Chapter 37: I Really Like You, Neville

"…. So, well done, everyone!" Neville concluded his closing lecture on the last DA meeting of the term before the winter holidays. He smiled, quite proud of himself as he took it all in, the sight of… his students applauding for him. He hadn't thought he had what it took to be something close to a professor, when Hermione had first approached him with the idea for him to teach Defense Against the Darks Arts where Umbridge wouldn't. Most of the time, his improvement in the subject had been through a kind of baptism by fire, his survival coming through sheer luck more than any kind of skill. But in essentially leading a kind of underground resistance to Umbridge's policies, Neville was gaining a kind of confidence himself he had never really had before. For the first time, he was thinking – tentatively, still, but the thought was nonetheless there – that maybe he actually did have what it took to someday defeat Voldemort.

The meeting was breaking up, with Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and a smattering of Ravenclaws departing in pairs and threes. Flanking him at his back, Neville watched from the corner of his eye as Ron and Hermione shared knowing smiles.

"We'll see you in the Common Room, Neville," Hermione murmured lightly, her smile lovely and her bushy hair down up in plaits. She and Ron then departed, practically shoulder-to-shoulder. He tried not to read too much into what may or may not be between his two best friends based on close proximity alone, even though, after all, it was the holidays and romance was seasonally in the air. All the same, Neville appreciated how his trusted deputies understood how he was always the last to leave the Room of Requirement – his own personal rule. Not only so he could clean up but also see every last student safely out and for home.

Only a few were still lingering now, and he resolved to not act like he was shooing them away. He found Harry Potter in one corner, staring at his reflection in the panes of a grimy mirror used for dueling practice.

"Fifteen years ago, a Death Eater named Bellatrix Lestrange tortured both of my parents into insanity, and my father eventually to death," he murmured quietly. Neville simply listened, having never heard of this story before, or of Harry ever mentioning his parents. The most he knew was that the guy lived with a Muggle aunt and uncle out in the suburbs, but he hardly said a word about them either. "I've never really even seen my mother except for a few pictures; I'm not old enough to visit St. Mungo's, where she stays." Harry turned to look at his friend. "I'm…. quite proud to be their son," he expressed, and for once he sounded sure of himself.

No more words were needed. Neville simply smiled and clapped Harry on the back. "We're going to make her proud, Harry. Make both her and your dad proud. That's a promise!"

Harry smiled, and as the bespectacled boy ambled away, Neville caught sight of Ginny hovering shyly a slight distance back, watching the both of them. As soon as he vaguely heard the large oaken doors of the Room close behind a departing Harry, Neville ambled over to her, where he and the only Weasley girl were now alone. Her cerulean eyes catching the light, Neville was startled to discover that she had been crying. Weeping quietly, it seemed.

"Erm…." He fiddled with the hem of his robes, unsure what to say to his best mate's kid sister…. Though, he had to concede, she wasn't so much of a kid sister anymore, now appearing more woman than girl both in body and face. Ginny was a fierce DA student, quite adept and eager to learn. Her temper was quite legendary, and almost no one outside of her own brothers dared to cross her. Poor Harry was her assigned sparring partner (a pairing more on diametrically opposed measurements of ability) and he seemed half-afraid, half-in awe of her.

Perhaps that was what made it all the more striking to see tear tracks blazing a trail down Ginny's cheeks. Neville wasn't sure if he had ever seen her cry – not even in the aftermath of her ordeal down in the Chamber of Secrets.

His Adam's apple wobbled. He had always been rubbish when talking to girls with the exception of Hermione (and, more recently, Luna Lovegood), so he tried to pretend he was speaking to either of them. It didn't do any good. "I…. uh….. What's up?" he finally floated lamely.

From the way Ginny cried harder, he feared he had been insensitive. She now gazed at him in a way that seemed almost heartbroken. "….N-nothing!" she just about moaned out. "If you knew what I was…. feeling…"

"… I would understand," Neville finished the sentence for her, unsure himself where he had found the words. "OK? I would understand, Gin. We're mates, aren't we?"

Something that sounded like a bitter snort emanated from her, like she was taking offense to the word. "Sure. Friends…." She mumbled. She turned back to him, still appearing quite uncharacteristically helpless. Neville gulped, unsure what to say to her.

"You're a really good teacher, you know," Ginny murmured quietly.

Neville awkwardly scratched at the back of his neck. "It doesn't come naturally," he replied self-deprecatingly.

Ginny giggled, the sound moist and choked off from her tears. She drifted closer, her blue eyes bright and only for him. Neville shifted on the balls of his feet. Ginny was now only a couple of feet from him.

"Mistletoe," she pointed out quietly. At least, that was what he thought he'd heard her whisper, and he looked up. Indeed, there was a small sprig, hardly noticeable, hiding in the rafters.

He gulped again, recalling something that Luna had taught him. "You know, we'd better beware. There are Nargles who like to burrow in mistletoe."

Ginny blinked doefully at him. "What are Nargles?"

Holding her eyes, he felt his throat go strangely dry. "I have no idea," he murmured. Ginny beamed and seemed to float closer.

"I really like you, Neville. I always have…."

She was much too close now; by the time he understood what was about to happen, he could see the lingering, unshed tears clinging to her eyelashes…..

Their lips finally met in a hesitant kiss.

Neville had tried to prepare himself for any kind of scenario as to how Ron would react to the news that his best mate had kissed his baby sister. Or, she had kissed him, he didn't know! But Neville did know one thing: it wouldn't do to hide the truth from him. Or Hermione, for that matter.

So it came as a relief to him when, after haltingly recounting the kiss he and Ginny had engaged in while he and his two friends sat before the Common Room fire, Ron did not appear as angry or protective as Neville might have imagined. Shocked, yes, and if there was some rage there, if anything, it seemed to be more directed at Ginny.

"Well? How was it?"

"….. Wet," was the only conclusion Neville could draw. Across from him, Hermione was diplomatically pursing her lips to hold back a smile; evidently, she was thinking back to their own impulsive, if also misguided, kiss she and Neville had shared after the Ball last year. But even if she might have been tempted to juxtapose it with Neville's second kiss for comparison's sake, the beautiful witch didn't bring it up. Neville was oddly grateful for it. Besides, he had never told Ron how he and Hermione had kissed last year, almost as a test to see if they could be more than friends; as far as he knew, Hermione had kept it a secret from their mutual mate as well.

"Ronald, don't you understand what your own sister must be feeling? She's probably upset at how Neville hasn't noticed her, which means now that she's confessed her feelings, she's likely second-guessing herself, feeling guilty about kissing him, and too confused to sort out much anything else!"

Ron looked befuddled, ogling her in a kind of bizarre wonder. "One person can't feel all that, never mind my sister – they'd explode! She'd explode!"

Hermione glared at him reproachfully, balefully. "Just because you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon…."

There was an awkward silence where Hermione just continued to regard Ron prissily. Then….

Neville chuckled. Followed by a chortle from Ron until Hermione finally joined in on the act with a giggle. Before long, the three friends had busted up into laughter, creating the kind of memory they could all look back on with fondness.

And, of course, laugh about. Because where first (or even, in some cases, second kisses) were concerned, that was all that was called for: laughter.