A/N: For Lumos who requested Pansy and Neville arguing about something silly.
"It's green," Neville said firmly, staring at the paint samples affixed to the wall.
The witch sitting on the rocking chair next to him with her feet kicked up rolled her eyes. "No, it's chartreuse."
"Which is green."
Pansy threw up her hands. "Okay, yes, technically it is a shade of green but it's proper name is chartreuse, and if you go to the shop and ask for bloody "green" paint, they will blink at you and shove a catalog your way. We know what we want, Neville. We want chartreuse."
It was silly, really, his reticence to go buy paint at a specialty store, but the prospect of change—however joyful—looming before him made it so he was overcome by the bumbling, terribly unconfident boy he used to be. "Why can't you come with me? You love to shop."
Gesturing wildly at her poor, swollen feet, she said, "Would you like me to waddle in next to you?" At her sharply arched eyebrow, he sighed.
"Of course not." Walking behind the rocker, he dropped his hands to Pansy's shoulders, gently pushing his thumbs into the tense muscles there, saying, "Tell me again, please."
She raised one delicate hand to rest over his, thumb brushing across his skin. "Chartreuse. All you have to do is ask for chartreuse."
"Chartreuse," he mumbled. "All right." Dropping a kiss on the top of her head, he moved towards the door, glancing back to see Pansy rubbing her hand in little circles over her belly.
"Our future Slytherin thanks you."
"Gryffindor," he said under his breath, heading into the hall and down the stairs.
"What was that?"
Taking the stairs two at a time, he smiled and shouted over his shoulder.
"Nothing, dear."