Author's Note: Been editing this one for literal months, on and off. My essay's still not done :) Anyway, characters, setting, and any quotes you recognise come from the Harry Potter books and I make no profit off this little story, more's the pity. Oh and this is...let's just consider it a very, very long drabble.
Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger
Big Brown Eyes and Anxious Hazel
They'd met on the train.
She had been sitting primly in one of the carriages, all by herself, with a giant textbook the size of her whole torso resting on her lap and her wild curls obscuring her face. He had been wandering through the train, dragging his heavy trunk and searching for his ever-errant toad.
She must have seen him in her peripheral vision. One moment, he was trying to gather the nerve to knock; the next, her head had turned and a pair of big brown eyes met his own anxious hazel. Neville froze as she looked at him consideringly, then carefully put down her book to come and open the door.
"Can I help you?"
The prissy tone of her voice was hardly comforting.
"I- Well, the carriages are getting full, and I'm missing my toad, so I- I-"
The tiny girl with the fluffy hair pursed her lips, then nodded.
"Well, put your bag in here and let's go then, come on."
And from that moment on they were friends.
From the early days of first year onward they would sit and study together, him helping her with her Herbology, pointing out interesting plants (the Devil's Snare, he thought, was pretty wonderful), and her helping him with pretty much everything else. She never seemed to mind. He'd apologised for being so stupid once, but she'd shaken her head so emphatically he'd almost choked on her flying curls.
"You're not stupid Neville, don't say that! Everybody's clever in their own way, even Ron, although he can be a right prat- he's good at chess, isn't he? You're great at Herbology, you know, and probably you're great at a bunch of other things too that you just haven't tried yet! There's more to being a wizard anyways, more to being good person than just books, and cleverness. Do you understand? Don't call yourself stupid again."
"I- I won't."
... ... ...
Hermione rushed into the hospital wing in a blur of robes and bushy hair and her eyes quickly found him, sitting in one of the beds and absent-mindedly running his fingers over the wrist he had broken. He glanced up and grinned weakly.
"Hi, Hermione."
She flew over to him. "Are you okay? You ought to have been more careful, Neville, you could've been hurt worse and that would've been awful! And why are you still here? Mending broken bones only takes a spell— I read about it in Wrenwick's The Healing Arts: An Introduction— unless something else is wrong. Is something else wrong?"
"I'm okay, " he assured her softly. "You're right as always, Madam Pomfrey spelled it and said it should be fine, but she just wants to check for lingering weakness or inflexibility after she finishes tending Flint." His eyes darted to the bed with its curtains closed and he winced. "He got banged up by a bludger. Wasn't pretty."
Hermione heaved a sigh of relief. "Okay," she said, and finally smiled. "I'll walk you back to the tower. Oh, but don't forget, the password's 'Fanged Geraniums'."
"Thanks, Hermione; I dunno what I'd do without you to remind me."
"Get locked out of the common room and have to sleep on the floor with the Fat Lady staring at you, I suppose."
Neville gave a surprised grin. "I've never heard you make jokes before. You ought to more often— it's nice to see you relaxed."
Hermione's cheeks pinked a little and her smile turned somewhat shy. "I'll keep that in mind."
... ... ...
"Neville, I am so sorry. I promise I wouldn't have Petrified you if I thought I had any other choice and are you absolutely sure you aren't hurt? I panicked and you know that emotive magic can be unpredictable and I really really hope I didn't hurt you-"
"Maya," Neville said quietly, using the nickname he had given her (she told him that she usually hated nicknames, but for whatever reason, not this one, so Maya it was). She didn't seem to hear him, pacing and preoccupied with beating herself up over something he had forgiven her for already.
"I should've tried to explain, oh, what was I thinking? Petrification! In an old castle with stone floors!"
"The common room is carpeted-"
"You might've broken something! I couldn't stand it if I hurt you-"
Neville, having realised that she still wasn't hearing him, tried a different way of calming her down. His hand landed uncertainly on her shoulder, preventing her from continuing her frantic pacing, and when she finally stilled and met his gentle look, her face seemed to crumple before she wrapped him in a sudden hug.
"I really am sorry," she whispered into his shoulder.
Neville patted her somewhat awkwardly on the back and she exhaled slowly, shoulders losing the last of their tension. "It's okay, Maya. I know you would never mean to hurt me."
It didn't take long for second year to descend into a mess of fear and paranoia. Neville started to scowl at anyone who looked at Hermione wrong, and she was just as bossy and fiercely caring and clever as ever, pretending that she wasn't as afraid as nearly everyone else was so that he wouldn't be concerned for her.
Of course, even she couldn't prevent him from being very concerned when he heard she was in the infirmary.
Neville stumbled clumsily into the hospital wing and behind pulled curtains, Hermione's cat ears pricked up at the well-known sound of him tripping over his own feet. Her heightened sense of smell kicked in too and the scent of her friend, which had always been familiar to her but hard to identify, became clear. There was a strong earthy scent- ever the future Herbologist, he was constantly around plants, tending them devotedly. There was a scent of earl grey tea as well, and was that chocolate? Probably. Neville's inexplicable love of escape-artist amphibians extended to his taste in confectionery.
He smelled nice. Comforting. Unfortunately she could smell emotions and he smelled worried, too.
There was a pause. Even though she couldn't actually see him, in her mind's eye she saw him hesitating, looking for her, worried and nervous and uncomfortable all at once.
"I'm in here, Nev," she called and heard him jump, perhaps surprised not only by her voice but also by the fact that she was using a nickname for him— a rare occurrence, though it happened more often now. Then the shuffling footsteps resumed and within moments his outline appeared through the curtains.
"Can I come in?" he asked, almost sheepishly.
Hermione found herself smiling a little for the first time in the last few humiliating hours. "Of course you can."
His hand appeared, tugging cautiously at the curtain, and then his anxious face. She saw him blink at her in surprise for a moment and flinched involuntarily, half expecting laughter or fear or disgust, but instead he smiled shyly and produced a wrapped chocolate frog from his pocket, holding it out to her.
Hermione took it carefully and beamed at Neville. "Thank you."
His own smile broadened a little in reply.
... ... ...
For the second time in a year Neville found himself hurrying to the infirmary in search of his friend. This time, though, his worry was far more acute.
She'd been petrified.
Hermione Granger, who was brave and bossy and smart and kind and strong, had gotten herself petrified and he still couldn't comprehend it. It made no sense. Things like that couldn't happen- not to her.
Yet when he found her the reality sank it that apparently, they could.
Hermione was pale and unmoving, her eyes wide and fixed on the mirror in her hand. Her wild hair seemed limp. She looked small and vulnerable and his heart ached as he reached out and placed a hand over one of hers, which was balled in a fist. Her skin was cool and stiff.
He sat talking quietly to her for nearly half an hour before the lack of response got to him and he slowly stood, placing something on the pillow next to her head as his hand slipped from hers.
His fingertips brushed parchment.
With a frown Neville looked at the clenched hand. Now he knew it was there he could see the edge of something crumpled in her hand. With care he pried her fingers apart and flattened it out, reading with curiosity.
A gasp found its way out of his mouth. He read it again, and then dashed out of the infirmary in search of a professor.
A petal tumbled from the little bundle of sweetly scented wildflowers on Hermione's pillow into her hair as Neville hurried on, clutching precious knowledge to his chest.
Third year started badly and got worse very quickly. Sirius Black was one thing; the joys of being friends with Ron Weasley and Harry Potter in all their prattish glory was another.
Neville drew Hermione to him in a gentle hug as she sobbed quietly.
"I was— only— trying— to keep Harry— safe," she choked between sobs. He hid his frown in her mane of curls, pushing aside the part of him which recognised how soft they were, and how they smelled lightly of bright citrus, a subtle musk which must come from the old books she surrounded herself in, and something more sweet and floral he recognised as ylang ylang from a visit to the Royal Botanical Gardens in Kew. Not the time to identify the flowers in her shampoo, Neville. She's upset— her other friends are being gits.
He wasn't jealous, of course, that she had other friends. She spent equal time with all of them and he never doubted her care for him.
What he was upset about was that Harry and Ron were insensitive sods and they'd gone and made Maya cry.
"I know you were," he reassured her now. "You didn't do anything wrong. I don't know why they take brooms of all things so seriously— you're way more important than some enchanted flying stick, okay?"
Hermione sniffled once and then pulled back, wiping at her eyes. "Okay," she said quietly. There was a pause as she wrestled her breathing under control. Then she tilted her head up and met his eyes with the direct gaze she had when she was very serious. "You know, I'm really grateful for you, Neville. You're important too, don't you ever forget that. You're one of the nicest people I've ever met and I'm lucky to have you as a friend."
Neville blushed, but a pleased and happy look replaced the concerned expression on his face. "You're even nicer," he told her sincerely. "And I'm lucky to have you, too."
Fourth year brought the Triwizard Tournament and all it entailed— and Moody.
"The Cruciatus curse," the scarred man said, and Neville's hands clenched in his lap. Hermione reached over and gently unfolded his curled fingers, taking his hands in hers. Her mouth was set in a tight line as Moody continued, looking at the spider before him, "Needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea. Engorgio!"
The spider swelled in size. Neville's breath came fast and shallow. Hermione was murmuring to him, but her words blurred together as his eyes fixed on Moody.
"Crucio!" the grizzled Auror snarled, and the arachnid at the end of his wand collapsed and started to convulse violently, legs twitching and jerking in a horrible display. It rolled around on the table in evident agony.
Neville tore his gaze from the writhing spider and felt himself start to shake. Faint screams echoed in his head. His mother's empty gaze swam to the front of his mind.
"Stop it!" Hermione's shrill cry was desperate and angry. His eyes stayed fixed on his desk, but he knew from her voice that she was furious on his behalf. He realised his grip on her hands had tightened unconsciously and immediately felt guilty, but when he loosed his tight hold and made to let go she squeezed gently and held on; he lifted his head and looked at her. There was thankfully no pity in her gaze, only concern and that same anger. He released a shaky exhale. Hermione let go of one of his hands, reaching to rub his back instead; Neville slumped a little against her side.
"I'm sorry you had to watch him do that," she said softly. "It was unnecessary, and horrible. There's no way a demonstration like that was on the curriculum. I don't understand why he would ever think it was okay, and he must've violated at least six teaching codes— we ought to report him."
"I'll be okay," he whispered.
"Well, I trust your word, but don't forget that if you aren't that's okay too, Nev. Of course I'm upset that you are— if I could make sure you were always happy I would— but don't feel like you have to just get over things so as not to worry people, alright?"
"Alright." He breathed in: citrus, ylang ylang, dusty books. The familiarity of it, of her, was soothing, and he felt the tremours that still ran through him subsiding. "Thank you for getting him to stop."
"I was tempted to do a little more than that," Hermione admitted. "I wanted to punch him, or maybe hex his joints to bend backward for a week— I read about that one in Curses, Jinxes and Hexes the other day, you see, and it was rather intriguing."
Neville winced. "Much as that might've been cathartic I'm glad you didn't. Wouldn't want you to get in trouble on my behalf."
"It'd be worth it." She tipped her head to rest on his shoulder and he leaned his own head on hers and closed his eyes.
... ... ...
"Maya?" Neville's hands were clammy as he twisted his fingers into the hem of his jumper.
She turned to him. "Yes, Nev?"
"I," he began, very red in the face. "I was wondering if you'd— well, if you'd want to go to the ball with me?" His voice trailed off into a squeak.
He saw her face drop and braced for the rejection, already mumbling apologies, but she stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Neville, it's not because I wouldn't want to go with you. You're one of the kindest, most amazing people I know. It's just- I already have a date. I'm so sorry."
"It's okay," he said quietly, trying to smile. Her frown grew.
"Nev, I promise I would've gone with you if I could've. You're one of my best friends! But I can't and I think…" She flicked her eyes over to Ginny, in another corner of the common room.
"I rather think I know someone else who would be glad to go with you."
...
At the ball his best friend beamed at him across the floor as he twirled with Ginny. He smiled back, but he still couldn't help wishing that was twirling Hermione instead. She was even prettier that normal tonight, radiant in blue with her curls in an elegant updo and her face flushed with excitement.
Neville sighed to himself and then met Ginny's eyes and answered her smile with a somewhat weak one of his own.
...
Viktor Krum fetched her punch and kissed her hand and was all in all a fantastic dancer and a perfect date.
Yet Hermione guiltily found herself imagining what it would be like to have been on Neville's arm, instead. But she looked at what a happy pair he and Ginny made and resolutely returned her focus to Viktor.
She wouldn't let herself think about her friend in that light; she was unworthy of him— his gentle, caring, lovely self. She didn't deserve him, and vivacious, athletic, pretty Ginny…they would make a good couple. Even Ginny's blonde friend sometimes looked after Neville with wide grey eyes. Luna was pretty in an unusual way, and sweet, if somewhat strange.
Nev could do so much better than a plain, annoying little know-it-all.
... ... ...
Neville fidgeted, staring down at the deceptively still waters of the lake. Hermione had been missing all morning, and now she had missed most of the second task. He had been trying to decide which teacher he should go to for help for most of the task, seeing as most of them were busy and he was still hoping she'd appear; he'd finally settled on trying to get to McGonagall who was down by the shore when the water rippled and, along with a shark-headed man, a very pale girl with a mass of drenched curls emerged.
The moment he realised she had been in the lake was almost worse than the moment he'd thought he killed Harry. Ice rushed through him and he struggled to draw in even breaths.
One of his best friends had been trapped in the unfriendly waters of the Black Lake, relying on a single champion to save her.
Krum cradled her as he lifted her out of the water. Watching, frozen, Neville had moved from panicked realisation to a rush of blind anger at whoever had planned this task to wondering anxiously why he was relieved and glad to see her, but not so pleased to see Krum with her.
She was shivering. He stifled the urge to go and give her his outer robe— Krum had already done that and she was smiling at him in gratitude.
Neville frowned, then sighed.
He was being selfish and strange.
Fifth year was…interesting.
The DA formed and started to meet under Umbridge's toadish nose. In their first gathering he watched everyone start to pair up and he expected to be left alone, because after all who would want to go with someone as inept as he was?
Instead, Hermione darted over to him with a grin. "Partners?" she asked, as though he would ever say no to working with her.
"Partners." He smiled softly back at her.
The DA almost made up for Umbridge, and Hermione was, as ever, brilliant. She was a fierce fighter, wand dancing in her hand, spells flashing and arcing through the air. She was dangerous and kind of scary.
She was also pretty. But then again, hadn't she always been? And she'd always been clever and caring and stubborn, too.
He practiced his spells with her and felt capable, really capable, in a completely new way. Every time he mastered something new, her smile and rib-breaking hug motivated him to keep going. She had always told him he was more capable than he thought.
She was right.
(Of course she was.)
Sixth year was hard. Even Neville could see that Harry had been a bit…off, since he got the old Potions book. But Harry himself couldn't, and so Neville hugged Hermione when she was struggling, and she always pulled back with a smile, no matter how small or watery, and thanked him, sometimes apologising for being "such a mess".
"You're not," he said firmly.
She got worse, though. It quickly became clear that the odd shift in her behaviour and attitude was all because of one thing: love.
Hermione was in love with Ron Weasley, and he was breaking her heart.
She told him she didn't want to keep burying him in her own problems, that he had to have struggles too and she was being selfish and dramatic, but he meant it when he shook his head.
"You're my friend. I want to know how you're feeling. If I have problems, you do help me with them, Maya, you should know that. It's okay."
(The only major problem he had was all the weird feelings he would get when Hermione mentioned Ron, or Cormac, or when he saw either of the boys. They were both jerks, but Hermione had said that they weren't worth it, so why did he want to pummel both of them each time they crossed paths?)
They didn't see each other for a long, long time in seventh year as Hermione went with Harry and Ron on their Horcrux hunt.
"I've got to help them. I'm so sorry, Nev," she had whispered as they stood at Kings Cross at the end of sixth year. "Look after yourself, okay? Stay safe. If anything happened to you—"
She couldn't, or didn't want to, finish her sentence. "Look after yourself too, Maya," he said quietly in response, his arms around her waist, his face pressed to the top of her head. He was getting tall. Hermione, on the other hand, hardly seemed to have grown in height since early in fifth year.
Citrus, and ylang ylang, and books. Neville breathed her in as a deep sadness spread slowly through him and fought against himself, wanting to keep holding her, to go with her, to convince her that they could run away.
Her parents were waiting. Mr Granger's assessing gaze rested unwaveringly on him.
He let her go reluctantly. "I'll see you again." It was a promise.
There was more to be said, but he couldn't find the words and as Hermione looked at him with tears bright in her eyes his own vision started to blur. Neville took her hands in his and squeezed, once, before releasing them. Her mouth quivered, and then she flung herself forward and pressed a fleeting kiss to his cheek, pulling back with the faintest brush of a hand on his shoulder.
The Grangers both hugged their only daughter as she returned to their side and the family started to walk slowly, skirting piled carts and noisy families, towards the exit into the Muggle world. Mr Granger passed through first, then his wife. Hermione made to follow them but stopped.
She turned. Her eyes met his and they exchanged a final look before she ducked her head and went after her parents.
... ... ...
In the months before their reunion, time alternately dragged and sped up. Each day, Neville and Hermione wondered if the other was safe. What they were doing. If they were even still alive. Every piece of news that mentioned the other's name was a tiny blessing.
She worked tirelessly, planned desperately, infiltrated the Ministry and nearly didn't make it out, dealt with betrayal as one of her best friends left in a fit of petulance, faced off against a massive snake, was tortured in the lavish sitting room of a schoolmate's manor, robbed a bank, rode a dragon, and eventually tumbled back into his arms in a dingy pub in Hogsmeade.
He sat through bigoted lessons, protected other students, defied the Death Eaters who taught him, endured punishment and pain, threw himself into danger to fight back, discovered parts of himself he'd never know he had before, and caught her weary body in his arms in the darkness of Aberforth's bar.
Ten lonely, dangerous, anxious months apart.
And both of them, in those ten months, discovered something very, very important.
If you think desperately of your best friend every day you're apart, if you miss their smile like you would a limb, if you comfort yourself with the memory of their arms around you amidst torture, if you draw your strength and courage and defiance from the memory of them, if you lie awake, staring at the ceiling and dreading the possibility of never getting to simply sit beside them again…
That's not just friendship anymore.
They held each other for just a moment in that dark, creaky little pub, and started to pull back as the first tears trickled down their cheeks.
But big brown eyes met anxious hazel, and Hermione's mouth met Neville's in a flurry of desperation and relief. Time distorted. Sound blurred. Hermione's arms were wrapped around his neck. Neville buried his hands in those wild, fluffy curls, the scent of citrus and ylang ylang fainter and mixed, now, with a tang of blood and sweat, but still so familiar. This was too much, too little. It was just enough.
The kiss tasted like salt and something sweet—
Something that had been in the making for seven years.