Chapter 9: Enchanted Rose, Strike Two
It had been another long night in the greenhouses, with Neville recalling and recreating the plant and potion from two years ago. Though it had failed him then, he was sure it would not this time. After all, there was no Viktor Krum looming around...
He caught up with Hermione as she hung back walking up the hill from Hagrid's hut, leaving their evening Care of Magical Creatures class - the final class for Gryffindor sixth years. The sun was just about set above the trees; by the time they reached the castle, it would be dark. Yup, Christmas was coming.
"Hermione!"
She turned, her face glowing and looking beautiful in the rapidly fading light. "Yes, Neville?"
"You heard about Slughorn's party, right?"
Hermione barely suppressed an eye roll at the thought of that nepotistic professor. She loathed the very idea of the Slug Club. "Yes, I am going, though I don't see the point..."
Neville smiled sympathetically. "Well, would it be any more bearable if you went with me?" And he whipped out another enchanted rose with a flourish.
Hermione stared at him for a moment, clearly recognizing the stunt from before the Yule Ball. Then, her eyes seemed to fill with remorseful tears, making Neville's heart drop. Had he offended her, using the same tactic twice over?
"Oh, Neville... I would love to go with you... but I already promised Cormac McLaggen."
Neville seethed inside. Cormac McLaggen had been runner-up to be Keeper on the Quidditch team, Ron beating him out. Most everyone in Gryffindor House correctly viewed him as a pompous ass. Why would someone as mature as Hermione go out with the likes of him?
It was almost like Hermione could read his mind. "If you knew why... you wouldn't understand..." And she fled, almost in tears and leaving Neville heartbroken.
Neville had never liked parties. Mostly because, even if he was lucky enough to be invited to them at all, he always went alone.
It was true now, at Slughorn's Christmas party, to which he had been invited as one of the Potions Master's hand-picked favorite students - the "Slug Club," as it was called. And it would have been true of the Yule Ball two years ago, had he not asked his last place choice, Ginny Weasley, at the last minute. She had just been thrilled to go, as third-years and under had not been allowed. Neville's real choice for that dance had already been chosen by someone else.
He watched her now, peeking out from behind the corner tapestry behind which he was hiding from a prowling Professor Snape. Hermione Granger had been snatched up by another bloke yet again - that swaggering Cormac McLaggen. They were dancing to some of the faint music in the air.
Neville thought he saw Snape heading his way, so he ducked behind the tapestry. A moment later, he felt the fabric move and lift, and he was just about to squeak in fright at Snape's foreboding long nose when -
It wasn't Snape at all. A flushed Hermione Granger dove behind the curtain, panting. She was wearing a cute little pink dress - not as fancy as her Yule Ball gown, certainly, but pretty nonetheless. Her hair was down in striking ringlets. She jumped a little when her eyes met Neville's, obviously surprised to find him there.
"Oh, hello, Neville."
"Hermione? What are you doing?"
"Oh, I just left Cormac... under the mistletoe..." She looked flustered, and her deep brown eyes darted about like she was a cornered animal. She seemed afraid that Cormac would track her down.
"He won't find you here," Neville assured her. "The tosser couldn't find his wand if it did a bloody tap dance in front of him and spit in his eye. Did he try to snog you without asking?"
Hermione chanced a glance at Neville, shocked but still comforted by his perceptiveness. She nodded.
"I hope you smacked him good and hard. No girl should be treated that way!"
Hermione smiled. She was surprised by this new, opinionated, protective Neville, and found that she liked it. "A considerate, feminist gentleman! Such a rare find these days!"
Encouraged, Neville smiled and went on ranting over McLaggen. "No girl should have their first kiss stolen from them!" He faltered at the confused look Hermione sent his way, and the implication sank in. "I'm sorry," he stammered. "I didn't mean to assume..."
Hermione chuckled, her pearly white teeth glistening and looking beautiful. "No. It's fine." Checking all around her, she finally whispered an admission. "I snogged Victor Krum two years ago. Only other person who knows besides you is Ginny."
In truth, Neville had already known, as he had witnessed the display himself. Drat. He should have remembered. He felt a jealous rage burn through him at the thought of the smooth Quidditch star, but he hid it well. Hermione had grown very pretty in recent years; coupled with her intelligence, and she was a hot topic of discussion by the boys in the Gryffindor Common Room. As for him, he had secretly been in love with her for years - the way she always helped him in his studies, among other reasons.
"You?"
"What?" He was shaken from his thoughts.
"Have you ever been kissed?"
Neville barked out a self-deprecating laugh, in spite of himself. "Do I look like the kissing type to you?"
Even as he tried to pass it off as a joke, he looked sad. Hermione's heart went out to him. Neville had always been a sentimental favorite among his friends, a prime bully target for his enemies. A hapless wonder in most things, except Herbology. And here he was, behind a tapestry and having come presumably alone.
Before she could decide how to broach the subject, she heard someone bellow, "GRANGER! Where you at?"
"Oh no! Here he comes!" she squeaked, and she darted out from behind the tapestry to avoid a drunken McLaggen.
