Chapter 14

In Which Shit Hits the Fan

Dean looked up from his menu for the fourth time since deciding what he wanted. It had been two months since whatever had happened between Pansy and Neville had gone down, and Pansy still refused to talk about it.

She had showed up at his flat in the middle of the night on valentine's, only instead of being a romantic rondevu her face was red and puffy. She had been hyperventilating and it took the rest of the night for Dean to sit with her as her anxiety attack faded. He didn't mind. He really cared for Pansy, and was extremely glad that he could help her.

But even the next day Pansy wouldn't tell him. She had said that she told Neville a truth he didn't want to hear and that he reacted badly to it. It wasn't her place to share what she had told Neville.

Dean thought "reacted badly" must have been an understatement. Pansy was incredibly worked up when she had come to him. And when he had run into Neville the next day at the Leaky he had a purple hand-shaped-bruise on his cheek.

Dean didn't like jumping to conclusions. And he knew Pansy had a temper that could easily get away from her… He had been on the receiving end of it once or twice in the last four months. But she always always came to herself when she had calmed down. She always forgave Dean for his screw up or apologized for her over reaction.

This had been different, though. Pansy refused to speak to Neville. She refused to even look at him. She had stopped taking her meals in the great hall for fear of making eye contact. And once, a couple of weeks ago, when Hannah and Neville had come into the same muggle restaurant that Dean had taken Pansy out to (Seriously, what were the odds of that?) Pansy had seriously began shaking. She insisted that she was fine and finished her dinner, but she looked like she was either going to throw up or pass out.

It had taken a toll on Dean's relationship with Neville. Dean wanted to hear out Neville's side of what went on, but when he had tried Neville immediately became defensive and accused Pansy of being a malicious witch. Only he didn't say witch. It was unlike Neville. It was unbecoming of the man Dean had always known as the beyond respectful gentleman. Dean tried to talk to Ginny about it, concern for his friend winning out over his anger on Pansy's behalf. Ginny was concerned as well, but she wasn't sure there was anything she could do about it.

"Do you know what you're getting?"

Pansy's grin broke Dean from his thoughts. Damn, he didn't understand how this relationship had started. They had kinda just fallen in-step together, and started calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend without even doubting it. She was amazing, though. And she was beautiful. She had these dimples that would only appear in her brightest of smiles and Dean prided himself on being the only one who had brought out those dimples in years. (He knew this to be fact because Draco had told him so after the New Years party.)

"Yes, I think so." Dean gave her a wink and slid his foot along her calf under the table as he waved down their waiter. It had surprised him at first, that anything would make Pansy Parkinson blush. But he had learned, long gone was the Pansy of the war. His flirtations often left her cheeks tinged pink. Dean loved it.

"Yes, my lady here will have the cheese ravioli with meat sauce. And I will have the same."

Pansy shot him a furtive glare across the table.

"Would you like a wine to go with that, sir? We have a wide selection if you look on the back of your menu."

"No thank you. But we would love some ginger ale."

The waiter took their menus and walked back into the chaos of the full establishment. They were in the muggle restaurant again. Dean had offered that they didn't ever have to go back if she was concerned about running into Neville again. But ultimately they both really liked the atmosphere. They always asked for a booth in the back that gave them an intimate corner for conversation.

"What made you think I wanted the ravioli! You didn't even ask!" She threw the words at him sharply, but this was their reparte, he knew she was only teasing him. Dean hid his smirk behind a gulp of his water.

"Because, Parkinson," he replied, taking time in his answer. "No matter the italian restaurant we visit, even when we aparated to Italy that one weekend, you always get the ravioli with meat sauce… Was I wrong?"

Her dimples peeking out under her blush was all the answer he needed. Damn, who knew adorable would ever be a word he associated with this woman.

Ginny Potter was furious.

She had tried for the third time to speak with that blasted Neville Longbottom, and he had evaded her again. Dean's report hadn't made sense. But as little as Ginny trusted Pansy Parkinson she had certainly been earning her respect. And Neville was not behaving like a innocent man. From what she was gathering he was barely seen outside of his greenhouses at school. He was avoiding eating in the great hall. And even Hannah had admitted to seeing very little of him over the last month when Ginny had bumped into her in Diagon the other day.

This was his last grace period.

The next time Ginny tried to visit Neville, she would. Even if it meant breaking into his greenhouse forcibly. The man was being unreasonable. He hadn't come to visit the twins since the week after they were born, and Neville adored babies. She had actually expected him to be around regularly for the first several months of their lives, and here they were at two months and their godfather had been to see them once.

Nope. She would give him until the weekend, then she would storm Hogwarts castle if she had to. (Though she was fairly certain McGonagall would be on her side.)

Neville lay in his cot, tucked away behind several rows of various flowers. He had specifically put a cot down in his greenhouses for nights when plants needed overnight care. But he had been using it more and more lately.

It had been three days.

69 hours and 40 minutes. Give or take a few seconds.

The exact time had been seared into his memory.

Neville closed his eyes and pushed his thumbs over his eyelids, as if the pressure would erase the reality of it. Or at least make the memory go away. Make the frame by frame replay stop.

His heart hammered in his ears. Nausea making him feel as though the cot he was laying in was spinning. Bile rose up his throat before he could stop it, and he was lucky that he at least had reached an empty planter in time. The acid of it burned, and he had to shove his head out a window to keep from repeating the offense.

Shakespeare didn't help to calm him anymore. The repetitions that had once helped calm his thinking and bring focus now taunted him.

The cool fresh air helped to calm him, and as his heart rate began to normalize he felt the weight of the last several sleepless nights creep up on him. Wrapping the thin blanket around him, he crawled onto the small cot and slept.

The moment replayed itself in his dreams. This time Neville was outside of himself and watching the situation from above.

He had known that things were slowing down between him and Hannah, and he refused to consider the fact that he had stopped bringing her roses had anything to do with it. They were just busy, and they needed spontaneity. Since Neville had finished all of his chores at the castle, and had been avoiding eating in the great hall it seemed the perfect opportunity to surprise Hannah at the Leaky. Neville had lost track of time as usual, and it was getting late by the time he floo'd to the Leaky Cauldron.

Neville watched as he spun out of the fireplace like a bumbling fool. He swiped the dust off of his shoulders, and asked Tom where Hannah was, as she was not behind the bar as usual. Tom said she had called it an early night and was likely up in her flat above the pub.

He watched as he climbed the stairs, grimacing at the eagerness he saw in his own face. He was such a fool. Neville wanted to wake up as he approached the door to her flat. But he didn't.

Some cruel justice forced him to witness his own naive again. Neville gently opened the door without knocking. Hannah had given him a key, and assured him that we was welcome any time. Looking at the situation from above and afar Neville vaguely remembered that she had given him the key and told him such after a particularly long time spent snogging by her flat door. He had given her the pearlescent roses that day, and she was wearing one tucked into her hair.

The sounds drove Neville's attention back to the scene. He had walked into the flat to find the living area in disarray. Pillows had been thrown off of the couch. Laundry was lying haphazardly around the room. Neville felt nauseous remembering how innocent his thoughts still were at the scene. Especially with the noises that hadn't quite registered to him yet.

She must be sick to have called off work. She … she…

Finally, he had registered a noise. A particularly sensual moan from the next room. From Hannah's bedroom. Neville watched as panic swept over his own face. He looked around the room with a new dread. A new understanding. There were two wands placed on the cabinet next to the door. Two bottles of ale on the coffee table. Hannah's bra was draped on the arm of the couch. And…

Blood rushed to Neville's face as more moans and a steady panting noise reached his ears.

Then, he saw them. A pair of black and yellow boxers. So much for hufflepuff loyalty.

Neville wanted to kill the bastard, and his wand was in his hand before he could stop himself. It wouldn't be hard to do anything, both of their wands were in a different room. But Neville's feet were frozen to the ground.

The truth of everything began to wash over him. And Neville cringed at watching the guilt, betrayal, anger, shame, and fury war within him in those moments.

Memories hit him in sudden succession as if finally letting him see what he had been trying not to look at for months. The roses. MacMillan's boasting the morning after the party. Merlin. Hannah being near his quarters all the way back at Christmas. How long had this been going on?

As he stood there staring at the wand in his hand three things began to happen at once. The little cuckoo clock in the kitchen began to sing it's chime, signalling that it was 10 in the evening. MacMillan started gasping and shouting Hannah's name as she gave out a cry. And Neville decided what he would do.

He burst through the partially open door to Hannah's room, causing Hannah to scream in alarm and Ernie to swear and try to roll over behind Hannah. The bastard wanted to use her as a shield. It didn't matter, Neville had them both in a body bind curse before they had time to give a full reaction. Hannah was frozen in time, looking at him with fear in her eyes. Shame, even. Neville was glad that her nakedness was mostly hidden from his view.

He went back into the other room and returned with Ernie's wand in his hand.

"You, MacMillan, are truly an idiot." His words came our deep, and heavy with anger. "I may have been blind, and a fool, even. But I am still a trained auror on the inside. And with you being the defense against the dark arts teacher I would have thought you would have known to never leave your wand out of arm's reach."

He turned the long stick over in his hands before snapping it in half with his bare hands, red sparks crackling to the floor as the magic left the wood.

"You are lucky that I am one to abide by the law, otherwise you would likely learn the true meaning of castration tonight."

At that, Neville flicked his wand to release the two from the body bind and jumped through Hannah's bedroom window, apparating away before he hit the ground.

A/N: I'm sorry. :(

Don't give up on me. I'm slow, but I have a plan and an outline.