Chapter 4: Exotic Flowers
definitely M

"You chose Hannah," she whispers wretchedly... again. "You're just as responsible, Neville! You can't blame only me for this."

He whirls around, comprehension dawning at last. "You were jealous?"

She opens her mouth to protest, but finds she is unable to lie. She looks away, feeling utterly mortified. He laughs then, a full-bellied laugh, one that makes her miserable self almost want to join in his mirth— or throw something at him.

"You chose Malfoy because you were..." he gasps, nearly rolling on the ground with his sudden epiphany. "... jealous? Of Hannah?"

She grabs the nearest item on a nearby worktable and hurls it at his laughing form. Thankfully, it's only a dried out sponge. After it bounces off the top of his head, Neville settles into quiet chortling, wiping his eyes, and, at last, taking in her fuming frown.

"You never unequivocally said you wanted a relationship with me," she says steadily, trying to keep the emotion from her voice.

His brows knit and all at once the anger is back.

"I told you that I loved you, EVERY BLOODY YEAR!" he grinds out. "What the buggering hell did you think that meant? Every year of me, pathetically waiting under a blasted weed for one meager kiss from you! What exactly did you want from me, Hermione? The words, 'Be Mine Forever' twinkling in fairy lights above your flat?"

Actually that wasn't a half bad idea, she thought, although her face didn't show it.

"You stood by and let me have relationships with other men without so much as a word in protest," she continues after shaking off the internal commentary. "This is the first time you've ever voiced your disapproval... and, what's worse is that I needed to be the one to find you in order to receive your reprimand!"

Stunned, he moves to his feet and approaches once more. He is glad to see her eyes are dry. He reaches out to her. She doesn't move, simply waits for his touch. She's able to breathe again when she feels the warmth of his fingers against her skin.

"I thought you were ashamed to be with me," he admits, resting a hand on her arm. "I always thought you didn't want the humiliation of being associated with fat, bumbling, stupid, forgetful old Neville. I needed you to decide whether you wanted to be mine. I needed you to choose me above all the rest. Hermione, you never did."

"I was going to tell you, that night, before you started making the motions to leave me in the lab that Krum had already asked me to the ball and I'd meant to accept. Then, well, it seemed you didn't want me to talk and, honestly, it was easier to just fall into our old patterns. But, before I could finally screw up the courage to talk to you, you'd decided on Ginny, and Harry needed me," she recalled, shaking her head. "With Voldemort's return, I thought it best that I didn't have a boyfriend... just in case... and you seemed contented with the way we were. The timing was just bad."

He looks at her, trying to measure the veracity of her unbelievable explanation. For being the brightest witch of her age, Hermione didn't seem to know the least bit about communicating with the opposite gender.

"I intended to seek you out over the summer, Neville. Honestly! But my parents took me on an extended holiday and you know the rest. Things escalated at school the following year. We were all trying to survive. There wasn't any time for romance. I did notice you were getting quite impressive with your wand, though, and I was upset that the other girls noticed, too. I thought you were secretly seeing Luna, actually. You seemed happy without me."

He threw his hands up in exasperation with that one.

"I couldn't be the person you needed me to be, the person I needed to be for you. I thought you deserved someone better than who I was at the time," she adds. "When I was finally ready to approach you, it occurred to me that we'd just been children when you professed to love me. I didn't think you might have still meant what you said that night. The mistletoe kisses were just you and your innate sweetness— a confirmation that you still felt fondly enough for me to make sure I wasn't feeling unloved during Yule."

"But the war eventually came to an end, Hermione," he said, a question in his statement. "And we stopped being children after that. The way we kissed... You had to know my feelings hadn't changed. How could you think I still didn't feel the same?"

"Blame it all on my everlasting commitment to duty. I chose friendship, and comfort once more," she bitterly admits, "It was easier. I was tired of taking risks. There were expectations of me, Neville, and you never outright told me that you wanted to be with me. Yes, you said you still loved me, but then you let me walk away. Each year, it was the same. How could I interpret that? I still loved you, too, but I was with..." her voice fades. "And you said nothing to indicate that my seeing someone else bothered you."

She wonders at their mutual thickness. He grumbles about all the time they'd apparently wasted.

"I had to take drastic measures when I heard about Hannah. In hindsight, choosing to be with Draco was insanity, but I had to find out if you still cared, and I knew the news of a Malfoy/Granger courtship would rock the Magical world and reach to distant corners... maybe even find you."

"Well, that explains Malfoy," he mutters, with a weary shake of his head. "You couldn't have just asked me how I felt, Hermione?"

He watches her chin raise and the muscles in her jaw clench.

"I didn't know where you were up until three weeks ago," she explained. "And besides, why didn't you approach me if you felt so strongly, Neville?"

"And what would I have said?" he inquires exasperatedly.

Neville leaves her to pace, dragging his soiled fingers through his dark hair. At last he stops and moves closer again, placing his hands on her shoulders. "I won't lie, Hermione. The truth is, I was intimidated," he admits this succinctly, though still lacking confidence in this one arena. "You were so openly with other wizards. Ones I admired. Ones who were my friends. Even ones who tormented me. I couldn't very well barge into your life and ruin something I thought you'd chosen for yourself. I've only ever wanted your happiness."

"And what of yours, Neville?" she asks pointedly, placing a palm against his stubble-roughened jaw. "There were only a handful of others, Neville, and if you hadn't noticed, not one of them lasted," she points this out matter-of-factly, staring at him eye-to-eye, her heart thundering against his. He moves his hand to her wrist, not sure whether to grab her hand or push her away.

"And how will I, compared to that stellar bunch of blokes, be any different from them?" he snorts, pushing her hand away. "I might've been a pushover for you once, but I'm through with that. Once you've had your fill of me, where will I be? You've left me before, Hermione. You might do it again. Tell me, what is it is exactly that you want from me?"

"I want you," she whispers passionately, resting her forehead against his chin. "I choose you. I need you. Please, Neville, don't ask me to go."

"Prove to me that you mean what you say," he dares to demand, taking a step away from the too bright promise that sparkles in her eyes. "Let's do this properly, Hermione. Dinner tonight, with friends. Nightcap, just the two of us after. We'll celebrate the Yule together on Friday night."

She thinks to protest. It's only Tuesday and she'd been actively thinking about being with him for nearly a month. Truth be told, she'd waited years to finally be with him in the most intimate of senses. But here he was, being quite bossy, and, well, she decided, he deserved to have his moment to make sure she would be careful with him. So, she thought better of making her own demands and decides to let him take the lead, just this once.

"For now, if you'd like," he magnanimously offers, "you can help me with my work. I've a new discovery. Are you interested in seeing it?"

She brightens instantly, her smile, enthusiastic. She makes an attempt to grab his hand, but he purposely avoids her touch.

"First things first, Hermione," he says, looking at her sternly. "Let's have a day dedicated to just being friends, Okay? Can we start there?"

She nods, trailing after him, unsure of how to deal with this new, unfamiliar Neville.

True to his word, Neville spent the day in the most platonic of ways. He introduced her to the lab. At first, he allowed her mostly academic questions, of which she had many. She wondered at the vastness of the Muggle science library and then stood amazed at the Fidelius Charmed one down the hall meant only for wizards.

They had a bagged lunch in the rainforest, reminisced about life at Hogwarts, and generally avoided conversation about their mutual friends. She told him about Crookshanks and her sadness about her parents and spoke of her general malaise about life in general.

She asked him how Zabini and Theo had come into his life. He resisted calling them his mates. He laughed saying how it was only a recent occurrence that he'd even begun thinking of them as regular blokes and not evil spawn. They'd slithered into his life, he claimed, and then, they refused to leave. Seemed he'd become a bit of a project for the former Slytherin duo.

Hermione and Neville walked back to the lab as he explained.

It was only since Hannah's departure that he'd gotten to know them. Blaise had been transferred to the island only a few months prior by one of Lucius Malfoy's companies. Zabini decided working for the older Malfoy wasn't for him and he'd landed himself at The Pink House. Theo, Neville knew, had been on the island for some time, but they'd lived separate lives, him being married and all.

One night, they'd had an accidental meeting at a local pub. It happened to be the night, about a month ago, when Neville was determined to get drunk off his arse. Zabini had been there to insult him, then in pure Blaise fashion, egged him on to greener pastures. After a few laughs, they'd fallen into a most embarrassing conversation about what caused Hannah to leave.

"And why did Hannah go?" she dared to ask, curious herself. She was leaning against the counter staring at his hands gently manipulating the petals of a very pretty orchid.

Neville turned suddenly silent.

"Because you don't call a woman another witch's name when you're in the throes of passion," came an amused reply from near the doorway. "Simply bad form, Longarse."

Blaise.

And from the sound of the 4x4's motor, Theo wasn't far behind. Neville tossed the handsome Slytherin a long suffering look, while Hermione was left with a most curious question that left a pleased, hopeful flutter in her chest.

Dinner... later

"So," Zabini drawls, his glass at his lips. "Took my advice at last, Nev?"

Hermione had just gone off to the powder room, leaving the unlikely trio of Blaise, Theo and Neville at the table after a surprisingly delicious meal.

"And what advice was that?" Theo asks, somewhat curious.

"You already know, Nott. You've about said the same. I told Nev here that he had to summon his inner arsehole, live up to that ridiculous name of his, and finally grow a pair if he was ever going to get that witch," Blaise explains, saluting the curvaceous backside of the female in question.

"So, were you? An arse to Granger this morning?" Theo inquires of Neville sitting beside him. "She's here with me now, isn't she?" Neville replies nonchalantly, taking a swig of his drink. "I didn't know you actually had it in you, Longbottom. You should have been a Slytherin," Zabini says admiringly, raising a glass at his colleague. "Glad you weren't chosen for our House though. You'd have grown a pair much sooner than this, and once you had, you'd have been insufferable to live with. One prat in the common room was enough, thank you very much."

"Don't sleep with her, yet, mate," Theo whispers conspiratorially, "Let her work for it a bit. You don't want her tossing you aside like she did the others."

Neville turns to Theo. "What do you know about it, Nott?"

Theo looks to Blaise who nods encouragingly. "Granger doesn't like it when wizards gush poetic. She walked away from those other sods as soon as they told her they loved only her. Seems to be the kiss of death for a bloke who wants her as a wife."

"How would you know?" Neville wonders. "Learned from personal experience, have you?"

"Ask the man-slag sitting next to you," Theo suggests, his mouth tightening, even as he tilts his head toward Blaise. "Seems she confides in him."

"And besides, a bested Malfoy sings like a canary when you get him pissed enough," Zabini guffaws.

Neville chuckles at his half-drunk friend, lifts his own glass once more to tip the rest of the amber liquid into his mouth and a plan forms.

Sometimes it paid to have snakes as your 'almost' mates.

After Hours

Hermione and Neville sustained the pretense of a polite nightcap back at the Tong Chee House where Blaise and Theo had left them to themselves. She kept casting longing looks at him and it was a wonder he hadn't pounced already. When he felt it about time to leave, she impulsively grabbed his hand and led him out to the hammock on the porch.

"Don't go," she whispered, climbing onto what amounted to a rope swing to Neville. "Stay with me." She lifted her mouth to his and he was lost.

All the frustration and anguish he'd felt over the years flooded into her at their meeting of mouths. The angry lash of his tongue against hers punished her for her mulish pride that had kept them apart. She admonished him as well with her fingers, pulling at his hair, until he is kneeling on the floor between her legs. Her body pushed up against his so their movements cause the hammock beneath her to swing in a pleasing rhythm to her hungry movements.

Her hands travel to release the catch of his shirt's buttons. She fails at this so she wickedly trails her fingers against the front of his trousers as his own shove the thin straps of her sundress over her shoulder. The fabric gives and allows him to feast on the near nude sight of her, relishing in her expression that all but pleads for him to take her. "You are a most maddening witch, Hermione," he breathes, reaching to catch hold of her eager fingers, just as she pushes her aching chest to his lips "You do realize that we're out in the open?" he says against her sensitive skin.

"It's late, it's secluded, and I always thought you rather enjoyed nature and all it's bountiful offerings," she giggles this wickedly as her fingers escape his hold to find him through too many layers fabric. Eager to feel him, to touch him, she grabs his cherry wood wand from his pocket, and is about to whisper a vanishing charm on their pesky clothes when his fingers grab hold of hers.

"Merlin, Hermione. Stop," he demands haltingly. She ignores him, knows he wants this just as much as she does. She can feel it in his kisses. "Hush," he breathes, pulling his wand from her grip. He urges her to lie back, first with his words, then with his hands. "Relax, Hermione. We've been here before. Let me show you how I feel when I remember you."

She was unaccustomed to this sort of gentleness during sex. Her previous experiences had been rather awkward, frantic, angry, or rushed... sometimes, all of the above. With the others she preferred it that way. There hadn't been any other time she'd allowed herself to experience anything quite as lovely as her first time with Neville. So, now, not to have this wizard request her mouth on him or even trying to get naked within minutes of consent was bizarre to her.

Curious, she does as he says, feels his hands slide to push the full skirt of her dress to her waist. She sighs as his hands reach for her, paying tribute to all the parts of her that strain towards him, yearning for his touch. She closes her eyes, delighting in his sure caresses. She glories in the roughness of his palm sliding against her highly sensitized front, smiles when he stops to dip into her navel. She startles, feeling the opposing grate of the roughness of his cheek and the soft brush of his hair against her inner thighs.

He whispers something when she feels the tip of his wand touch her lacy knickers. They vanish and her usually reliable sexual confidence vanishes with the scrap of material. She feel rather than sees the enjoyment Neville takes in viewing her opening to him. She struggles to pull her knees together, unused to such attention.

"Don't," he breathes. "You're beautiful. Like a rare orchid in bloom." He touches her gently, dipping his mouth to run the tip of his tongue against one of her moist petals. "Your scent is intoxicating, Hermione," he whispers lovingly. "I've thought of this moment, unfolding your secrets with the merest touch." His finger tenderly dips into her nectar and pauses to rub the hardened nub that has her shivering in anticipation of his next caress. "I imagine you taste just as sinful as the temptation you present to a man," his wicked words cause an even more visceral sensual response within her.

She whimpers, wondering at the feel of his mouth savoring her as if she were the sweetest of fruits. She colors with some embarrassment at the newness of this sort of lovemaking, realizing suddenly how he's given her another glorious first.

Masterfully, he guides her to take more pleasure in his touch. Faster his fingers work to make her writhe against him, eager for him to fill her. She is pleading for release, and then when she thinks she is unable to withstand any more, he does something truly magical with his tongue that has her screeching in ecstasy. Her muscle seize, her brain stops, her heart thunders. She grabs his hand to latch on to the world that has suddenly frayed into a kaleidoscope of color. Slowly does her brain clear and her breathing even, until she touches earth once more and a distant memory sparks in her brain.

"It was you! The one who Luna was talking about!" she accuses wondrously. His return look is enigmatic.

"Witches talk, Neville," she confides. Her words somewhat slurred. "Luna never did say who, but she described... what you just did." She smiles lazily. "And she was right, you certainly made me see..."

She is unable to finish the sentence because he kisses her most passionately and she tastes herself on his lips. Not Felix Felicis, but an elixir Neville would argue was far more powerful in its magic than the liquid luck he'd once successfully brewed.

"I was right then, you were with Luna?"

He looks at her, the witch he'd wanted for so long. Carefully, he puts her dress back to rights.

"A wizard doesn't kiss and tell, Hermione."

She gazes at him through thick lashes, adoring his chivalry. The picture she presents, spent and languorous, makes his heart sing.

"Do you truly still love me?" He doesn't realize he'd wondered this aloud. "Yes, Neville, I've always loved you," she confirms breathlessly, waiting for him to say the same.

He stills, wanting to allow the sentiment he feels in his own heart to take flight, but a painful memory stops him. Gently, he reaches out to smooth a wayward curl behind her ear. Though the love shines in his eyes, the words don't follow.

"I've got to go," he says at last, getting up to leave, presenting his back to her. A small pleased smile snakes onto his lips when he hears her dismayed sound. He turns back to view her, disheveled because of him. A pink satisfied glow around her... all because of him.

"But, I thought..." She looks at him confused. "We haven't— you haven't..." "You've always been brilliant about giving of yourself, Hermione. I think it's time you're given some lessons

on how to receive," he says quietly, the moonlight giving shape to the profile he presents her.

She narrows her gaze at him, her muscles too loose to really do much else.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he promises, bending down to give her a chaste kiss goodnight. She clutches at him, trying to draw him back into her arms. Her pretty pout pleases him— immensely.

He chuckles. "Get some sleep, witch," he whispers as he strides down the steps.

With a whistle on his lips, Neville realizes he might be able to capitalize on the one skill he has in spades, the very one that all the others quite clearly seemed to lack.

Patience.

On that thought, he Disapparates home