The regular disclaimer stays I only own the AU and OC, the rest is borrowed from JKR's world.(np)


Chapter 28

Neville had unlocked the bedroom door and had allowed Blaise Zabini to walk into his small space- his abode for those long summer and winter holidays, his room till he had got his letter to Hogwarts. It had been his alone until yesterday night. The cottage had been eerily quiet after Gran had died. He had felt ill at ease since then. Every sound that those open windows would make, would, in turn, make him jump on his feet. The War had made him jittery. He had the habit of sleeping with his wand under his pillow from his Hogwarts days. But now, he would sleep holding it in his hands. Even in sleep, Bellatrix's voice would haunt him. Those students' last cry of help during the battle of Hogwarts would haunt him. Lavender's shrieks would terrify him. He had been glad, that Blaise had saved his fellow Gryffindor.

He had seen first hand how the Slytherin had cradled her wounded body, and how he had nodded at a baffled Neville in determination. The Italian had worked it out in his mind, the death eaters are here, so the anti apparition wards are down, and had shouted St. Mungo's once. The next moment he had vanished. Zabini was clever. in his own way he had informed Neville, he was going to get help for Lavender. And the later was to prevent others from following him.

Lavender's words had made his blood turn cold. He had not wasted any time in informing Professor Lupin about the vital piece of information the injured girl had managed to deliver. He had failed to remember how he had felt after seeing Professor Snape, who had been standing next to the former DADA professor in an empty courtyard. Relief, glad, happy or unaffected. Neville had felt rather calm and unaffected, unconcerned and bereft of remorse. So many had died, so many were being hunted and killed. His parents were not going to get any better. His Gran was killed. And he was married. He remembered attending Bill and Fleur's wedding. Marriage was supposed to be celebrated with friends and families. The house was supposed to be surrounded by laughter, joy, the sound of children playing around, anticipation of the groom and the bride, the air should smell of love, of the perfume of flowers, of delicious food.

Instead, he had an acquaintance walking up to his new bride's bedside. Another male was going to sit and wait for his bride to wake up. Then that person would try to make her see reason so that she would finally give her consent and allow Neville to sleep with her. Watching Blaise sit on the edge of the single bed, he had growled and had left the two of them alone. Walking out of the cottage, he had made his way towards the little greenhouse. His only place to find solace. Opening the trap door and closing it shut, he had heaved a sigh. How long was he holding his breath? Rubbing his eyes with his palms, he had walked over to the flower beds he had been working on for the last couple of days.

Pansies. He had been growing them in rows. He had learnt from professor Sprouts, the subtle ways to arrest weather conditions in order to grow seasonal flowers all through the year. Apart from medicinal herbs, and edible vegetables and fruits, he had started growing flowers. His mother would look at the array of various flowers which he would clumsily bunch up and present to her, whenever he would get a chance to see her. Lilies, baby's breath, tulips, roses, bluebells, sunflowers. He had come to the conclusion, perhaps, Mum would simply get attracted at the display of colours. That might trigger impulses in her quiet brain. And maybe, in the near future, like he would get lucky, she would connect the flowers to him? After the war, he could hardly get time. Would she respond to the news of his marriage?

Shrugging off the depressing thoughts, Neville had picked up a watering can and had slowly made his way to the flower beds. He had cried enough while getting whipped, humiliated, disgraced and exploited in the hands of Carrows. He had yelled, shrieked and begged for mercy. But mostly he had cried like a babe. When he had seen Pansy crying in the same way, something had snapped inside. He could not allow her to face the same fate. Until then, she had been enemy, pug-faced, high nosed daddy's princess. But when Greyback had ripped her dress with his claws, had licked her face, had chuckled at her discomfort, Neville had to act, for his sanity. She had been no different than him. They both had become victims in the hands of troubled times. Their fates had decided to join hands. Their bond was sealed then and there.

Sprinkling water over each row, he had taken time to caress the small petals, these won't grow too tall, but in weeks' time, they would shine proudly. Apart from kissing Luna, going on a date with a Hufflepuff once or twice, Neville had no experience with ways to conduct himself around girls. He had friends, and girls had limited their interaction with him to friendly exchanges. Now after the war, he had fan mails brought by strange owls. Several of them had made him turn red in shame. How was he going to make love, no, Pansy would not agree on that! Well then, have sex with his wife…mindless act with no emotions attached, and at the end of it, she would hate him more and he would berate himself further. And, he was sure, she would mock at his inexperience.

"I can't even ask around, Can I?" he had mumbled to himself. He, for one thing, would definitely not going to seek Zabini's guidance in this particular matter. He had thought back to the time, he had held her close. Pansy, she was beautiful to his eyes. Even if she had hated him, mocked him, had made fun of him. He could understand the feelings underlying this desire to love that girl who now slept in his bed. He wanted to belong to someone. He would not go to a brothel to hunt for momentary satisfaction. He had his hands for that. But he wanted to be touched. Touch, the most important pivot of any human relation.

Neville had held magical creatures in his hands. He had danced with girls through the years at Hogwarts. But feeling his hands wrapped around Pansy's face, feeling the brush of her warm breath over her face, feeling her pulse beat under his palms, he had wanted so much more. Ghosting his fingers over a single flower, the violet variety of blooming pansy, he had laughed dryly, then, sighing once again he had mused, if Blaise is able to convince her if she agrees, if she trusts me, if she starts seeing me as a well-wisher, we can proceed…tomorrow night is Full Moon. She will start to experience the subtle effects. She will be excited, she will be aroused, and if, I can manage to do what I have planned for, in order to heal her, she might simply take the lead…