Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was a quiet day for business. For starters, it was a Wednesday, which was the slowest day of the week. Usually, on Wednesdays, Neville could count on having three regular customers.

Today, only Mrs. Meares had shown. With frizzy grey hair and dull eyes, Mrs. Meares was a rather shrewd old lady who took up permanent residence at The Three Broomsticks and came to stock up on her weekly supply of Pepper-Up.

Other than her unbelievably thrilling drop-in, no one had stepped foot in the apothecary all day. Blaming the weather, Neville holed himself in the basement, which he’d transformed into a lab of sorts. Lining one wall were glass casings that held a variety of his current curations, which sat under a multitude of charms. The other wall was home to his work station—a long, sturdy wooden workbench he’d found at a Muggle antique shop. It was dinged up the perfect amount. Worn and beautiful. Neville added his own touch to the wood: carving vines and flowers that climbed the legs.

A jingle startled the quiet of the shop as the door opened and caught the bell that hung above the entrance. Even from downstairs, Neville heard Trevor—not a toad, but his cashier—greet the patron with a loud and eager “Welcome in!”

Trevor was an overzealous young wizard who would be entering his Seventh Year at Hogwarts in autumn and was in desperate need of a summer gig. Hiring him had been a favor to Luna, though, if she had told him ahead of time that her distant cousin had not even a modicum of spatial awareness, he wouldn’t have hired the young boy.

To put it nicely, Trevor was like his old familiar toad in a room of fragile glass. Absolute disaster. Nearly every week, Neville was mending and tending to a plant and its sprouts that had been knocked off a shelf by the Hogwarts student.

At least the boy was sociable. It allowed Neville to keep his nose and hands buried in dirt and cauldrons in his basement.

He continued analyzing his current specimen. An exotic plant that bloomed only every third full moon. The extract from its petals was a potential replacement for Puffer-fish eyes. Neville was hoping to craft a safe and faster production of the bloom, without harming the integrity of the plant.

Plants were something he’d mastered in the twelve years since graduating from Hogwarts. Neville found he had a special touch for flora. Sometimes, he swore he could communicate with plants in the same way few wizards could with snakes.

A commotion upstairs broke through his peace. Clattering followed by a sharp clang, then a shatter. Neville flicked a stasis over the specimen and dashed up the stairs. Trevor’s wail was wince-worthy, and a feminine voice trickled between like a Calming Draught to Neville’s ears. Then, another sound flickered through.

Neville followed the third sound—childish peals that seemed to float between the shelves. He turned the corner and found the culprit of the laughter.

The girl was small, with bony limbs and precise facial features. Her nose was rather flattened against her face, with large green eyes and sharp eyebrows. The shape of her face was familiar, reminiscent of someone from Neville’s youth who had biting words from a devilish tongue.

When the girl met Neville’s eyes, she froze mid-dash. A wide grin showed a missing front tooth and cheeks full of dimples.

“Hi there,” Neville lifted his fingers in a gentle wave.

The girl’s eyes widened, and her face began turning pink as she gave a shy wave back.

“Er, Bossman, a little help?”

Neville tilted his ear toward Trevor’s voice. Bossman. Another thing Neville was not too fond of, but no matter how many times he’d asked the boy to call him Neville, he refused.

“Yep, just a minute,” Neville called out. He extended a hand to the girl, and she grasped his first two fingers with a tiny but mighty grip.

Together they walked an aisle over. The first thing Neville’s eyes landed on was an arse.

A Godric-ly glorious arse. Bent over, practically waggling at him.

Perfectly rounded and put on display beneath a white linen dress, with a hem that was currently teasing dangerously close to exposing said glorious arse. The figure shifted, righting their bent angle, causing Neville’s eyes to trail down thighs that were begging to have his fingers imprinted on them.

A tug on his fingers shook him from soiled thoughts. That was when he finally took in the full scene before him. The floor had become a canvas of terracotta shards, disheveled leaves, and clumps of dirt. The centerpiece was Trevor.

Bloody Trevor.

The woman whose arse he’d been ogling was dusting the front of her summer dress. She turned sharply on her heel, a hand swiping bangs from her eyes.

“Daffodil!”

The girl released Neville’s fingers and ran toward the woman. Neville finally looked up from her hips—which looked like a perfect place for his hands—and realized he was staring into the green-blue eyes of his old schoolmate, Pansy Parkinson.

Those very eyes had haunted his dreams on occasion back in school. When it was late, and everyone was asleep, and his curtains were drawn around his bed.

“Longbottom?” Pansy said with her mouth popping open in surprise.

Neville couldn’t help the way his eyes dropped to her lips.

“Pansy,” Neville elongated her name, trailing off in question, unintentionally.

At once, his mind reeled, and he looked to her hands that now rested on the shoulders of the girl who was clearly her daughter. He recalled seeing her marriage announcement in the papers. Goyle, if he remembered correctly. But, Neville didn’t see a ring on her finger.

“Parkinson,” Pansy supplied. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip for a beat. “This is my daughter, Daffodil.”

Neville pulled his stare away from Pansy’s full lips and politely smiled at the girl he’d befriended moments ago.

“Pleasure to meet you, Daffodil. I went to school with your mum,” he said.

Daffodil blinked up at him before turning her chin towards her mother. With an exaggerated whisper, she said, “Mum, is he a giant?”

A loud laugh bubbled from Neville.

Neville had grown drastically the summer before his last year at Hogwarts. Shot up like a bean sprout, actually. His height nearly rivaled the Weasley boys, who had always been tall and lanky. It took him a couple of years to finally grow comfortable with his new height and refrain from purposely hunching.

Now, nearing thirty, Neville hadn’t lost his height, of course, but he had lost his lanky build. He had become quite muscular, particularly his shoulders and arms.

“No, Daff.” Pansy laughed. “Though, if he were, he’d be a gentle one.”

Her eyes pinned his with mirth, and Neville felt something light up within.

A throat cleared, and all eyes turned to the heap on the floor. Trevor was still a puddle of limbs on the ground. Neville extended a hand and heaved him upward, helping dust dirt off the boy’s back while Trevor wiped down his front.

“It wasn’t me this time, Bossman.” Trevor gestured to the mess.

Neville didn’t believe him, giving him a wary look.

Trevor surrendered his palms up. “Alright, alright. It was.”

“He was helping me reach the top shelf,” Pansy said. “Daff ran up behind us and it startled him. Our fault, really.” Pansy tucked her hair behind her ear.

Neville inspected the second shelf from the bottom, which seemed to have snapped in the middle. No doubt, from the weight of a wizard’s foot.

“Why didn’t you use the ladder, Trevor?”

“I’ll go get the broom,” was Trevor’s response in place of an explanation. He winced a smile and turned off toward the storage room.

“I am sorry for the mess,” Pansy said, but Neville waved her off.

“Trevor causes a disaster in here nearly every day. Don’t worry about it. Can I help you find what you were looking for?” Neville asked, stepping closer to the two Parkinsons.

“Oh! Of course.” Pansy said, startled as if having forgotten the reason for their outing. “Daffodil has—”

“I have dragon pox!” The girl interrupted with a dramatic sigh and wide eyes.

Neville paled at the serious diagnosis. Pansy interjected before his stomach made a full churn.

“Daff, you do not have dragon pox.” Pansy blew a breath out of the corner of her lips and looked to Neville. “She has poison ivy. She’s spent too much time around the Malfoy’s I’m afraid, filling her head with dramatics of course.” She gave an amused roll of her eyes.

“Poison ivy?” Neville asked. “That’s highly unusual to catch around here considering it’s not native.”

“Yes. Well, we can blame the Malfoy’s for that as well.” Pansy’s lips twisted. “A playdate with Scorpius led to an overnight, Muggle-style camping trip somewhere in the U.S.”

“Uncle Draco said it looks like dragon pox.” Daffodil chimed in. “He said I could die! Scorpius and I think I can come back as a ghost. It’d be wicked cool.” The girl gave Neville a toothy grin as she practically bounced on her tiptoes.

Her mother sighed, looking down at Daffodil with a weary patience. “Uncle Draco was being dramatic, Daff. You are not dying.” Pansy looked up at Neville. “Hermione assured me it was poison ivy, practically harmless, just annoyingly itchy. She recommended your store, though I didn’t realize it was your store.”

Neville’s insides twisted with her tone. “Is that, er, a bad thing?” He raised a hand to cup the back of his neck. Already, he felt a mortified flush forming on his face.

“Hm? Gods, no, of course not!” Pansy’s eyes grew wide. “I only meant, well, that I hadn’t been expecting you and your, well—” She waved a hand about his frame, mouth moving in silence to find a word. “You.”

Neville felt an odd embarrassment rise in his chest from her assessment. He cleared his throat and turned his back on her with a quick, “Follow me.” He led them out of the disaster-struck aisle and down a clean one. He stopped, busying himself with searching for a specific sample.

Luckily, Daffodil saved the awkward silence.“Mum, can I go look at the bugs over there?”

Neville glanced over his shoulder and saw the girl pointing towards the front window where his collection of preserved Glumbumble and Flitterby’s rested.

“Be careful,” Pansy said, providing her permission. The girl’s neon green shoes squeaked against the floor as she took off.

Neville found the jar he was looking for and plucked it off the shelf. When he turned back, Pansy stood significantly closer to him.

Her eyes snapped up from his waist and met his. Neville opened his mouth to speak, but Pansy’s stare stopped him.

And then, she did it. The trademark Pansy Parkinson move. One he’d witnessed her perform on nearly half of the Slytherin boys at one point or another.

Her eyes roamed down and up his body as a slow smirk spread across her lips. Once she held his stare again, she batted her eyelashes twice. Her head tilted thoughtfully to the left.

“You’ve grown up, Longbottom.” She practically purred in hushed tones.

Neville nearly dropped the jar and made a mess of his own. Instead, he fisted the glass tight, releasing a sharp breath of a laugh. Out of disbelief or joy, he didn’t know.

“So have you, Parkinson.” Neville dipped his eyes to her hips.

Pansy hummed a noncommittal response and stepped closer until her shoes were flush with his. Holding his eye contact, she reached between them and placed her fingers around his hand that was squeezing the life out of the jar of Jewelweed. She gave the jar a light tug, and he released it to her.

“Touch me,” Neville mumbled, dazed as he stared down at her.

“Excuse me?” Pansy blinked in surprise, and her eyebrow lifted. Her smirk pulled higher to one side.

“Not!” He blurted. “Touch-me-not!” Neville stepped back with a cough. “The plant,” he gestured to the jar. “It’s called Jewelweed or Spotted touch-me-not, erm, because the seeds explode. It’s soothing. Not the exploding, erm, the plant. It will help with the itching. For Daffodil.”

Neville snapped his mouth closed with a firm nod, pleading with himself to shut up. Pansy looked devilishly delighted by his bumbling. Her teeth had sunk into her bottom lip to hide laughter.

“Exploding seed, you say? Are you into those sorts of things?” Pansy said. Her grin was teasing.

“One could say that,” he replied. Neville was sure that his face was turning the shade of a tomato.

Pansy’s head tipped back, and a brilliant, sharp laugh filled the shop. He could only watch her with awe at her effortless beauty. The way her laughter brightened her entire face. Semi-recovered, Pansy smiled up at him.

“Now that, I’d like to see,” she whispered. Pansy brushed her fingers against his bicep and lightly trailed all the way to his wrist before pulling away. His skin felt licked by flames.

She stepped away from him as quickly as she had come, tossing her words over her shoulder as she strolled down the aisle. “Should I grab Murtlap Essence, too? For the swelling?”

Neville followed the sway of her hips as she walked away. He squeezed his eyes shut with a deep breath before following after her.

Pansy made her way to the register with Daffodil in tow. Neville grabbed an extra jar of Jewelweed and snagged a phial of Murtlap Essence.

He rang Pansy up and turned to package her items. Neville eyed the Murtlap.

It was wrong of him.

He turned back to Pansy with a smile and extended the bag. “Thanks for stopping in. It was a pleasant surprise, Pansy. And you, Miss Daffodil, I hope you feel better soon.”

Pansy winked goodbye, and the witches were out of the shop too soon for his liking.

Neville stared at the closed door. Beside him, Trevor snorted.

“Slick.”

Neville turned to the boy with a furrowed brow. Trevor was staring back at him with a smug grin and his hands in his pockets.

“You left out her Murtlap.”

“Oh, did I?” Aiming for nonchalant, Neville failed with a high pitch in his voice.

“You did.” Trevor nodded. He pushed off the counter and strolled toward the back exit. “Guess you have to see her again. As I said, slick.”

Tossing a loose wave over his shoulder in farewell, he parted with one last remark. “See ya, Bossman.”

The bell jangled as the door slammed shut behind him. Neville didn’t let the shame of being caught, or his purposeful mistake, sour his stomach with regret.

He had been rather slick, he thought. And it was worth it, because he would certainly be seeing Pansy Parkinson again.

The next day, Pansy hadn’t come back to the store for her Murtlap Essence. Nor had he received an owl inquiring about it the second day. So, Neville scribbled a letter himself to Hermione. Her response arrived an hour later, and soon he was closing the shop up early.

Neville made his way across London to the address Hermione had provided him. Children were exiting the building and latching onto their guardians as he approached. His eyes roamed the crowd until he spotted her dark bob and soft chin. A familiar head of curls stood next to her, and two children were running toward the pair. Daffodil was sporting her bright green trainers he’d seen on her feet the other day. They stuck out against the pavement.

He walked toward the quartet. Hermione spotted him first. Her face lit up, and she pulled him into a hug. Scorpius followed suit with a tight squeeze just above his kneecaps. Neville ruffled the boy’s hair with his knuckles before scooping him up and playfully hoisting him over his shoulder.

“Nevy, put me down!” Scorpius laughed and kicked his feet against the air.

Neville placed him on two feet safely and lowered himself to a knee, bringing him closer to the boy’s eye level. “Good to see you, Scorpius. How’s the snake plant I gave you?”

Scorpius grinned. “Not dead yet!”

“Told you that you could take good care of it,” Neville beamed and lifted a palm in the air. Scorpius smacked his smaller hand against his.

A finger poked him in the shoulder, and Neville turned his head to find Daffodil staring at him with quizzically narrowed eyes.

“Why hello, Miss Daffodil. Lovely to see you and your bright feet again.” Neville poked a finger into the toe of her trainers. The girl’s skepticism melted into a shy smile.

Looking up, Neville found the eyes of the woman he’d come to see.

“Pansy.” He ticked his mouth up at one corner.

“Longbottom.” She nodded at him.

He stood up and gathered the small paper bag he’d dropped a minute ago.

“I brought you this,” he said, extending the bag to Pansy. “You left it at the store the other day. I remmebered that you mentioned the kids were friends, so I owled Hermione on the details. Hope that was alright.”

Pansy’s eyes flicked to the bag, to his eyes, then back. After a moment, she reached for the handles, barely brushing her fingers against his. Neville’s hand dropped to his side, buzzing from the brief impact.

“Did I leave it?” She asked.

The look her daughter had given him a moment ago was clearly a resembled trait. Pansy’s eyes pierced him beneath narrowed lids and lashes. Her head tilted to the side with clear skepticism etched into her features. Neville’s heart pounded.

“Yep.”

Brilliant, Nev.

Pansy smirked. Her chin lifted with her response, “Well, I appreciate you bringing it to me.”

“Of course. It’s my pleasure. Anytime.”

Pansy’s smirk grew. He felt his face blushing, yet again, from her presence.

Would she always make him this nervous?

It became a game.

Over the next few months, Pansy had become a regular customer on Wednesdays, just like Ms. Meares. She popped in for an essence, or draught, or phial of something.

She always strolled through the store, searching, with a finger tapping against her chin. Either a sigh of frustration or a small sound of strain from the back of her throat had become Neville’s cue to come find her.

See, Pansy always needed help reaching the top shelf.

He’d find her on her tiptoes, with that perfect arse sticking out on purpose. Sometimes one heel was lifted off the ground. Her arm was stretched high above her head, causing an arch in her back that had her breasts sticking out in opposition to her arse. Neville had a hard time deciding where to focus his gaze.

The first couple of weeks, Neville didn’t dare to touch her. He stood close, but politely away, and helped find whatever was just out of her reach. On the fourth Wednesday, he made a move. His body sidled behind her, and he steadied her with a hand on her waist. Pansy had made the barest sound on her sharp inhale. Neville proceeded to reach over her, pressing his hips lightly into her backside.

Godric, if it hadn’t made him want to fuck her right there. He refrained, of course, ever a gentleman, from rutting his hips into her.

On their walk to the register, she’d ask mundane questions and stare up at him with those tantalizing eyes. They’d flirt as he cashed her out. She’d bid him farewell, and he’d say, “See you around.”

Pansy always purchased two items. Neville always sent her home with one.

And then, on Fridays, Neville would bring her whatever item she seemed to have accidentally forgotten.

Sometimes he ran into her at the school, where he could say hi to Daffodil. Other times, it was amid a crowd on the street in Diagon Alley. At a Muggle cafe. Or at the park on a bench. At the Leaky in the back booth. Her Floo—which she eventually gave him access to for ease, since she seemed to have a pattern of being oh, so forgetful.

It was becoming his favorite place to meet her.

The most recent was just last week. He popped his head through and found her practically indecent.

A small, fluffy towel that was far too short. Her skin was still wet from the shower. Her hair, half clipped back, revealed her ears. As she walked, the towel parted against the tops of her thighs, leaving less and less to his imagination. Her breasts were pushed up from the way she tucked the towel.

Her figure was highlighted for him. Her curves were wrapped tightly in the cotton.

Neville swallowed sharply as she rose up and pecked him on the cheek. Her cotton-clad breasts brushed against his chest.

As soon as he made it through the Floo and into his shop, Neville ignored Trevor’s daily mess, locked himself in the basement, and pulled out his cock.

It was Wednesday again. She’d be in soon, and today, Neville had a different plan.

When the door chime alerted him of her entrance, Neville was waiting for her behind the front counter.

“Hiya, Pansy.”

“Longbottom,” she greeted. “It’s quiet in here today.”

Neville nodded. “Trevor’s gone home early.”

Pansy’s head tilted in understanding of the reason for the quiet state of the shop. She approached the counter and placed her elbows on top, resting her chin in her hands.

This was not their usual agenda. She would normally be looking through the shelves right now.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Pansy said with such blunt confidence that Neville’s mouth dropped open in shock. She smirked. “Nothing to say, Longbottom?”

“I…” He had no words. His brain seemed to have stopped working. He blinked at the gorgeous witch before him. “No.”

Well, that certainly wasn’t what he wanted to say.

Pansy quirked an eyebrow. A look that could almost be classified as offended began to form on her face. Before it could develop any further, Neville’s brain seemed to snap into action. He leaned forward and crashed his lips against hers.

A soft oomph came from Pansy, but she softened into his lips immediately.

Neville pulled back, still not having found his words, and blinked at her. Pansy spoke for him.

“Are you going to fuck me, finally?”

His mouth lifted, and he huffed a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief at the wonder of a woman before him. “Yeah,” he chuckled. “Yeah, I am.”

“Well…” Pansy drummed her fingers against her cheek, still with grace and patience.

Neville took action quickly. He flicked his wand to the front door, flipping the open sign to closed and turning the lock. This was exactly why he sent Trevor home early.

Pansy leaned over the counter and reconnected their lips. Her fingers slid into his hair, tugging him closer.

While Neville loved his front counter, with its handmade carvings and exquisite tiling, he hated it in this moment for being a barrier between them.

Hating having to pull away from her lips, Neville did reluctantly. He grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the stairs to the privacy of his work room.

As soon as her feet hit the final stairs, Neville lifted her down and close, kissing her once more. He wrapped an arm around her waist and towered over her, deepening the kiss. Pansy’s tongue tested the waters first, and Neville met her with eagerness.

Her taste was slightly sweet and fully intoxicating. Neville moaned into her mouth and pulled her even closer. She matched the fervor of his mouth.

He felt like he was on Liquid Luck in this moment. The months of pining and flirting finally paid off.

Neville walked her further into the room, backing her into his workbench. Pansy’s lips were addictive. Her tongue was like a potion. Neville didn’t even want to come up for air from her. His lips roamed from her mouth to her neck, tilting her jaw back to expose the expanse of her skin. He grazed his teeth over her pulse and was rewarded with a small, mewling sound that he decided he would need to hear several more times.

Pansy’s hands slipped from his arms to his waist, tucking around him and bunching into the fabric of his shirt.

He lifted her onto the workbench. Pansy gripped his shoulders tightly from the shock of the suddenness. With a squeeze, he let go of her hips and found her knees, spreading her legs wide to make room for his hips. Her skirt bunched at the tops of her thighs. He gripped her backside and yanked. The workbench was the perfect height to line her up just right. Pressing himself forward, Neville rocked against her center, making sure she could feel just how hard he was through his trousers. A small sigh escaped her lips as he did so.

Neville nuzzled into her neck. His lips sucked kisses into her skin. “Lean back,” he murmured against her.

Pansy followed his command and sank to her elbows. She stared up at him with hungry eyes, her mouth parting just so. Neville took the opportunity. He traced a finger along her bottom lip before sinking inside. The pad of his finger pressed against her tongue. Pansy closed her mouth around him, and he pulled out with a pop. Trailing the dampness down her throat, he found her collarbones and traced those with a gentle line before dipping further.

His finger hooked into the first button of her blouse, and with his thumb, he pushed the button undone, then slid to the next, and then the next. Once her chest was exposed, Neville took a moment to stare, and a small grin slid up his face.

“Are you just going to ogle me?” Pansy huffed, amused, and raised a disciplining brow.

Neville crossed his arms and heaved a breath. A singular low laugh rang from his chest. “With that attitude, yes, I think I will.” He nodded his head at her. “Go on, love. Take them out for me to stare properly.”

Pansy smirked. Leaning her weight to one elbow, she tugged the cups of her bra over her breasts, until they were spilling out. Neville held back a groan. He wanted to bury his face, and his cock, between them. Beneath his stare and the cool air, her nipples had already begun to pebble.

“Look at what we have here. A perfect specimen, so far. Care if I run a few tests?”

Her breath caught sharply, and her breasts shook with the motion. “By all means, Mr. Longbottom."

“Let’s do a sort of controlled test first, hm? Let’s see what happens when you play with your nipples. Then, I’ll see what happens when I do.” Neville remained unmoved, still with his arms crossed and his cock stiff.

Pansy cupped her left breast with a light squeeze and rubbed her thumb against the nipple. She continued until soft gasps were leaving her lips. She let go and sucked on a finger before bringing it back with a teasing circle around her peak. That was his breaking point.

“My turn,” Neville groaned.

And before she could fully catch herself back on both elbows, his hands were cupping her flesh with a squeeze. He took his time, rolling her nipples between his fingers, until he latched on to her with his mouth. Pansy’s moans filled his ears with a thrill that shot down his spine.

“That’s it. Let me hear you,” Neville said.

His hands slid up her thighs and slipped beneath her skirt. Pansy widened her legs and inched closer to the edge of the table and his waist in response.

Pulling his mouth from her chest, Neville lowered to his knees.

“Can I test my mouth elsewhere?” He asked while pulling her underwear to the side. His eyes never left her face.

Pansy gasped at the exposure and was nodding, “Please do.”

Neville didn’t hesitate. His head dipped forward, and his tongue flattened a long lick against her center. As he reached her clit, he pointed his tongue to flick against the bud just once. A tease.

Pansy yanked on his hair.

He continued his pursuit, taking note of which sounds she made when he sucked here, or licked there. Her thighs threatened to tighten around his shoulders, but Neville held her open with his palms tight against her knees.

When he dipped his tongue inside, she keened.

“I’m close, Neville. Please. Need you up here,” Pansy panted on her back.

She yanked his hair, and he ignored it, letting go of one of her knees. Neville latched his lips around her clit and sucked, while he slipped a finger inside of her. Her body jerked. Her leg, which he hadn’t been holding down, kicked out, and then her heel found home in the juncture between his shoulder and neck.

“Neville,” Pansy moaned his name, and the sound went straight to his cock.

Only a moment longer, and she was coming. He felt her tighten against his finger, nearly pushing him out. He pulled away from her, sucking his finger into his mouth, and stood.

Pansy’s chest was heaving. Her eyes were closed and her face was flushed. Neville undid his belt, then his zipper, and the sound of it coming undone brought her eyes open.

A lazy smirk grew upon her face. “Please, please, fuck me now.”

He laughed and pulled himself out, giving a couple of quick tugs, before he sank inside her.

“You feel bloody amazing.”

Neville grunted at the feeling of her wrapped around him. Her warmth was suffocatingly glorious. He gripped her thighs as he began a series of thrusts into her. His eyes focused on the way her breasts bounced against her chest with each punctuation of his hips against hers.

Pansy flitted between clawing at his forearms and digging her nails into the wooden workbench. He hoped she’d leave a mark of her fingernails in the wood—he’d be able to reminisce on this moment any time he was down here.

“Look at you, Pansy.” Neville increased the speed of his hips, staring down where they were connected.

Pansy sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, struggling to conceal her whines.

“You’re so fucking sexy. I couldn’t get you out my head since the first day you walked in this shop. Fuck, I’m close,” Neville groaned. “That short dress and these hips— your arse, fuck me.”

He could feel her tightening around him. The sensation was torturous and he was so close to the edge. When Pansy yelled out his name, nails piercing into the skin of his arms, Neville released right after her, with a final stuttered motion of his hips.

The humidity in the basement was even worse after their escapade. They straightened themselves back to presentable in an unsettling silence, with only the bubbling of a cauldron in the corner dampening the quiet.

Neville suddenly grew unsure of their behavior this afternoon. He’d been too forward. She wouldn’t want to see him again. Gods, maybe she would never step foot in the apothecary again, and then—

“You should take to me to dinner,” Pansy said.

Pansy was sitting atop his workbench, still, buttoning the final button on her shirt. She slid off the counter and adjusted her skirt before stalking up to him. Placing a hand just beneath the column of his throat, she scratched her nails lightly at his patch of hair that peeked out.

“I’m free tomorrow night, say seven? Plus, I need an opportunity to see you shirtless.” With a parting pat against him, she stepped around him and headed up the stairs.

“Pansy!”

Neville found his voice at the last second and turned quickly on his heel. She paused at the top and looked over her shoulder with a quizzical brow.

“I’ll be picking you up at six.”

She quirked her lips in approval, and once again, he was left staring after her and her beautiful arse.

Neville arrived early, with a bouquet and sweaty palms. (Though Pansy didn’t notice, thank Godric.) She tugged him inside by his tie and greeted him with a forceful kiss against the back of her front door.

Soon, the bouquet was forgotten on the floor as were Pansy’s heels, as she was up against the wall, with her legs over his shoulders. Neville’s workouts had come in handy.

He had her against his mouth as an aperitif. Pansy came quick and hard. Neville could taste her between the sips of Sancerre at dinner. An exquisite pairing with his salmon.

They talked for hours, eventually moving from the restaurant to a bar, and then to his flat.

They covered their school years, her first marriage, their goals, wants, and beliefs. Neville had never felt this enamored so quickly in his life. Sure, they’d been in flirtations for months, but they rarely talked about anything beyond potions or niceties. This was entirely different. He was beginning to put together all the pieces he knew of Pansy Parkinson. What he thought he liked before, he was sure he really liked now.

When she finally spoke about Goyle, Neville was surprised to learn how much had been kept quiet from the Daily Prophet. That Skeeter lived for old money, Pureblood gossip.

“We were essentially betrothed since birth. I tried to love him, but we were just too different. He wasn’t the one.” She lifted a shoulder. “The contract required a child, so once I became pregnant it was fulfilled and we were able to divorce. Greg sees her occasionally, but he didn’t really care to be a part of our lives.”

Pansy shifted on the couch, her toes digging into the side of Neville’s thigh. He brought a hand to her ankle, rubbing his thumb soothingly over the bone.

“When we found out I’d be having a girl, Greg was even less interested, since she can’t claim heirship of the Goyle Estate. I’ve essentially raised Daff as a single parent her whole life. I’ve had the help of Draco, of course, and Blaise, visits from Italy, but. It’s just the two of us mostly.”

Pansy took a deep breath. Her sincere stare pierced Neville as she spoke. “She’s my whole life.”

A heavy air settled between them, and Pansy blinked down at her teacup. The meaning behind her words was not lost on Neville.

He shifted and lifted her feet onto his lap. Her toes were painted a dark purple. Noticing he was staring, Pansy wiggled them, and he moved his eyes to her face with a small smile.

“I’ve not let anyone in, in a long time,” Pansy whispered.

Neville noted the shine that formed over her green eyes. His heart tugged at the sight.

“And Daffodil is your priority. If you do let someone in,” Neville paused. “It’s not temporary,” he said, finishing her thought with a tight whisper of his own.

She gave him a small nod and a tiny smile. Her head tilted to the side, and his eyes followed the tear that rolled down her cheek. “I’d really like to let you in to our lives, Neville, if you’d have us.”

Neville nearly folded in half as he leaned over her legs until his nose was nearly bumping hers. “Absolutely, I would,” he murmured against her lips.

Neville quickly learned that Daffodil and Pansy could easily become his whole world. He was enamored with the witches. He found himself zoning out at work, imagining a life with them. Creating a home. Settling down.

It seemed sudden, but felt precisely right and so, so simple.

Life with Pansy was easy in an effortless way. They just worked. Perfectly meshed together.

Days turned into weeks, which turned into months. Pansy and Neville began spending more mornings and evenings together than they did alone.

Soon, Neville spent more time at the Parkinson home than he did in his own flat. He knew that the drawer to the left of the sink held the silverware and the cabinet above the stove held the spices.

He learned Daffodil’s morning and bedtime routine. Her favorite color was green, any shade, but particularly lime green, which he had guessed from her shoes, but now knew her toothbrush was the same shade. As was her stuffed frog, Fran.

Neville had discovered that Pansy preferred tea first thing in the morning, followed by coffee just after breakfast. Her bathroom had two sinks—she preferred the one on the left. Her entire house was tidy, except for her closet. She always kept her toes painted some shade of purple.

Pansy loathed cooking, but she liked baking. So, Neville cooked dinner for his girls, with Daffodil sitting on the counter, handing him ingredients, her feet kicking against the bottom cabinetry in a rhythmic pattern.

If Pansy wasn’t out in the yard, or in her chair by the front window with a book, he would find her in her painting room. Neville loved finding her while she was painting. Her hair would be clipped back, with her bangs messily falling against her forehead, wearing an oversized shirt or, lately, one of his own.

Her paint room was where he found her one memorable morning. The sunlight flowed through the windows and hit her features just right. She looked radiant and in her element.

“You’re up early,” Neville said into her neck. He peeked over her shoulder at her latest watercolor.

“I felt inspired.” Pansy looked up at him. Her cheeks turned light pink. It was a rare sight to see Pansy Parkinson blush, and Neville took great pleasure in witnessing it.

“Is that so?” He hummed and pressed a kiss beneath her ear. “Maybe I can spark more inspiration in the shower this morning?”

Pansy laughed, leaning into his lips. “I think I could be persuaded.”

Pansy took him in his mouth that morning after their shower. Her jaw, wide open, barely able to contain him in entirety.

Twice, she sank her mouth fully down, enveloping him until he hit the back of her throat. The third time he tapped the back, he came. Sudden and uncontrollable, like a teen behind a staircase between classes. Neville panicked, moving quickly to remove himself, but her nails dug into his skin, just beneath his left buttock, keeping him in place.

He hissed as he came, watching in awe as Pansy took every last drop. It was a pure fantasy of his youth come to light nearly fifteen years later. Parkinson on her knees and swallowing him up.

Sex with Pansy was one of the most wonderful and enlightening experiences of his life. Neville was always rather shy, but in the bedroom with Pansy, he felt at ease to let go.

Her curves were ever teasing, too, which didn’t help his apparent insatiable self around her.

One night, which would forever be engraved in his memory, Pansy spent the night at his flat, a rare occurrence since their first date with Daffodil, but she had stayed over at Scorpius’s house, which meant Neville and Pansy were free for the evening.

And Neville had let loose.

He turned her over in bed with a heavy hand. She gasped at his force. Face sinking into the pillows. Neville yanked her by the hips, bringing her to her knees. Godric, she was a sight. The arch of her spine, with her arse on display for him, was a sight he would commit to memory.

Pansy shifted her cheek against the pillow to turn and look at him over her shoulder. Her neck was turned awkwardly, but she could see him from the corner of her vision.

Keeping one hand firm on her hip, Neville brought his other hand to his cock, which bobbed against his lower abdomen. Neville met her eyes as he raised his palm toward his lips and spit. Gripping himself, he began with slow strokes of his hand. His eyes refocused from hers to her arse.

Her body was perfect and soft and—

He smacked his hand against her left cheek.

Pansy jolted forward with a squeak. He soothed her skin with his palm for a moment before he reared back with another sharp smack. Her skin rippled beneath his strike. His other hand, wrapped tight around his cock, gave a deathly squeeze at the sight of her flesh moving with the force of his strike.

He quickened his strokes. Twisted his wrist every second stroke, with a tighter squeeze against his tip, until finally he was close to his breaking point. Neville pushed his hips forward until his cock rested between her cheeks. He took both hands and spread her enough to make space for himself between her flesh. He rutted against her, fucking himself a few final thrusts between her arse cheeks until spurts of white were landing on her back.

That night had definitely satiated his desires for at least a few days.

After a jesting argument over dessert, ice cream, or cherry pie (they ended up with both), Neville was cleaning up the kitchen as Pansy got Daffodil ready for bed.

The girl ran behind him at the sink, wrapping her arms around him, and hurried her face to the backs of his knees.

“Goodnight, Nev,” Daffodil said.

“Goodnight, Dill. Don’t let the Doxies bite.” Neville pressed a kiss to his fingers and then pressed his fingers against the crown of her head.

The two witches disappeared, and he finished clearing their mess from dinner before settling on the couch.

It’d been a while since Pansy went to tuck Daffodil into bed. He wandered down the hall to check on them. They had the habit of falling asleep while reading a bedtime story. Neville paused by the cracked bedroom door when he heard Daffodil’s voice.

“Uncle Draco said you’re in love with him.”

“Well, Uncle Draco says a lot of things, doesn’t he?” Pansy said.

He heard her sigh and could imagine the eye roll that always followed any mention of something Draco said. Neville’s lips quirked up at the thought. He couldn’t deny that Malfoy was a dramatic gossip.

“It’s our secret,” Pansy continued. “But yes, Uncle Draco was right. I do love him. Is that alright with you?”

There was a long pause. Neville’s chest tightened with concern. He hadn’t thought about the possibility of Daffodil not being okay with him dating Pansy. Though they were growing closer, the girl still seemed shy when it came to opening up with him. But Godric, he adored her.

“Mum, is it alright if I love Nev, too?” Daffodil’s voice was tiny.

Neville’s throat grew tight at her words. He snuck back down the hall to the kitchen before he eavesdropped any further. Gripping the edge of the sink, Neville rocked his weight into his palm, back and forth, swallowing the thick lump that had formed in his throat.

They’d been seeing each other for almost a year, now, but neither had said those words yet. Neville knew he was in love with her after just two months. But they agreed to take their feelings slow, for Daffodil’s sake, though he suspected, also for Pansy’s sake.

He was lost in thought when Pansy found him, placing a hand between his shoulder blades. Startled, he turned, blinking away the glaze he knew was in his eyes. Pansy’s eyebrows dipped at the sight, and before she could ask him what was wrong, he took her face in both hands. His thumbs swiped near her temples.

“Pansy, I love you.”

Her mouth parted in shock. A quiet gasp escaped. Neville’s heart pounded hard and fast in his chest. She blinked once. Twice. Then, her lips split into a brilliant smile.

“I love you too, Neville.” Pansy reached up to grip his wrists. “Stay tonight?”

Neville answered with his lips pressing against hers.

Tucked away in Pansy’s bedsheets, they pressed those three little words into each other’s skin repeatedly. He would never tire of hearing them from her.

He sank down her body, drawing a path with his mouth from her lips to her cunt.

If it were a viable option, he would bury his head between her thighs for eternity if she let him. Forget the apothecary. All he would ever need to sustain him was beneath him.

He worked his tongue how she liked, taking pride in the way her fingers tugged his hair, and her whimpers caught in her throat.

She was close when her thigh jolted, knocking into his ear. Neville wrapped a palm around her leg, pulling her limb flat against the mattress. He sucked hard, and soon she was quaking beneath him. Through her orgasm, his tongue still moved. Savoring her heat, her taste.

He pressed another “I love you” into her hipbone when he finally climbed back up her body, before tugging her to his chest as they fell asleep.

She shared with him over dinner one evening that she was considering going back to the wondrous world of work. Neville offered his full support for the idea, offering to help in any way he could.

“I want to do something with my art, I think.” Pansy shrugged and took a sip of her wine. “It makes me happy, and I’ve found doing things that make me happy has been very rewarding as of late.”

She winked at him, and Neville silently cursed himself for the way that six months in, she still was so easily able to make him blush.

He retaliated in his bed and made her blush profusely.

“You’re fucking perfect, Pansy. Your cunt was made for me. These curves—fuck—I would do anything to fuck this body of yours for the rest of my life.” It was harsh on his own ears as the words escaped him. His ears heated, but his hips pounded into her again.

Pansy whimpered beneath him. Nearly there, he could tell by the hitch in her breath. That particular pitch in her whine.

“Nev, please. Please. I need you.”

“You have me—fuck.”

“I need—

“What do you need, Pans? I’d give you anything. Tell me what you need.”

“Neville, please, I need—need—”

And then she came with a piercing cry. Three more thuds of his hips against hers, and Neville came with a groan into her shoulder. Her thighs shook around his waist as he emptied inside her. Their breaths calmed, and their bodies stayed intertwined. Pansy’s hand stroked through his hair. Her fingers spent extra care behind his ear in a way that could lull him to sleep.

“I mean it,” Neville said. “I would give you anything you want.” The words brushed against Pansy’s collarbone.

He felt her take a deep breath beneath his cheek. Her fingers stuttered in his hair.

“Anything?” Pansy whispered.

Neville nodded. The stubble on his chin tickled her chest from the movement. “Anything, Pansy,” he said.

“And if I said I want to spend the rest of my life with you?”

If his head hadn’t been on her chest, he would have missed the words—that’s how softly she had spoken. The hand in his hair froze. Neville lifted his head and met her eyes. The expression on Pansy’s face was so sincere that it struck him. Her eyes had a whisper of fear that he quickly wished to remedy.

“I would bind my soul to yours tomorrow,” Neville said and then leaned in to kiss her.

Neville took her slowly the next morning. Too early, perhaps, to call it yet morning, but Neville had a rather particular brew to work on that required tending before sunrise. But first, he tended to his Pansy.

“I have an interview with The Quibbler!”

Pansy’s screech of excitement bounced off the walls. She pulled Neville into a hug before pulling back to stare at the letter in her hands.

“They loved my work and want me to sit down to discuss becoming their new cover artist,” she said.

Neville wrapped his arms around her again, beaming at her. “Pansy, this is wonderful! Congrats, darling. When is it?”

“Thursday at 3. Oh! Would you be able to pick up Daff for me that afternoon?” Pansy bit her lip and looked back at the letter. Her excitement radiated off her in contagious waves. Neville couldn’t help but stare at the brightness in her eyes.

“Of course, darling.” He kissed her cheek. “I’m so excited for you.”

When he picked Daffodil up from school on Thursday afternoon, he took her to Fortescue’s. She chose the pumpkin ice cream with chocolate sprinkles. An excellent choice, if you asked him.

They sat outside to eat, and Daffodil’s candor came quickly.

“Are you like my dad now?”

Neville froze with his spoon inches from his mouth. His face shifted into a series of expressions that displayed panic. Setting the spoon in his cup, he cleared his throat, hoping to garner courage for the conversation with the soon-to-be eight-year-old.

“What do you mean, Dill?”

Neville had taken to calling her Dill a month after becoming official with Pansy. A namesake for her green shoes.

Daffodil shrugged a shoulder and took another lick of ice cream. Her lips smacked together before she spoke. “You and Mum love each other, and you’re around all the time. So, that makes you sort of like a dad now, right?”

Neville took a steadying breath. “I think it would be a good idea to talk with your mum about me being like your dad.”

Daffodil tilted her head. “Do you want to be my dad?”

It took everything in Neville to hold back the emotion in his eyes. He swallowed on a dry mouth. Pansy and he had yet to broach this topic. He was so worried about saying the wrong thing.

“I love you very much, Dill. Just as I love your mum. And I love spending time with you both. You know that, right?”

Daffodil nodded. Neville mirrored her.

“Good. I think that’s what matters the most. That you know how much I love you.”

Her adorable face scrunched up in contemplation. She took a few more licks of her ice cream, and Neville was practically holding his breath in panic.

“Okay,” she said. “I think I would like for you to be my dad, though. I’ll talk to mum about it.”

Neville’s chest fell with his exhale. A wave of relief and adoration washed over him as he stared at the little girl. How he had gotten so lucky, he would never know.

It wasn’t planned in the traditional sense. It was spontaneous and quiet, like they were.

They were curled in bed together, well and truly spent. Pansy’s left hand drew lazy patterns across Neville’s abdomen. He caught her hand and traced down each of her fingers, stopping at the second-to-last. Neville rubbed back and forth above the knuckle of her ring finger, lost in thought.

“Pansy,” he said with a thick voice.

She tilted her head up, still tucked against his side.

“I want to marry you. Would you allow me the honor?” Neville said.

Pansy’s lips formed a small smile. “You’d be signing up for a handful,” Pansy said. “Like mother, like daughter. Are you sure you can handle us?”

“Silly witch,” Neville said softly. “I’m well up for the task of taking care of my girls.”

“Pansy Longbottom.” She tested the name on her lips. “It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? Speaking of, is there a ring?” She asked.

He gave her a crooked grin. “Of course there is.”

And there was. In a box in his desk drawer. A sapphire that belonged to his Gran.

Pansy breathed a laugh through her nose. The air tickled his chest. “I’d marry you without a ring,” she said.

“I know.” Neville’s grin grew.

“I’ve done the hundreds of guests, and flowers, and fussing.” Pansy sighed, then continued. “I would do it tomorrow. Just you, me, and Daff. It’d be simple and… perfectly us.”

“Whatever you would like. At the end of it all, I just want to be able to call you my wife. Call you and Daffodill my family.” Neville dipped his head down and kissed her.

Two days later, Pansy in her white summer dress, and Neville in the blue shirt that was her favorite, made their way to the Ministry with Daffodil and her lime green shoes holding their hands between them.

The couple received an earful from their friends for the quiet union, which was expected. However, the Malfoys were still the first to volunteer to watch Daffodil so that they could properly enjoy their honeymoon. Neville made Draco swear there would be no camping abroad. He did not want his poor Dill to endure another case of poison ivy or whatever else, Malfoy might get the kids into.

Pansy and Neville honeymooned in Greece.

The hot sun looked splendid on her skin. They spent their days on the beach, drank copious amounts of wine, and had an even more copious amount of sex.

In the morning, mid-afternoon, and at night. Like their own little routine. Neville would never get enough of her beneath his touch, his mouth. And now he had her forever.

A month after the wedding, Pansy and Daffodil visited Neville at work.

“We have a surprise!” Daffodil covered her grin with tiny fingers and snickered with mischievous eyes.

“Is that so?” Neville gasped and widened his eyes as he stared down at his little nodding witch. “Well, when can I have my surprise?”

Daffodil tapped her chin with a finger. Her face wrinkled in concentration. In a quick motion, she turned to Pansy and engaged in a silent communication with her eyes, before turning back to Neville. She ushered her towards him with a hand. Neville bent down to her level and leaned in as she cupped a hand to his ear.

“I changed my name.”

Neville reared his head back at her words. His throat tightened with an invisible weight crushing his vocal cords. He looked from Daffodil, then up at Pansy with questioning eyes.

“Wh—” He couldn’t finish the word.

Daffodil stepped back, placing her hands on her hips with a confident smile. She looked so similar to the girl he met on the Hogwarts train so many years ago.

“My new name is Daffodil—Dill—Longbottom,” she said proudly. “And I want you to be my dad.”

Neville’s glassy eyes finally cleared as he felt a dampness stream down his cheeks, staring at the girl in awe.

“I have the papers for you to sign to make it official,” Pansy said in a soft voice. He could note the emotion caught in her throat.

Neville swallowed thickly. He tugged Daffodil in close by her waist, and his other hand reached out to tangle with Pansy’s.

“I’d love to be your dad, Dill.”

Neville pressed a kiss to her cheek. Her arms wrapped tight around his neck, mumbling “I love you, Dad,” into his collar.

His arm squeezed her tighter. “I love you more,” he said.

Neville strained his eyes upward once more to Pansy and her brilliant smile, and matching wet cheeks.

I love you, Neville mouthed.

I love you, Pansy mouthed back.

Thank Godric, he thought, for poison ivy and forgotten murtlap.