Hidden where the aging soil was pure
Pressed against the crease
Mountains become fragrant at the source
How can you stand this
Exotic angle
I read it somewhere
I remember how cloth hung
Flexing with the forest clung
Half waist and high raised arms
Kicking at the slightest form
I remember my first love
"Cavalier" — James Vincent McMorrow
In the course of his life, Neville had done plenty that qualified as challenging and hard.
He grew up with an elderly grandmother and an increasingly dotty uncle instead of his parents due to the ministrations of the Lestranges.
He went to Hogwarts for a long seven years, trying to find meaning when he struggled with many of the most basic magical tasks at an early age before discovering his passion for herbology that helped him find a confidence that enabled him to succeed in other subjects.
He fought in a war as a literal child, which was difficult beyond measure.
He'd held a candle for a witch since he was 11 years old that he had firmly believed was so far outside of his league that he was certain he would never have a chance with her.
But in that moment, nothing felt as difficult, or as hard, as having to sit directly across from Hermione and eat brunch with their friends after becoming intimately aware of the taste of her mouth. And, if the press of the seam of his trousers was anything to go by, the knowledge of how close he'd come to getting more intimately aware of other parts of her that he'd only dared to dream of.
They hadn't had time to figure out what— if anything— they were going to tell their friends. Gran's patronus had reappeared for them outside of the greenhouse, escorting them into the manor as if to keep watch over their activities before they returned.
He couldn't keep his eyes from continually drifting down the table to look at Hermione, where she sat between Luna and Ron. He knew that he should probably be more subtle, given that he was at one head of the table and as such very clearly visible to everyone else, but in the early afternoon light streaming into the sunroom where they ate, she was beautiful.
Brunch would last until 3 or 4 o'clock, depending on how many mimosas everyone drank and how much they felt like reminiscing about the not-so-good old days. But as soon as everyone left, he had big plans for Hermione that may or may not involve his bedroom. And possibly the bowl of whipped cream that was sitting on the table, if there was any left after everyone was finished eating.
Being able to call her his— being able to say that he was hers— had been a dream of his nearly since he'd met her. And now that he could, he had plenty of lost time to make up for.
"How did Hermione like the roses, Neville?"
At that, his eyes shot up from where he'd been pretending to look at his meal to meet Luna's. "Er… how do you—"
"There're rose petals crushed into her hair, just here," Luna said, carefully pulling a few petals from the hair at the back of Hermione's head. "I figured you must've taken her out to show her your greenhouses."
"Oh!" Hermione's hands flew up to lightly rake through her hair, pulling a surprising amount of the petals from the strands. "I had no idea. I must've gotten my hair caught in the bush."
"Right peculiar smelling roses, Neville. Who'd want roses that smell like baby powder and lipstick?"
Luna shook her head and brought one of the petals up to her nose. "I think you're quite wrong there, Ron. Although roses that smell like cognac and dragonshide are equally puzzling."
Ginny stood, reaching across the table to snatch one from the pile Hermione had made on the table. "Broom polish and a wool sweater? What, did you find a way to turn Amortentia into a plant?"
When both Hermione and Neville's cheeks lit up in a blush, Ginny cackled and poured herself another mimosa. "And what, pray tell, do each of you smell?"
"Leather, rain, sandalwood, and soil," Hermione said, steadfastly looking anywhere except at Ginny's growing smile.
"And Neville…?" Ginny prodded, when he didn't immediately speak.
"Oh! Er… parchment, ink, and black tea, mostly."
"Wait," Ron started, looking confused. "How did you manage to make a flower smell like someone's Amortentia?"
"Oh honestly, Ron." Hermione rolled her eyes and moved her hand towards her teacup before dropping it back into her lap with a blush. "He's an herbologist. It can't be that surprising."
"What an interesting color," Luna said as she gently stroked a fingertip across the curled edge of the petal in her palm. "It's almost the same color as Hermione's hair. I nearly didn't notice them there."
Harry pushed his glasses up his nose, and took a moment to be inconveniently observant as he plucked the petal from Ginny's hand. "Not 'almost the same'. I would say that these are nearly exactly the same color as Hermione's hair. And this part here looks rather a lot like her eyes. I've never seen a rose with petals that curl this way on the edge, either."
Hermione sighed, and leaned back in her chair. "What, Harry, you think Neville spent years cultivating a rose that is exactly the same color as my hair and eyes, and somehow curls like my hair? And on top of the effort that goes into cultivating a rose for aesthetics, he somehow also managed to find the time to infuse them with the scent of Amortentia but none of the effects of it?"
"Well when you put it like that…" Ron said, shrugging a shoulder and turning his attention back to the plate of food before him.
"When you put it like that, I think that's exactly what he did," Malfoy said, speaking to the whole group for the first time since he'd sat at the table. Every head at the table swiftly turned toward him.
"Well," he said, continuing slightly uncomfortably now that everyone's attention was on him. "It's obvious, isn't it? He's always had a thing for her. And I know that if I were half as skilled as to actually create something like that to tell someone how I felt about them, I would certainly do so. Especially if I were newly single and back in the same country."
Ron snorted, and pointed his fork quite rudely at Malfoy. "You're meaning to tell me, that you— who never spent any time with any of us in school— found it 'obvious' that Neville had a thing for Hermione, when none of us noticed anything?"
Ginny shook her head and lightly shoved her brother. "I wouldn't say none of us noticed anything. I've had my suspicions since third year. Neville, anything you want to contribute to this conversation?"
He took a deep breath, and looked up to lock eyes with Hermione again. "I did not have a thing for Hermione," he said, hands clenching the napkin in his lap at the slightly wounded look that flashed across her eyes."
"I have a thing for Hermione. Or a thing with Hermione. However you want to put it. Malfoy's right. I've been cultivating these roses for years so I could tell her how I felt about her."
"Oh!" Luna cried softly. "And we ruined it for you."
Ginny cackled, necking her mimosa. "I highly doubt that. How do you think the petals ended up in her hair in the first place? I'm willing to bet he was in the greenhouse sowing his—"
"Enough," Hermione said, interrupting Ginny's accurate— if uncomfortable— line of thinking. "Neville showed me the flowers already, Luna. And explained their significance. And told me how he feels. I don't know that this is exactly how we would have told you anything, but there it is."
"I told you he wasn't in love with Luna," Ginny said.
"You what?" cried no fewer than four different voices around the table.
"I thought they'd never leave," Neville said as he fell back heavily onto a chintz sofa, eyes darting toward the door as if his Gran was going to return from tea with McGonagall to admonish him for his lack of manners and grace.
"It wasn't that bad," Hermione answered as she kicked off her shoes and went to sit on the chair across from him.
He shook his head, gesturing beside him as he removed his own shoes and stretched out his long legs to lie down on the sofa. "I've spent too long without you next to me. Come over here, love."
She stood, toes sinking into the thick rug as she walked over to the sofa, waiting for him to sit back up to make room. She let out a soft squeal when instead he surprised her, grabbing her hands and pulling her down on top of him, burying his face in her thick mass of hair.
"So what's this about you thinking I was in love with Luna?"
She tried to bury her face in his neck, and he could feel the heat of her blush. He brought his hand down to rub her back, encouraging her to speak.
"It was silly, really. But when we were writing our letters back and forth, I developed feelings for you. And you and Luna have always been so close, and you were so cryptic about this 'lovely woman' that was so important to you that you'd move back home for her. I'd hoped it was me, of course. Especially when I saw you in person and realized that how I felt about you wasn't just something in my head, but was actually something real. It felt almost irrational to think that you would uproot your entire life to come back just because of letters you'd exchanged with me. So I assumed that you and Luna must have been corresponding too, and had come to some sort of agreement. Ginny told me I was being foolish, but it felt reckless to hope."
Neville's hand on her back pressed her closer into his chest and his other came up to tangle in her hair. She focused on the beat of his heart through his sweater, feeling ridiculous now that she'd said those things out loud to him.
"It wasn't just because of our letters, Hermione. I've been in love with you since I was 12."
"But I didn't know that!" she cried. "It felt so crazy to think that you would ever feel so strongly about me!"
"Is it?" he asked, one hand sliding down to tilt her chin up so he could meet her eyes. "Honestly, half the things I've done since I was a lad I did for you. Or because of you. If we'd never met, I don't know that I'd be the Neville Longbottom that you find worthy of your affection."
She leaned forward, sliding up his body to rest her forehead on his. "Don't say that. Don't you ever say that. Don't you even think it. I saw something in you that very first day that made me think you'd be a wonderful friend, and you've never once let me down. We are worthy of each other, and I won't hear anything else."
He tilted his chin, bringing their lips together softly. "Every day I work to be the man that you have always thought I was."
He slid his hands back down where they landed on the small of her back, pulling her closer to him as she deepened their kiss. He groaned into her mouth and slipped his hands under the hem of her blouse, running them up and down her back. He trailed his lips down to her neck, lightly nipping at the sensitive skin there. She let out a soft gasp as she felt every nerve ending come alive. At the sound of her gasp, he involuntarily bucked his hips into her, and she became suddenly aware of the feeling of him pressed against her through their clothes.
"Shite," he groaned, pulling back. "You need to get up."
She pulled her down her back, looking down at him in surprise. "I… what?"
He sat up fully, pulling her to sit next to him instead of against him. "I don't know when Gran is coming back, and I would rather face Voldemort again than face her if she comes back from tea to find me defiling you on her favorite sofa."
Her shock fading, she laughed, standing from the couch and grasping his hands. She lightly pulled him to standing before reaching up on her tiptoes to press her lips to his again. "Then I guess you'd better show me where your room is."
With a smile, he tugged her towards the door. "I reckon I can do that."
Their trip up the stairs was not fast or graceful, as he kept stopping every few steps to press her against the wall or the bannister, crushing his lips to hers or grinding his hips against hers with increasing pressure as they made their way toward his room. But finally, he pushed her against a closed door, kissing her deeply before pulling back to look down into her eyes.
"Last chance. We don't have to do this today. If you want, we can go back downstairs and just talk, or something. I didn't ask you here so we could—"
She stopped him, resting a finger against his mouth. "Neville, if you don't take me to your room, Merlin himself wouldn't be able to save you from what I'll do to you."
With a smile, he reached down to pick her up, wrapping her legs around his waist as he opened the door. She only had a moment to look around the room before he dropped her on the bed, standing over her with a soft smile on his face. "Merlin… I never thought I'd actually see you in here."
"Think of it often?"
"Too often," he said as he brought his hands down to begin working at the buttons on her blouse. "If I had a knut for every time I laid in this bed picturing you beside me, I'd be able to give Malfoy a run for his money. Last chance to back out."
"I thought Gryffindors were known for their courage?" she asked, reaching up to fist her hands in his sweater, pulling him down on top of her. He groaned and gave up on her buttons, pulling the sides of her shirt apart. Buttons flew, and she could hear them bouncing softly across the floor.
"Neville!"
"I'll fix it later," he said as he began to kiss her collarbone. "Actually, you'd better do it yourself. With my luck, I'd vanish the whole thing and you'd have quite a lot of explaining to do to Gran when you try to leave."
"Stop talking about your Gran," she gasped, as he lightly bit down on the swell of her breast above the cup of her bra.
"I'm doing something wrong if we can talk at all," he replied, reaching behind her to unhook the clasp of the bra. She shrugged her shoulders, helping him pull it off of her and couldn't help but blush— again— under the weight of his gaze. She wasn't all that insecure about the scars that Dolohov and the war had left on her, but never before had a man looked at her with such heat.
"Anyone who ever told you that you're pretty is a damn liar. You, my darling, are literal perfection," he said, and he quickly leaned down over her to capture a nipple between his lips. She let out a high keening sound at the sensation, and he bucked his hips against her thigh.
Gods above, the things that he could do to her with the slightest effort. His other hand came down to rest on her stomach, and he teasingly drew the tips of his fingers back and forth against the sensitive skin just above the waistband of her trousers.
"Neville," she gasped, her hands coming up to tug lightly at his hair. He chuckled into her skin, lightly biting down on the nipple in his mouth. She bucked her hips up, desperate for more contact between them. Fortunately, he seemed to be on the same wavelength as he switched sides and began to work the clasp of her trousers, easing them down her hips. He sat back to pull her trousers down, and let his head fall against her lower stomach as he took an almost obscenely deep breath in.
"If I can find a way to make a rose smell like this, you'll make me a millionaire."
"Neville, please," she begged at the feeling of his breath across her skin as he spoke.
"Can I taste you?" He asked, trailing his fingers along her seam through the fabric of her underwear.
Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise. While it obviously wasn't uncommon in the muggle world, as far as she was aware, that particular act—especially when performed on witches— wasn't exactly common in the wizarding world.
"You want to?" she asked, somewhat nervous to hear his answer despite him having asked the question in the first place.
"Hermione, I really don't think there's anything that I haven't imagined doing to you in this bed," he told her, sitting up on his knees to look down at her. He gestured vaguely toward the sizeable bulge in his trousers before bringing his hand up to scratch at the hair on his cheek. "Not to sound crass, but I literally don't think I've ever been this hard in my life. And I haven't even started yet. So, again— can I taste you?"
She nodded at him, somewhat dazed at his words. She was much more used to a Neville that struggled to find the right words— not one who had all of the right ones ready to drip off the tip of his tongue. At her nod, he gave her a wide smile before hooking his thumbs under the waistband of her knickers and pulling them free from her hips. Hooking his hands under her knees, he pulled her legs up onto his shoulders before pushing them both further up onto the bed so he could lay down fully on his stomach.
His eyes— filled with heat and a promise— met hers as he leaned in between her thighs. He ran his nose up her cunt to rub against her clit, eyes fluttering shut as he took a deep breath of her. She could feel the rasp of his beard against her inner thighs, and they involuntarily twitched in his hands. He released the breath, warmth washing over her skin as he circled his tongue around her clit, getting his first taste of her. Neville let out a low moan, and she watched as he flexed his hips against the mattress, desperate for friction at the taste.
She realized suddenly that he had managed to strip her of all of her clothing, and he was still fully dressed. She felt an odd rush of vulnerability, before it kicked in that she was with Neville of all people, and if there was anyone that she could feel secure in herself with it was him. Besides, if the veracity with which he was feasting on her was anything to go by, he had no complaints at the sight of her.
She fought the impulse to let her eyes fall shut, and instead kept them focused on him as he trailed one hand up her thigh to slide two thick, calloused fingers into her. He continued to make soft groaning noises into her flesh as he brought one hand around and over her raised thigh to hold her open to his tongue while he twisted and thrust the fingers of his other hand into her. Her hips bucked and she moaned when he hit something sensitive inside of her, and his eyes shot open to meet hers as he repeated the action.
She gasped and saw an uncharacteristically mischievous look flash across his eyes before he fastened his mouth around her clit and sucked it firmly between his lips, repeating the thrusting with his hand as he kept his eyes locked on hers.
How was it that with a single look and a swish and a flick of his wrist, Neville Longbottom was managing to make her feel more than most other men had been able to after months of practice. He continued to circle his tongue around her while stroking his fingers into her, and she finally let her eyes close at the dual sensation. Which is why she was so surprised when his arms suddenly moved, shifting her legs higher onto his shoulders as his hands came up to firmly pinch her nipples. She moaned at the feeling, and he responded by rolling their tight peak between his fingertips as he moved his tongue faster over her heated flesh.
It was like biting into a peach, tasting her. Not that he would say something so hackneyed as to claim that she tasted like a peach, of course. No— it was like taking the first bite of a nearly too ripe piece of fruit and having the juices of it burst from the skin and onto your chin and hand with the slightest touch of your mouth.
In that way, tasting her was exactly like biting into a peach.
From the whispers he'd heard in the dorm rooms and in the hallways amongst the older boys, this wasn't something that most wizards— the pureblooded ones at least— generally cared to do. He'd heard wonders about what it was like to have a witch go down on him, but he had heard very little about returning the favor.
But one night, Lavender had left a tattered paperback in the common room by the fire. He told himself that he'd taken it solely to give it back to her, but after it had fallen open when she'd broken the spine and dogeared a page he couldn't help but let his eyes trace the words on the page. Which of course led to bookmarking some pages of his own, and letting the girl chalk its disappearance up to the house elves' nightly cleaning of the room.
Since he'd found that book in fourth year, he'd been nearly feverish with the thought of trying it for himself.
Although Hannah had been a half-blood, she was raised in a primarily magical family and had some shockingly traditional notions about what a proper relationship between a witch and a wizard should look like. After she'd met Marco-from-Majorca, he'd spent one potentially ill-advised weekend with a muggle he'd met on the beach. She was visiting from Hamburg, he was convinced Hermione would never love him back, and she had provided a different sort of heat than what he could find in the Iberian sun. And she had been more than willing to let him practice on her.
But all that being said, nothing could have prepared him for this. It was like the combination of all of his adult fantasies, and quite a few of his childhood ones as well. Her skin was hot and wet between his lips, and the soft sounds she made above him had him flexing his hips into the mattress below him. Merlin help him. How was he to survive actually fucking her if just the taste of her had him feeling this overwhelmed.
He pinched her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, lightly tugging them as he tried to push his face further into her. He would never get sick of this, and he prayed to any of the gods that would listen that she wouldn't either.
She fisted her hands in his hair, and roughly pulled his head back. "So help me, Neville, if you don't just fuck me I think I'm going to lose my mind."
With a last lingering suck he sat back on his heels, taking a moment to lick the pads of his fingers clean. She gave him a heated look before gesturing frustratedly at the clothes he still wore. "Do you have any plans to take those off?"
He knew his body had undergone quite a number of changes since Hogwarts, but he still felt the faint shiver of nervousness at the thought of undressing. The look in her eyes as he tugged his sweater over his head and set to work on the buttons of his shirt, however, quickly dispelled any lingering anxiety he may have held.
While he tried to force the buttons through the suddenly too-small holes, the reality of what they were about to do hitting him, she surprised him by using his belt to pull herself to a seated position before unbuckling it and pulling it free of his belt loops.
Shrugging off his shirt, he helped her yank down his trousers and pants in one go before rolling away from her and to the side to pull them off. As he tried to kick his feet free from where the fabric had pooled around them, he narrowly avoided kneeing her in the face when she quickly flipped and rolled towards him, taking the weeping head of his cock between her lips.
Trousers forgotten, his hands flew into her hair as she sucked him nearly down to the root.
"Mother of Merlin— I thought you wanted to…" he broke off with a groan, hands involuntarily tightening in her hair at the sensation of her lightly chuckling at him.
"I do… in a moment or two. But turnabout is fair play," she replied, lightly squeezing the base of him as she swallowed him down again.
He tried with everything in him to do the gentlemanly thing and not buck his hips up into her mouth— to let her set the pace— but the wet heat of her mouth was nearly irresistible. And if he was this close to losing it over her mouth— or in it, rather— he wouldn't stand a chance when he was actually inside of her.
Reluctantly he pulled her mouth from him, coaxing her lips to come up to meet his in a kiss. "You'll be the fucking death of me, woman," he mumbled against her, unwilling to break the kiss even to speak properly. "We'll find time for this later. But before you make me make a fool of myself, I want to give you what you asked for.
"After all," he said as he brought a hand down to gently stroke through her folds, "I aim to please."
Finding her still ready for him, he lifted her over him and helped her find her place as he eased his cock into her. She gasped sharply as he started to slide home, and he had to catch her when she almost collapsed onto his chest.
"You alright, love?"
"You never do anything halfway do you," she asked, walls clutching him tightly.
"Well," he replied, trying to hold himself still for a moment longer, "I'd say it's in slightly more than halfway."
Her eyes flew open at his words, which was his cue to release the tight grip he was keeping on her hips and let her fall fully onto him. If he'd thought her mouth was overwhelming him, it was nothing compared to this. After a long moment that she held herself still to get her bearings, she started to wind her hips over him, walls clutching him tightly.
"Is this where I make some stupid, uninspired joke about why they call you Longbottom?" she asked, gasping as he lifted her hips to meet hers.
"If anyone can come up with an original way of telling that one, it'd be you," he replied, trailing a hand down from her hips to circle her clit. The second he made contact she let out a gasp prettier than any song he'd ever heard.
"Oh, Neville… fuck."
He felt the thin thread that was holding his self control snap hearing her moan his name in a voice that bested anything he'd been able to imagine while he was alone in this bed. He wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her off his hips and throwing her onto the bed on her back. He shuffled to the edge of the bed and stood beside it, grabbing her ankles to yank her down so her bum was just barely on the edge. He let his hands slide down her legs to hook behind her knees and spread her thighs apart, taking a quick moment to glance at her swollen, wet sex, before sinking back into her.
"One day— soon— you'll get soft and sweet. But I've waited too long to have you, and I think I'm going to explode if I don't fucking take you."
She clenched around him at his words, and he continued to talk, punctuating his thrusts with his words. "Oh, do you like that, Hermione? Weren't expecting me to talk like this? Didn't think little Neville Longbottom would lose control even in a tight little cunt like yours?... Oh, my sweet girl… so fucking tight… absolutely fucking drenched for me… you're so fucking good for me."
It was like her brain had short circuited. First, she'd pulled down his trousers to find a cock that looked like the kind of thing that only existed on the pages of a romance novel, but then the sound of his deep, warm voice talking about how good she felt was sending shivers up and down her spine that seemed to meet up with the coil tightening again in her stomach. Thank Merlin— again— for his desire to heft things around the garden by hand, because he clearly had the strength and the stamina to absolutely ruin her.
"Oh god, Neville, please…"
"Please what, love. Use your words. What do you want?"
"I… Oh god… I need it harder… will you—"
"What, like this?" he asked, before his hips took up a bruising pace against hers. She released her breath with a strangled moan that caused his hips to stutter.
"I'm not going to be able to last like this, love. You feel too good. It'll take me a long while to get used to this," he panted out as he shook his damp hair off of his forehead.
"I don't need you to," she gasped, sliding her hand down her stomach towards her clit. She was already so close, and just needed something more to get there.
"Oh no, darling. Let me," he growled, batting her hand away before it could make contact and replacing it with his own. He firmly pressed the pad of his thumb against her clit, rubbing tight circles while refusing to let up on the pressure. She could feel herself climbing, and knew that it wouldn't be long as her walls clenched down around him.
"Oh yes, I felt that. Are you close for me? Are you going to come on my cock?"
She gasped as her body reacted to his words. "I… I think…"
"Don't think, love. Feel. Do you feel what you're doing to me? This was worth every second of the wait."
Unable to bear it, she came around him, eyes fluttering closed at the combination of the feel of him and his words. "Oh fuck, love. I'm nearly there… so fucking tight."
She opened her eyes to look at him as he rode her through her climax, and felt a pang run through her at both the lust and love in his eyes as they roved over her body. His eyes darted up to meet hers as if he could feel the weight of her gaze, and she couldn't help but smile at him. His hips stuttered again and she could feel him pulse inside of her as he came.
He fell heavily onto the bed beside her, rolling toward her to rest his head on her chest.
"You'll be the death of me, love," he panted into her skin, pressing a light kiss to the skin of her collarbone.
"Maybe. But Merlin, what a way to die."
A/N: Chapter 8 in the bag! Expect one or two more, and then I'm done with these two for now.
In case anyone missed it, I recently began editing stories that I originally posted to FF under a different name. The first edited and reuploaded story posted here is called "A Union Most Difficult", and it's a Veela!Draco/Hermione story originally written in 2011. I added an additional 4000+ words, and it's available to read now if it sounds like your cup of tea.