Gently Together

"All right, Neville?" Ginny asked. The boy had been staring out the window for the past ten minutes, a look of distinct discomfort on his round face.

Neville blinked at her. "Um, sure. Yeah."

He bent back to his Charms homework, but after a few moments it became apparent to Ginny that he wasn't really reading.

He had to have been aware of her scrutiny because he said, sounding flustered (his ears, she saw, had turned bright pink) "Only I've got a date with Mandy Brocklehurst tomorrow. In Hogsmeade. We're going to Madam Puddifoot's. And I'm just a bit, you know, nervous. My first date and all."

Ginny put down her quill, folded her arms on the desk in front of her, and frowned at his bowed head. "No, it isn't," she said, unexpectedly hurt by his forgetfulness. "You went with me to the Yule Ball two years ago. That was your first date. Mine too."

"Oh, yeah." Neville's ears darkened to a raddishy red. "Well, but still. That hardly counts. I wasn't the best date. Stepped on your feet all those times. Mangled your corsage. And, um, you left with Corner..."

It was Ginny's turn to flush. "Yeah. Sorry about that. But, hey, since it didn't work out with him that, um, un-negates the negation of me going to the Yule Ball with you. So, it counts."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," said Ginny firmly. She picked up her quill again and started to write. She had two feet of parchment due for Transfiguration tomorrow, and had barely two inches done.

Nothing came to her, though, and she found herself glancing up at Neville again. He was still bent industriously over his own parchment, his quill in his hand, but he wasn't writing, and his ears were still red.

"Neville?"

"Yeah?" he said, looking up.

Ginny grinned. "Did you ask her or did she ask you?"

"Mandy? I asked her."

"Cool. So, Madam Puddifoot's. That's...romantic." Actually, Ginny found the place horrifically soppy; she'd gone there once with Michael Corner and spent half the time joking that the place would give her a sugar high even if she didn't eat anything.

"It was her idea. I didn't know where else to go."

"There's the Three Broomsticks."

"Yeah, but..."

"But what?"

"But Ron's going there with Hermione, and he told me if he saw any of his friends there he'd say something stupid and muck it up."

"He'll say something stupid and muck it up whether you're there or not, Neville," said Ginny, smiling again. "So, Madam Puddifoot's."

"Yeah." Neville twirled his quill between his thumb and forefinger. "So...any advice?"

"About what?"

"Well, I don't want to muck up my date. What should I do? Or what shouldn't I do?"

Ginny cupped her chin and thought for a moment. "Don't drink too much tea or coffee, or you'll have to pee a lot. Don't eat anything you know she doesn't like, because if you have to kiss her and you've got something nasty on your breath she won't be happy."

"If I have to kiss her?" Neville blanched.

"Mmhmm." She suppressed a giggle; he sounded horrified. "Why, don't you want to?"

"Well...well, sure," he stammered. "She's pretty. But on a first date?"

"Sure," said Ginny. "Why not? It's your first date. What if you decide you fancy her and wait until, say, the third date to kiss her, and find out she has...I don't know. Horrible breath. Or what if she drools. Or pushes her tongue down your throat."

She stopped speaking because words had fallen between her and Neville, words that neither had uttered, but that both were thinking.

We didn't kiss on our not-quite-first date.

Ginny looked out the window. The school grounds were covered in snow. A delicate ribbon of smoke rose into the sky from Hagrid's chimney. Some kids – Hufflepuffs from the colour of their scarves – were lobbing snowballs at one another. Someone (or several someones) had built what looked like a snow troll over by the broomshed.

"I've never kissed anyone," said Neville quietly.

The common room was silent again for a long moment.

Then Ginny said brightly, "It's easy. Anyone can do it. Don't worry."

"But you just said," said Neville, "that it might be horrible. If she has bad breath. Or if I have bad breath. Or drool or..."

"But you don't," said Ginny, turning back to him finally. "Right?"

He shrugged. His entire face was bright red, she saw. "I've never done it before. I don't know."

"Well," said Ginny. "Well..." Her stomach did a little flip-flop and her palm, still cupping her chin, was slick with sweat, she noticed. "Umm."

"I mean, it's not something you can practice. Right?"

"You...can," said Ginny carefully. "With pillows or..."

"Or?"

"You can practice with a friend," Ginny said as though she were an expert, when in fact she'd only practiced on pillows and had been terribly nervous the first time Michael Corner had leaned in to kiss her.

"A friend," said Neville skeptically. He was, she supposed, going through his short list of friends. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Luna Lovegood, and...

Ginny looked at the window. Someone, she noticed for the first time, had scratched the legend SB + RL into the sill. She stared at the letters until her eyes began to burn with the strain. What in Merlin's name had come over her?

Across the table, Neville sighed. "Guess I should go find a pillow, huh? Only a pillow isn't going to tell me if I'm horrible at kissing, is it?"

Ginny turned again. The common room, she knew, was empty. Not that it really mattered. The way he sounded, and the way he was looking at her, she'd have kissed him in the middle of the Quidditch pitch, in front of the entire school.

For now, though, she pulled her knees up onto her chair, leaned across the table, and pressed her lips to his.

He didn't know what to do at first, so she guided him. She kissed him lightly at first, ghosting her lips over his from corner to corner. Then she opened her mouth slightly. After a moment of hesitation, he did too, and she slipped her tongue between his lips.

His breath wasn't horrible at all. He'd been eating caramels recently, of which she approved, and drinking butterbeer. He certainly didn't drool – she'd only been joking about that – and he didn't stick his tongue down her throat. He touched the tip to hers, tentatively at first. Then, when she "Mmmm'd" approvingly, he began to explore.

She had to pull back finally, because her elbows were beginning to tremble and she was afraid she'd fall on her face, but she did so reluctantly and when cold air touched her lips she felt oddly bereft.

He was staring at her, his eyes half-closed, his lips still parted slightly. After a moment he shook himself and his eyebrows drew together worriedly. "Was that all right? Was it – do you think...?"

Ginny closed her mouth, as though she could keep the taste of him inside her. She nodded quickly and sank back into her chair.

"So," said Neville.

"Hmm," said Ginny, reluctant to open her mouth.

"So," Neville said again, sounding slightly torn. "So, Mandy Brocklehurst. At Madam Puddifoot's tomorrow..."

Ginny expelled her breath and said in a rush, "Are you doing anything afterward?"

She looked up at him. He smiled, and the light of it reached his eyes, reached hers. They sat there for a long time, looking at each other shyly, and their homework never did get finished.

8/22/04