think, his arms reached out and he took her form in his lap; hands drawing circles on her shoulders and back as she let out heart-wrenching sobs. His heart twisted and turned at every sound; lips drawn together tightly. He wanted to take all of her pain away, yet he knew that no matter what he did, she would be hurting.

'You are a really good person.' mumbled Hermione after a while, her sobs having been reduced to the occasional sniffle. He had to strain his ears to hear her, his body shaking with chuckles.

'No, I'm not.' he said, frowning with displeasure. He wished he could be a good person, a good enough person for her.

'Yes, you are!' was her vehement reply; and when he went to protest yet again, she silenced him with a glare. 'Yes. You. Are. Don't put yourself down all the time. You are a wonderful, kind and caring person. Why would you otherwise comfort me, even when I so rudely ran away last time? You have a big heart, Neville.'

She touched the left side of his chest, her small fingers bunching up the fabric of his night-shirt; eyes trained on the motions of her hand. His chest felt warm; a bubbly feeling inside of him, rushing through his blood.

'I – thank you.' he whispered, feeling like his face was on fire. 'But I'm not. I'm just a disappointment to everyone. A bumbling, idiotic moron –'

Her lips were pressed against his lightly, and he marvelled at the softness; he wanted more, and nothing could compare to the wonderful feeling that her lips evoked. When she pulled back, his lips tingled, and he could still taste the sweetness. She had turned bright red and he could see by her fidgety motions that she wanted to escape, but she stayed put; eyes the colour of chocolate looking at him intently.

Half of him wanted to look away; finding her gaze too intense, the other part wanted to keep looking forever.

'You are not a bumbling, idiotic moron. Yes, you might have difficulties with your classes, but your worth is not dedicated by how many points you score in a test. And you are absolutely amazing at Herbology. You are quick to come to the rescue of your friends; and your loyalty is unwavering. You stand by what you believe in, and don't let other people sway your opinion. You are a strong person, Neville.'

His heart beat painfully against his chest; his mind void of any thoughts as he stared at her, mouth gaping. She, Hermione Granger, thought he was all that?

'I like you.' She said, shyly glancing down, a blush adorning her cheeks. His heart stuttered, almost coming to a halt. He always knew she was beautiful, but at this moment, he felt as if he hadn't ever set his eyes on something as wondrous as her. Wait, what?

'You like me?' he asked incredulously, chasing down that small seed of hope that had been planted in his chest. Did she mean as a friend, or – or as something more?

She nodded, the red on her face brightening, and for the first time in his life, Neville took a chance. He closed the distance between their lips, and chastely kissed her; lingering for a moment or two before he pulled away. The pounding of his heart echoed in his eardrums as he looked at her, judging her reaction. And his breath was knocked out of him; she was smiling. Her whole face had brightened up, and there was a gleam in her eyes that he had never seen before. She was smiling!

'I like you too.' he said, his voice strong and sure. Her laughter was light; like music and he laughed alongside her. A bubbling happiness coursed through his body, and he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her nose, her cheeks and lastly her mouth; not going further than a press of the lips.

'Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?' he asked nervously; a nagging thought at the back of his head still doubting that she could like him. Him, of all people!

'Yes, I would love to.'