Beauty Therapy task 12: Write about someone losing something
Word Count: 1279
"Let me see the ring," his grandmother urges, holding out a wrinkled hand, her arthritic fingers straightening slightly.
Neville reaches into his pocket, plucking the ring from within. It suddenly looks so simple and plain whenever he prepares to hand it to Gran. What will she find to criticize about it? Merlin knows his youth has been littered with so many harsh words meant to guide him; his grandmother has softened since the battle at the Department of Mysteries nearly a decade ago, but he still remembers how sharp her tongue is. What if this ring isn't good enough?
It isn't as grand as Hannah deserves. She should have a platinum band that is adorned with a stylish cluster of diamonds and sapphires. Of course, he knows she would hate something so flashy, but it doesn't change the fact that she deserves it. In the back of his mind, he wonders if it isn't just the ring that isn't good enough, if, perhaps, she ought to have a more worthy suitor…
He shakes his head as though the gesture can forcibly remove the thoughts from his mind. He's being ridiculous, and he knows it.
Besides, the ring might be simple, but it is lovely. Aquamarine stones line the silver band. A small, heart-shaped diamond glimmers beautifully in the light.
Gran smiles, reaching out and patting Neville fondly on the cheek. "You look nervous, boy," she notes.
Neville laughs, the sound shrill and tight, proving her assessment right. "Nervous? Why on earth would I be nervous, Gran? I'm only asking the love of my life to make a huge commitment."
Her thin lips twitch into an amused smile. "Your dad was nervous when he asked your mother to marry him."
Neville parks up, intrigued. Gran so rarely talks about his parents beyond their achievements and his father's childhood. "Was he?"
He's always imagined his father as the calm and collected type, some dashing hero who radiated confidence. Maybe that's why Neville has always felt inadequate whenever he compared himself to his father. Is it really possible that they're more alike than he realized?
Gran chuckles, nodding. "Poor dear looked like he was going to throw up at the thought of it," she says. "He was so afraid Alice would say no."
The color drains from his face. He hadn't even considered the possibility that Hannah would reject him. Now, the thought weaves its way through his mind, its tendrils taking hold.
"Y-you don't think Hannah will say no, do you?" He scrubs a trembling hand over the back of his neck, bouncing anxiously on the balls of his feet.
His grandmother softens, her dark eyes twinkling with amusement. "You are so much like your father," she tells him. "You worry too much. Careful with that, boy. Worrying will make you sick."
"You didn't answer my question, Gran."
"Hannah loves you," she says. "Anyone with eyes can see it. I would be surprised if she didn't accept your proposal."
And, somehow, that's all it takes. If Gran believes in him, he has to see this through. Nothing could go wrong.
"Now, join me for tea and biscuits and tell me all about your plan," she says, guiding him into the kitchen.
…
Really, Neville has never been more proud of himself. It really is like something out of one of those romantic Muggle films that Hermione made him watch.
The snow crunches beneath their feet as they walk through Hogsmeade. Fresh flurries drift down, melting against their skin.
"I think I have enough Chocolate Frogs that I might go into a sugar coma," Hannah says with a laugh, patting her purse which is weighed down with sweets.
Neville chuckles. "Please don't go into a sugar coma."
She grins, the natural rosy tint in her cheeks darkening slightly, though Neville isn't sure if it's from her emotions or the chill in the air. "Would you come visit me if I fell into a coma?"
The question catches him off guard. He stops so abruptly that by the time he turns to look at her, she bumps into him. "What sort of question is that?" he asks. "Of course I would. I…"
He swallows dryly, his heart hammering in his chest. This is it. He's spent months planning for this moment, trying so desperately to get every detail perfect. Even so, it has still felt like a dream, like something that had no hope of ever becoming a reality.
"Neville?"
He clears his throat and looks up at her. She is so beautiful with her blonde hair pulled into a messy ponytail. Her blue eyes sparkle in the soft moonlight. He never considered that her perfection might render him speechless.
"Have I got something on my face?" she asks, raising a mitten-covered hand and brushing it over her lips, then her cheeks.
"No," he says, finding his voice again. "You're perfect, Hannah. Absolutely perfect."
Here it goes. Now or never.
"I love you." He's said it countless times, but this feels different. Can Hannah hear it in his voice? "I love you so much. I…"
He had spent a week coming up with a short speech. Hermione had helped him find the right words, and he had practiced in front of the mirror again and again. Now, he can't remember a single word.
Neville drops to one knee, ignoring the cold of the snow as it dampens his trousers. Hannah's eyes widen, her lips parting softly in surprise as she understands what this means.
"Hannah Olivia Abbott," he says, and he's grateful he doesn't stammer, "I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you mar— Oh… Oh no."
His fingers frantically search through his pocket, but the ring isn't there.
"Neville? What's wrong?" Hannah asks.
He leaps unsteadily to his feet, nearly slipping in his haste. "I've lost it," he says, heat flooding his cheeks and seeming to set his face on fire. "I've lost the ring."
This can't be happening. He's planned for this and put so much thought into it. At no point did he think that he would lose the ring; it had seemed like such an obvious thing. Of course he would have the ring on him! No need to double check.
He slaps his palm against his face, groaning. "I am so sorry, Hannah. I had this all planned out, and I just… I—"
His words are cut off as Hannah presses her lips to his, kissing him deeply. When they pull away, she answers his confused glance with a small smile. "Ask me anyway," she says.
"Hannah, will you mar—"
"Neville! Oh, good. I found you!" Gran makes her way over with surprising speed, hobbling through the snow. Her eyes scan over him, resting on the wet spot on his knee. "Ah. I'm sure you realized, then…"
His heart flutters with relief when his grandmother reaches into her purse and produces the ring. She offers Hannah a smile. "The boy would lose his head if it wasn't attached to his neck. Just like his mother, the dear lamb," she says affectionately. "You left it on the table after we had tea together."
Neville can't help but laugh. "Of course I did." He takes the ring and holds out, smiling at Hannah. "Now, let's try this again."
She holds out her hand, grinning. "Let's," she agrees.
"Will you marry me?" He slides the ring onto her finger.
"Of course I will."
It isn't the proposal he's planned, but it doesn't matter. Despite a few bumps in the road, Hannah has said yes. The next chapter of their lives can begin.