August 2006

How much better are staff meetings at Hogwarts than they were at the Ministry? So much. So, so much. There's always something new going on, Filius presenting research on Cheering Charms that leave us all grinning by the end of the hour, Hagrid sharing a story about the crup/kneazle hybrid that's running about England he swears he had nothing to do with, and Neville ... well, just Neville, really. Neville talking about the kid who tried to adopt a Mandrake, Neville recalling the time Luna Lovegood dragged him to the Isle of Wight to find a roving group of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, Neville laughing his way through tales out of Hogwarts' hallowed halls. It's a reasonably warm day in July when he tells a story I remember all too well: the time I went to retrieve the Sorcerer's Stone and Hermione cast a Full Body Bind on him.

"So I put up my pudgy little fists and get into the most threatening position possible," he says. "And I tell the three of them that I'll fight them before I'll let them leave. And suddenly, terrifyingly, Hermione steps forward and apologizes before saying 'Petrificus Totalus.' I woke up about 20 minutes later with wet pajama bottoms and a raging headache."

We're all in stitches as Neville sits back in his chair, sleeves half rolled up, robes long foregone in the midsummer heat. His brow is damp as he pushes his hair back out of his eyes and smiles at me, this trademark half-up curve of his that I've gotten used to seeing across the table in these weekly meetings. I notice the stubble at the corners of each of his lips and the way very slight lines appear around his eyes when his expression is at all happy, and that's when it occurs to me that, my God, I'm mad for Neville Longbottom.

Part of me is thinking that, well, it's about time. I've had nothing more than a fleeting crush on anyone since long before Blaise and I broke up (as you'll recall, I wasn't actually interested in him, just his mouth on occasion). For a while there, I was wondering if I'd remain celibate and bitter forever. But looking at Nev now, in his usual seat between the Potions professor I really hope isn't gay and Sinistra (still don't know her first name, funny, that), I'm far from bitter. I'm just flat out staring, gazing adoringly, even, hoping he has some idea, any idea of how fanciable he's become.

I wonder to myself what it'll take for me to let him know, make him figure out that I've just now realized I could fall in love with him if pressed. That thought on its own is terrifying so I push it away, opting instead to think about dating him, holding his hand, kissing his neck, reaching down his... I sidetrack myself from that, going back to kissing, maybe on the cheek, maybe on the lips until he's ready for more. I wonder what he's done before. I know from Hermione that he was with Anthony Goldstein for two years, and that they were quite serious. I bet he knows his way around the male anatomy better than I do, and I wonder what that could mean for me, for us, if anything were to happen.

Of course, I'm getting extremely ahead of myself as I struggle to pay attention to Minerva as she goes over the last minute details of the welcome feast. I've no idea what he's feeling, if he's even interested in a relationship and, if so, if that relationship could involve me. I think back to snatches of conversations here and there, times I thought that maybe he was paying a bit too much attention to me. Now I'd welcome those quips with open arms and an undone zip. I fight off a blush at the thought as Neville looks at me and gets that half smile on his face again.

Oh. There's something there. There's something there. I don't know exactly what it is, or where it'll go, if anywhere. But just seeing that expression, one that seems set aside just for me ... he has to be feeling something that's more than nothing. And for now, that'll be enough for me.

For now.

Minerva dismisses us. Nev is walking next to me as we exit the room.

"Lunch?" he asks. "David and I are going over to the Three Broomsticks."

I nod. "Sounds brilliant. Now?"

"Sure."

"I've got to go down to the dungeons first," says David. "I'll catch up in a few minutes."

Neville nods to me and we fall into step together as we leave the castle, taking the familiar path into Hogsmeade.

"You nervous?" he asks.

"What about?"

He laughs. "Teaching. It's next week, you know."

"Oh, right." I feel a bit silly but try to keep composure. "Not really, no. I'm mostly excited to have a job that doesn't involve mounds of paperwork."

"Grading essays doesn't count as paperwork, then?"

"No. Not the way memos and case closures do."

He gives a bit of a happy sigh. "I don't miss that at all."

"Neither do I. So, how have you been? We've seen each other around, but we haven't talked much outside meetings."

"We should make a habit of it. I miss my friend Harry." He grins lopsidedly at me. "Though it's not quite the same when we're not slaying snakes and Dark Lords together."

"And you're complaining?"

"Not in the slightest." He kicks at a pebble on the cobblestone road leading to the restaurant. "I've been good. Teaching's absolutely brilliant, which I'm sure you'll learn soon enough. How's it going with you? Seeing anyone?"

I laugh and try to convince myself that he's just being polite—no need to get my hopes up. "No, it would be safe to say I'm not very well practiced at dating. You?"

He shakes his head. "No one since my last boyfriend. And that was a couple years ago, too." We've never talked about Anthony. I've never even heard Nev say his name, and I don't want to make him now. Hell, I don't know if he has any idea I was ever with Blaise. May as well put that discussion off for the time being. "Shall we journey into bachelorhood together?"

"Sounds like a plan," I say, clapping him on the shoulder and desperately wanting to journey into something else entirely.