He is nervous, though he has no reason to be. Minerva remembers well his talent in Herbology and his way with younger children—she remembers too well, she thinks, the way he'd inspired and fought for them in 1998—and he comes with glowing recommendations from both the Aurors and Professor Sprout.
But she has made him nervous for a long time, and she wonders if she does still.
"Your references are remarkable," she says, and he nods stiffly.
The kettle whistles and she stands to pour them both cups; he puts in three lumps of sugar and some cream and then drinks it too fast.
"Are you sure you want to come back to Hogwarts?" she asks gently, and he almost chokes, then gingerly sets his cup down. Silently she hands him a napkin.
"I've thought about it," says Neville, "and I think so."
She worries still. A part of her is convinced that none of the staff who'd been there for 1998 and the battle that had cut the school year short were sure they wanted to be back at Hogwarts. Most of them just felt they had to be, herself included. What sort of woman would she be, if she'd taken the time to retire instead of guiding her friends, her colleagues, and the children through the next years of recovery?
"Pomona's assured me that she's beyond willing to have an assistant," says Minerva. "It will be a bit of time before you're ready to start teaching classes—"
"I don't mind a wait," says Neville, and he smiles.
"I don't suppose you do, no," says Minerva. It is with difficulty that she remembers not to call him Mr. Longbottom. "Neville—it's in poor taste, but why don't you want to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts? You must know there's an opening and, well, we both know you're adept at it. You were an Auror."
Neville thinks it over for a moment, before he says, "I don't know. I'm done with that, I think. At least, I hope I am, for a long while."
Minerva smiles, sips her tea. "I do hope so."
She looks down at his references again, as though she is still making up her mind. He finishes his tea in silence and she looks back at him. "And I know you and Pomona have discussed lessons and how you'll cooperate?"
"Yes," says Neville. He's still nervous; Minerva tries to soften her expression just a little bit. From his apprehensive expression, it doesn't work.
"We'd be honoured to have you," she says, and hands his papers back. "I'll speak with Mr. Filch and the house-elves about setting up a room for you."
When he smiles it is surprised and relieved, and Minerva, though glad she hadn't seemed like she was going to give him the position automatically, is sorry to have made him worry. "Thank you, so much."
She stands up, and Neville takes his cue and stands as well.
"Do you remember," says Neville, "You told me I ought to think about teaching, back in fifth year?"
"Of course I do," says Minerva.
Neville doesn't seem like he knows how to continue this thought; he just holds out his hand to shake. Minerva is happy to oblige.
"I look forward to working together, Neville," she says. It is a little easier to call him that a second time.
"Me too, professor," he says, clearly not on first name basis with her yet. She watches him head out the door and shakes her head a little at it. He's got time, she thinks, to grow and to realise that she's no better than him, only older. She'd gone into her own interview with Armando Dippet just as nervously, had left it with just that elation.
With a wave of her wand, she cleans and stacks the cups and saucers; she puts them back in their cupboard.
Only took me literally an entire year to write 1500 words!