Repotting

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Neville Longbottom

Universe: Post-Hogwarts, EWE

Rating: T (language)

"'Mione please just listen."

Ron ran his thumb over her knuckles, his fingers gripping hers tightly. It was as much to keep her from fleeing the conversation as to provide comfort, she knew.

She didn't want to listen, didn't want to have this conversation, because she already knew.

His eyes were sad but steady on hers as he went on: "We both know this isn't working, and Godric, Hermione, it's killing me to see you so unhappy."

She wanted to protest, wanted to wrench her hand free of his and tell him that she was fine, fine, everything's fine, but her knew her too well.

It's killing me.

Hermione could live with being unhappy. She had her work, she had a life. It was enough. But one look at the misery in Ron's face and she knew that she couldn't do it to him.

"I don't know what else there is," she whispered, her voice sounding thick and stupid with tears. "I don't know what my life is if I'm not your girlfriend, if I'm not at the Ministry, I don't -"

"When were you last really, actually, happy?" he asked, cutting her off before the panic took over.

Hermione paused, casting her mind back, trying to remember that feeling. Before the War. Before she'd become so determined that she had to do something, to make something of herself. Before.

"Hogwarts," she said softly. "I was happy at Hogwarts."

"Well then," Ron gave her a sad smile. "Maybe you should write to McGonagall."

OOOOO

Minerva had been delighted by the idea; had said she was sick of temporary replacements and relished the notion of having somebody actually capable fill the role. It didn't take much to sway the Governors, and within a fortnight Hermione had received an offer and handed in her notice at the Ministry.

She packed up her pitifully few belongings (four years of a life spent in London, and what did she have to show for it?) and Floo'ed to the Three Broomsticks on August 31st.

Madame Rosmerta fussed and clucked over her, as much of a mother hen as Molly Weasley, though of course in an entirely different way. "You're sure you don't want a Firewhiskey dearie? Bit of a nip in the air this far north, even in August, and you used to that London."

Hermione waved off her concern with a small smile, and set off up the twisting path to Hogwarts Castle, feeling her spirits lift as she breathed in the late summer evening. The familiar turreted silhouette came into view as she turned a corner, and Hermione felt tears threaten as the wave of familiarity broke over her. Home.

As she was crossing the wide sweep of lawn in front of the castle a voice called her name, and she turned to see a tall, dark-haired man waving to her from one of the greenhouses. She frowned, stepping closer, then realised with a jolt of surprise that it was Neville Longbottom.

"Neville!" she cried, "I'd forgotten you were working here!"

She was close enough to see his smile falter slightly, and realised too late how that must have sounded. "I mean -" she started, but he waved a hand and shook his head.

"Easily done," he said smoothly. "How are you? I was surprised when Minerva said you'd be coming to join the faculty, I thought you were too busy setting the world to rights."

Hermione gave a laugh that sounded, even to her own ears, entirely forced. "No," she said, unable to disguise the slightly bitter note in her own voice. "No, decided that wasn't for me, actually."

Neville looked at her for a long moment, and then nodded slowly. "Fair enough," he said. He lifted one hand to shade his eyes as the evening sun bounced off the slate of the castle rooftop. His shirtsleeves were rolled, and Hermione glanced along the strong, broad line of his forearm.

"Well," he said, "I need to make sure this batch of flutterby bushes are ready for my fourth years tomorrow." He dropped his hand, looking down at her. "I'm sure you must be on your way to meet the Headmistress?"

"Yes," Hermione said, suddenly very aware of how tall he was. "Yes that's right."

"Great," Neville flashed her a broad, easy smile. "I guess I'll see you at dinner." He turned and gave her a little wave as he headed back into the greenhouse, leaving Hermione to continue on her way up to the Castle, an odd stirring in her stomach.

OOOOO

She had worried that she wouldn't be a natural teacher; that her bossiness and tendency to impatience would not endear her to her students, but she found for the most part that they were eager to learn, and that was all that she really cared about.

The first few months passed in a blur, and then suddenly Minerva was roping her in to decorate the Great Hall with icicles and holly wreaths ("Honestly, what use is a Transfiguration Mistress if she can't bring some seasonal cheer to the place?") and she found herself standing with Neville on one of the long tables, carefully levitating a huge garland of holly and ivy that would drape from one end of the Hall to the other.

They had come back to an easy friendship over the course of the term, frequently sitting together at mealtimes and usually paired up to supervise Hogsmeade weekends for the older students. It had surprised Hermione to discover that Neville had a quietly sardonic sense of humour, often delivering well-timed quips under his breath and making her snort with laughter.

"Stop it," she said now, trying desperately to keep her end of the garland level as she fought off giggles.

"What?" he asked innocently, turning his dark brown eyes to her. She could seem him trying not to smile. "All I said was that Minerva was looking very festive."

"Oh my god," Hermione moaned quietly, trying desperately to avoid looking at where the headmistress was striding out of the hall, her tartan hat adorned with holly leaves and bright red berries that clashed horribly with the fabric. Unfortunately this meant that she missed Peeves's entrance until he was hovering right above the pair of them.

"Lookie here," cackled the poltergeist, and Hermione felt her stomach drop with dread. "Longbottom and Granger all grown up and Professorshipped."

"Peeves," said Neville, in what should have been a warning tone but just made Peeves laugh harder before he dropped something on their heads.

"Shit!" Neville swore, putting up his wand as slim green strands wound their way around his shoulder.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, trying to keep the panic out of her voice as the plant twined through her hair and around the back of her neck, pulling her towards Neville.

"Viscum album pravicordium," he growled, and she felt it reverberate against her where the plant had now pulled them tightly together. Hermione swallowed, mouth suddenly dry as she looked up at the five o'clock shadow that covering Neville's square jaw.

Desperately recalling her Latin she frowned, "Vicious mistletoe?"

"Wanton," he corrected. "It's - you have to -" the tendrils wrapped around them jerked, and Hermione became uncomfortably aware of the way her breasts were pressed against the hard planes of his torso.

Neville angled his head downwards. "If it was possible to kill a poltergeist," he murmured, before pressing his lips to hers.

Hermione gave a little squeak of surprise, but before she could react to the feel of his mouth - to the tantalising scrape of stubble against her upper lip - the mistletoe was releasing them, curling itself back into a ball that fell to the tabletop and started scrabbling away in the direction of the door.

"Sorry, Hermione," Neville said, leaping off the table and setting of in pursuit of it. "Need to catch that before it traps any of the students. Bloody Peeves!" he called as he ran out of the door, leaving Hermione stood alone on the table, fingers pressed to her lips and her heart jackhammering in her chest.

OOOOO

The last week of term was taken up with Christmas celebrations, and Hermione found that every time she tried to speak to Neville he seemed to be busy with something or other. She told herself that she was being paranoid, that surely he wouldn't be avoiding her.

She couldn't ignore it, however, when she did her round of goodbyes with the other members of staff and found him skipping out of reach of her hug, one hand rubbing self-consciously at the back of his neck.

Hermione dropped her hands to her sides, red-faced with embarrassment. They were lucky that they had been the only ones in the Great Hall when Peeves had launched his attack, and therefore none of the other staff were aware of any reason for awkwardness between them, but she still felt the slight acutely. "Right," she said, "Right, well, see you in the New Year?"

"Yeah," Neville said. "Have a - er - have a good holiday." He grimaced at her and Hermione fought the urge to wince.

Christmas at Grimmauld Place was typically chaotic, as James swooped through the house at knee-level on his new broom and Ginny tried to juggle a teething Albus Severus with preparing Christmas dinner for seemingly hundreds of people. Harry and Ron made an early start on the bottle of vintage Ogden's that George had given Harry, and so Hermione found herself roped in as second-in-command in the kitchen.

After a thoroughly exhausting day, and with the majority of the Weasley clan departed, she and Ginny flopped, spent, in the living room, listening to Harry and Ron laughing at something in the study.

"How are you?" Ginny asked, frowning at Hermione over her glass of wine. "You look much better."

"I feel it," Hermione nodded. "I think I needed to be out of London, and it turns out I really like teaching."

"But?" Ginny prompted.

"But what?" Hermione frowned, and Ginny smiled at her, narrowing her eyes.

"There's a 'but' in there somewhere, Hermione Granger, or I'm a kneazle."

Hermione sighed through her nose, "Something...odd...happened a couple of weeks ago, and I'm not sure what to do about it."

Ginny sipped her wine, watching her silently for a moment. "This wouldn't have anything to do with Neville turning down the invitation to our New Year's Eve party?"

Caught off-guard, Hermione stared at her in shock, "He what? You invited - what?"

Ginny shrugged, "You mention him all the time in your letters you know." She smirked when Hermione blushed. "Harry and I thought it would be nice to get him down here, seeing as the two of you are getting on so well."

"Ginny!" Hermione hissed, feeling her cheeks burning.

"What?!" Ginny said, "He said no, anyway. Apparently with it being a quarter moon there's some important thing he has to do in one of the greenhouses."

Hermione bit her lip, deciding how much to tell her. Ginny's eyes narrowed again. "Spill," she commanded, and Hermione found herself telling her the whole story of Peeves and the mistletoe.

"- and he's been avoiding me ever since," she finished, shoulders slumping. "I don't know what to do, I don't want him to feel like he's led me on or something, because even if it was a lovely kiss -"

"Oh-ho!" Ginny crowed.

"- nothing needs to come of it," Hermione finished, scowling at her friend.

"Sure," Ginny said, "Because the fact that he's held a candle for you since you were first-years means he'll definitely feel terrible about leading you on."

"Oh don't be ridiculous," Hermione snorted, pushing herself up from the sofa. "I'm going to bed and you," she stabbed a finger at Ginny. "You tell no-one about this conversation."

"Cross my heart," Ginny said, batting her eyes at her, and laughing when Hermione tutted at her.

OOOOO

She couldn't get it out of her head as she watched the hands move around the clock face on New Year's Eve. The idea of Neville alone in the greenhouse.

The idea of Neville.

She saw Ginny watching her, and scowled when the redhead shot her a sly grin. Her eyes slid back to the clock. Eleven pm. Hermione sighed and drained her glass of wine, feeling just reckless and stupid enough to do something thoroughly reckless and stupid.

The Three Broomsticks was filled with revellers when she came through the Floo, and she managed to weave through the crowd without being caught by anyone she knew.

Her breath frosted on the cold air as she made her way towards the school, the path lit with the faint light of the waxing moon, the stars glittering silently. The night felt alive with promise, and she felt her stomach twist nervously.

She had almost wondered if he'd just been making an excuse, if she would arrive at the greenhouses to find them dark and empty, but the bright gleam of lamps illuminated Greenhouse Three, and Hermione made her way towards it, drawn like a moth to a flame.

He didn't hear her come in, his head bent over something, clearly deep in concentration. It was hot in the greenhouse, and Hermione let herself admire the way Neville's shirt clung to the muscles of his broad back. She closed the door behind her, deliberately loud, and he spun towards her, a pot held in his hands.

"Ginny said you couldn't come to the party," she said, when he had stared at her for a full fifteen seconds. "So I thought I'd see if you needed any help here."

There was a smear of dirt on his cheek, accenting the leanness of his face. His eyes were dark and careful on hers. He was worlds away from the chubby-faced, awkward boy that she had known at school.

He's held a candle for you since you were first-years.

She took a step towards him, watched his adam's apple bob in his throat and was seized by the urge to press her lips to it.

"I'm just repotting the Moly," he said, his voice sounding oddly hoarse.

Hermione nodded, taking another step forwards and rolling up her sleeves. "Show me?" she asked, moving to stand by him as he placed the pot on the bench. She looked up to see him watching her, and smiled at him as she reached for his hand. "Show me," she repeated, lacing her fingers so that his hand cupped hers, and finally Neville moved so that he was standing behind her, Hermione's body between his and the bench.

He lifted their joined hands and delved them into the soil. "You need to get a firm grasp on the root," he murmured, his mouth against her ear. He caught her other hand and guided it into the plant pot, gripping tightly and showing her how to lift the plant free, before turning the both of them so that they could place the shrub into the larger pot that he had already prepared.

"It's important to pack the soil tightly," he said, words a breath on the back of her neck, and Hermione shivered, leaning her head back into his shoulder as they pressed the soil close about the plant.

"Are there any more?" she whispered as he lifted their joined hands free of the earth.

"That was the last one," Neville said, gently extricating his fingers from hers, dropping his hands to rest against the bench either side of her. Hermione turned in the circle of his arms, looking up at him as, faintly, the bells in the little chapel from Hogsmeade could be heard chiming midnight.

"Happy New Year," she murmured, her chin turned up so that her lips were mere inches from his.

Neville seemed to hesitate a moment, and she felt her heart jump with nerves, before he finally closed the space between them, his mouth firm and sure and demanding, the kiss accompanied by that lovely scrape of stubble, and the scent of earth and sweat and green sharpness.

A/N: Not a pairing that comes naturally, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Written in response to an Anonymous ask on tumblr.