Rating:
PG
House:
Astronomy Tower
Ships:
Other Canon Witch/Neville Longbottom
Characters:
Other Canon Witch
Genres:
Romance
Era:
Harry and Classmates Post-Hogwarts
Spoilers:
Deadly Hallows (Through Ch. 36) Epilogue to Deathly Hallows J.K. Rowling Interviews or Website
Stats:
Published: 02/25/2009
Updated: 02/25/2009
Words: 3,239
Chapters: 1
Hits: 412

What They Did for Love

Ravenpuff

Story Summary:
Hannah fancies Neville, Neville fancies Hannah - but they're both too shy to make the first move. Drastic measures may be called for . . .

Chapter 01

Posted:
02/25/2009
Hits:
372


Midafternoon sun reflected off the well-polished wooden bar at the Leaky Cauldron. Lost in thought, Hannah Abbott swiped a cloth back and forth over the same few square inches of surface, which already gleamed.

"Keep doing that, and you'll wear the wood right through." The gruff voice from behind Hannah made her jump. She blushed and let the cloth drop onto the bar.

"Sorry, Tom," she said. "I wasn't thinking."

The grizzled proprietor of the Wizarding pub grinned knowingly at his blonde barmaid. "Daydreaming about a certain young man, more like."

Hannah's blush deepened. "I don't know what you mean, Tom." Play innocent all you want, a small voice inside her head taunted. He's got you dead to rights.

Tom shrugged, not bothering to hide a smirk. "If you say so. Look, I have to go lean on one of our distributors. They were supposed to deliver two kegs of Olde Dragon Ale yesterday. There'll be hell to pay with the warlocks if we run out. Will you be all right here on your own?"

Hannah scanned the nearly empty tables. "I'll be fine." The only patrons at the moment were a couple of old warlocks drinking Firewhisky and Hermione Granger, who sat at her usual corner table, eating a sandwich as she plowed through an enormous pile of parchments.

As Tom disappeared through the back door, Hermione looked up and smiled at her old school friend. Hannah straightened her apron and made her way over to the table.

"Can I get you something?" she asked.

Hermione shook her head. "No, thanks. I was just thinking, it's been ages since we talked. Can you sit for a minute?"

Hannah glanced at the two warlocks nursing their Firewhiskys and slid into the chair across from Hermione.

"How are things going?" Hermione asked without preamble.

Hannah shrugged. "Fine, I guess. You?"

Hermione made a face and stabbed her finger at the stack of parchments. "Great, on the whole, except that I never seem to get out from under these. Either the crime rate's going up, or we're seriously understaffed."

"I don't envy you," Hannah said, and she was surprised to realize that it was true.

Hermione always looked so professional in her light grey Ministry robes, her curls now tame by a chic short haircut - and a touch of Sleekeazy, Hannah guessed. Unconsciously, she brushed back a stray lock of her own hair.

The former Gryffindor exuded self-assured, and why shouldn't she? Everyone at Hogwarts knew she was the cleverest witch in her year, and from what Hannah heard in the course of her work (like any good bartender, she knew how to listen), her former classmate was on the fast track in Magical Law Enforcement.

Furthermore, Hermione had a boyfriend who was more than just a daydream. Ron and Hermione stopped in nearly every Friday after work, and from the way they looked at each other . . .

Hannah did feel a twinge of jealous about that, though she wouldn't have traded her job for Hermione's for a cauldron-full of Beautifying Potion. Serving drinks and chatting people up had to be much nicer than dealing with criminals all day.

Though come to think of it, some of the very people she chatted up were probbly pretty shady.

"It's not all that bad," Hermione continued, as though she'd been reading Hannah's mind. "But what I really want to know is, how are things going with Neville?"

To Hannah's dismay, her cheeks flushed with warmth. "What do you mean?" she said for the second time that day.

Like Tom, Hermione favored her with a knowing smirk. "Come on, Hannah. Ron and I see him sitting at the bar every Friday night. He can't take his eyes off you - don't tell me you haven't noticed."

Hannah's eyes narrowed. Was Hermione teasing her? If anything, on those Friday nights, it was Hannah who struggled not to stare at Neville. She couldn't get over his transformation from an awkward boy, inept at every subject but Herbology, into a handsome, broad-shouldered young man. And not just any young man - Neville was one of the heroes who'd helped to defeat Voldemort.

When he sat at the bar, though, he rarely said anything except " hello," "goodbye," and "I'll have another, please." Hermione had to be wrong; Neville scarcely ever looked at her. If he didn't know the person sitting next to him, he just sat studying the bar top. On the rare occasions when she did catch Neville looking her way, his warm brown eyes melted her heart . . .

Hannah sighed. If she didn't confide in someone, she was going to burst.

"I wouldn't mind if Neville did stare at me," she confessed. "Or if he asked me out." She was blushing furiously now. "Sometimes he opens his mouth, and I think . . . But then he shuts it again and stares into his butterbeer instead. I know I'm being stupid . . ." she finished miserably.

Hermione shook her head vehemently. "No, you're not. Why shouldn't you like him, and vice versa? Maybe Neville does want to ask you out, and just needs a little push.

"After all," she went on with a reminiscent grin, "if I hadn't grabbed Ron and kissed him on the night of the battle, we might still be pretending not to be mad for each other." Her eyes took on a dreamy expression that caused Hannah to look away.

Hermione glanced at her watch. "Damn. I should be getting back."

She started gathering up her reports, then stopped. "I almost forgot. The main reason I wanted to talk to you was to tell you that Harry's throwing a reunion get-together for the D.A. at his house in a couple of weeks. He's sending invitations out, but he said to mention it to any old D.A. members I ran into. You will be there, won't you? Neville's already said yes." The smirk was back.

Hannah pretended not to notice. "I'll be there," she said.

***

Hannah emerged from the enormous fireplace into the drawing room at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. One of these days, she was going to take Apparition lessons, she told herself for the fiftieth time, brushing ash from the front of her new blue dress robes.

No one seemed to have noticed her arrival, and she took a moment to look around. The room was very grand, with its heavy velvet draperies, polished mahogany woodwork, and richly colored Oriental rugs. She was amused to note that the satin-upholstered chairs that flanked the fireplace were striped in red and gold. Evidently, someone had performed a color-changing charm on them since Harry inherited the house from Sirius Black.

Almost two dozen people - nearly all the surviving D.A. member - were clustered in small groups at the other side of the room. Hannah's spirits fell when she saw that Neville wasn't among them. As she stood there uncertainly, a tiny, very old house-elf materialized at her side with a drinks tray.

"Champagne, miss?" he inquired with a low bow, somehow keeping the tray perfectly level. "Or perhaps you would prefer butterbeer, or Firewhisky, or . . ."

Just then Hermione spotted the new arrival and rushed over.

"Hi, Hannah!" she greeted her. "You really should try the champagne. "It's the real thing, only elf-made, and it's very good."

Hannah wasn't sure what Hermione meant by "the real thing," but she accepted a delicate fluted glass. The bubbly liquid tickled her nose in a most pleasing way. It really was very good; if only Neville were here . . . .

Hermione took Hannah by the arm and tugged her toward a group of her former D.A. colleagues that included her Hufflepuff friends, Ernie Macmillan and Susan Bones, both of whom hugged her warmly.

"It's been way too long," Susan said as she released her fellow Hufflepuff. Stepping back, Hannah scrutinized her friend with a little frown of puzzlement that made Susan laugh.

"It's the hair." she said. Sure enough, the long plait she always wore during her Hogwarts years was gone, replaced by a shining chin-length bob.

Hannah sighed. First Hermione, then Susan - how long had it been since she'd cut her hair or even looked at herself in a mirror? For Merlin's sake, she still wore pigtails most o the time, just to keep her hair out of whatever she was serving. Despite Hermione's assurance, Hannah was far too plain to attract a good-looking man like Neville, which was why she'd made another stop after leaving Madame Malkin's . . .

As she exchanged news and gossip with her old friends, Hannah's hand strayed to a pocket of her robes. When the time came, would she have the nerve to put her plan into actin? With a mixture of frustration and something like relief, she told herself that since Neville hadn't come, the question was moot . . .

"Hannah?" A soft voice at her elbow jolted her back to reality.

"Were you asleep on your feet?" the girl in brilliant saffron-colored robes asked dreamily. "I've heard horses can do that, but I always thought people had to be sitting down, at least. I think we're supposed to go into the dining room now."

Indeed, everyone seemed to be heading toward a wide, arched doorway. Luna drifted off after them. Just as Hannah started to follow, she heard a loud thump and a muffled epithet behind her. Startled, she looked back to see Neville Longbottom in the fireplace, struggling to get up. His feet were evidently entangled in his robes.

He looked so comical, Hannah forgot to be self-conscious as she hurried over to help him up. Neville rewarded her with a rueful smile.

"Thanks, Hannah," he said, dusting himself off. "I should have Apparated, only I wasn't sure I could do it properly, even with Harry's drawing . . ." he trailed off, looking embarrassed.

"Well, you're here now," said Hannah reassuringly. "We'd best hurry up; everyone's already sitting down to dinner."

"Sorry I'm late," Neville said as they hurried toward the dining room. "I was taking some Shrivelfig cuttings and just lost track of time."

Hannah smiled and shook her head. She knew how much Neville loved Herbology and was not at all surprised that he'd work overtime, now that he was Professor Sprout's official assistant.

As luck would have it, the only two empty chairs at the table, which seated the whole crowd easily, were next to each other. Neville and Hannah slid into them unnoticed amid the buzz of conversation. Candles flickered softly in wall scones and in candlesticks on the table, which was covered in a damask cloth. There was room for three large flower arrangements, each in different house colors - no green and silver, however.

Despite the formal setting, Hannah was amused to see that dinner was being served Hogwarts-style, with guests helping themselves from large platters that rotated slowly above the table. She was glad the elderly house-elf didn't have to do all the serving himself.

After Neville and Hannah filled their plates, they fell silent again. Hannah toyed with her food, uncomfortably aware of the small vial nestled in her pocket.

The dining table was so large that it was difficult to carry on a conversation with anyone except one's immediate neighbors. Hannah exchanged a few polite words with Alicia Spinnet, who sat to her right, but the two of them scarcely knew each other, and Alicia was soon deep in conversation with George Weasley. Meanwhile, Neville had turned away to chat with Luna.

It was now or never. With a slightly trembling hand, Hannah withdrew the \ vial from her pocket, recalling the leer on the face of the rather dodgy wizard who'd sold it to her.

"Just a drop or two, that's all it takes," he'd said. She wasn't entirely sure she trusted him, but buying the potion from George's shop was out of the question. She blushed to think of the looks on her friends' faces if they knew what she was about to do.

Well, they weren't in her shoes. Everyone she knew seemed to be paired off already, like Hermione and Ron, or single and fine with that, like Luna. They didn't know how frustrating it was to fancy someone who wouldn't ever fancy you, unless you did something drastic . . . .

She held the vial under the table to remove the stopper, then looked around. Everyone was preoccupied with conversation or their meal. Inch by cautious inch, she pulled Neville's goblet closer and, concealing the vial with her lace-trimmed sleeve, held it over the drink - tilted it -

And at the very last second, pulled it back.

She just couldn't do it. Dreams aside, Neville was her friend. He didn't deserve to be subjected to dirty tricks. Besides, even if the potion worked, Neville's response wouldn't be real. Eventually, the potion would wear off, and she'd be no further ahead.

As she slipped the vial back into her pocket, Hannah felt an unexpected lightening of her spirits that made her almost as giddy as the champagne had. When Neville turned back to her, she found she could chat unselfconsciously about everything and nothing, and he, too, seemed to have lost any trace of shyness.

Much too soon, the party began to break up. When she said her goodbyes and headed toward the fireplace, Neville was right behind her. Before she could grab a handful of Floo powder from the antique jar on the mantel, he cleared his throat.

"Erm - Hannah, it was really good seeing you tonight," he said , the faintest blush rising in his cheeks.

Hannah felt herself blush as well, but she resisted the impulse to look down at her shoes. "It was good seeing you, too," she said softly. "I'm glad you decided to come."

"Erm - I was wondering - I know it's late, but - there's a nice little Wizarding pub in Bloomsbury - we could have a nightcap . . ."

Was Neville asking her on a date? Hannah realized her mouth had dropped open and promptly closed it. "Anywhere but the Leaky Cauldron," she said, with a shaky smile.

***

Six weeks after Harry's party, Hannah and Neville were sitting at a secluded table at the Three Broomsticks. They'd spent a lovely Sunday afternoon in Greenhouse One, repotting bouncing bulbs. Chasing down the elusive orbs, which tended to spring repeatedly out of their pots if they weren't planted deep enough- soon had them laughing so hard their sides hurt, and a butterbeer was definitely in order.

This was the fourth Sunday they'd spent at Hogwarts, pottering around the greenhouses, though most of their dates didn't involve dirt, spines, or tentacles. Neville spent fewer evenings at the Leaky Cauldron now, preferring, he said, to take her where he could have her undivided attention.

All in all, dating Neville had turned out to be much easier than Hannah would ever have guessed - not so wildly romantic, perhaps, more like an ever-deepening camaraderie.

Though she did rather wish Neville would get around to kissing her. She was pretty sure he'd thought about it - he seemed to like holding hands and hugging - but so far, he hadn't made a decisive move.

While Hannah thought aboutwhat kissing Neville might be like, the conversation lapsed. When she came back down to earth, she was surprised to see Neville staring down at his hands, with a worried look on his face.

"What's wrong?" she said with a stab of alarm. She'd had such a good time today - hadn't he? He couldn't be tired of going out with her so soon - could he? Was he trying to break things off? A cold hand gripped her heart.

Neville looked up, his mouth set in a determined line. "I had a wonderful time today," he said softly. "I - that is - everything's been going so well, I just couldn't bear to tell you -"

Alarm bells were ringing loudly now.

"Tell me what?" Hannah tried to keep her voice calm, though her heart was beating uncomfortably fast.

"Well - it's just that - do you remember Harry's party?"

The question caught Hannah completely off guard. "Yes, of course I do. It was only in January."

Neville took a deep breath. "I've been meaning to tell you, but somehow the time never seems to be right. The thing is, Hannah, I really like you."

She stared at him, only slightly relieved. "I really like you, too - but what does that have to do with the party?"

Neville's face had taken on a crimson flush. "It doesn't, only that I never knew what to say to you, and I thought you couldn't possibly fancy me back, no one else ever has, and in the end I got desperate. That night, I was going to - put - a-love-potion-in-your-drink-if-I-got-the-chance." The last words came out in a mumbled rush, so that Hannah could barely understand them.

"There, now, you can hate me all you want - I deserve it." Neville looked utterly miserable, but he kept his eyes on Hannah's face.

Hannah stared at him, gobsmacked. Then, for the second time that day, she began laughing so hard she was soon gasping for breath.

At last, she pulled herself together, mopping tears from her face. Neville was staring at her, though he looked a bit less anxious. Apparently taking heart from Hannah's reaction, Neville squared his shoulders and forged ahead.

"In the end, I couldn't do it. What kind of person would I be, manipulating a friend that way? I mean, when you think about it, a love potion's not that different from the Imperious Curse, is it? And that's unforgivable.

"I decided just to take my chances, and I went to the loo and poured the stupid stuff down the drain. As soon as it was gone, I felt so much better that I finally got up the nerve to ask you out, which I'd been wanting to do for ages."

"Well, now, that's very interesting," Hannah said with a little smile. "You're not going to believe this, but . . . "

In another minute they were both laughing so hard that Madame Rosmerta bustled over to their table.

"All right, you two?" she asked, looking puzzled. In all the years she'd seen them in her establishment, she'd never known them to be anything but models of decorum.

"Oh, yes," Hannah said, "everything is just fine." Much to her own surprise, she didn't wait for the proprietress of the Three Broomsticks to turn away before leaning forward and planting a kiss on Neville's lips.

He responded with great warmth, and it took them a while to break it off. They sat there, gazing into each other's eyes, for a moment before Hannah tore her eyes away to glance at her watch.

"I'm afraid I have to get back," she said regretfully. "My shift starts in about two minutes."

Neville nodded. "I'm due back, as well." They rose, and he engulfed her in a lingering hug before taking her hand and leading her toward the door. There Neville paused and turned to her.

"Bubotubers next week?" he asked, squeezing her hand.

Hannah grinned up at him.

"Perfect," she said.

THE END