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“Morning, roomie!” Theo called out as he stepped into the kitchen, stifling a yawn with one hand as the other scratched absentmindedly at his stomach. Neville sighed, gripping the marble on either side of his hips as he pressed himself closer to the corner where the countertops met.
“We aren’t roommates, Theo,” he sighed. “Your flat is across the hall. How did you even get in here?”
“Semantics,” Theo called out. Neville heard the door to the cooling cabinet open, and he shifted on his feet, gritting his teeth to stifle a groan.
“I just needed to borrow some orange juice, love,” Theo explained. “And I cast an Alohamora, obviously.”
“I’m going to install a dozen Muggle locks,” Neville warned with a sigh. “You can’t just pop in like this.”
“Well, someone’s grumpy this morning,” Theo intoned. Neville looked over his shoulder, watching as Theo pulled out the carton of orange juice, a block of cheese, and the container of strawberries, balancing the lot in his arms as he bit into a piece of string cheese.
“Anyway, good to see you as always, Nev. I’m off. Promised George breakfast in bed last night,” Theo said. Neville watched as he made his way toward the door and then paused, glancing back over his shoulder as he called out, “Bye, Hermione! See you at lunch!”
“Bye, Theo,” Hermione giggled, waving as she peeked around Neville’s shoulder from where she sat on the counter in front of him, blocked almost entirely by his large frame.
The sound of the door closing rang out through the small flat, and Neville cursed under his breath, digging his fingers harder against the countertop as he dropped his head and pressed his nose to Hermione’s curls.
“I love that man, but I swear to Godric I’m going to kill him someday,” he sighed.
“You could kill him. Or, you could get back to work.” Hermione clenched her muscles, tightening herself around Neville’s cock, and he finally let out the groan he’d been holding as he moved his hands back to her thighs.
He shifted in front of her, spreading her legs wider as he rolled his hips. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to stand here and talk to him while you were clenching this pretty little pussy all over my cock?”
“Mmhmm,” Hermione hummed, sucking in a breath as Neville drew his cock back and then plunged back inside of her. He reached up, placing one hand on the back of her neck to force her to hold his gaze as he began to move—long, torturous strokes designed to break her apart.
“Be good, Hermione,” he murmured, tilting his head down to brush his lips along her jaw as he thrust harder inside of her. “Let me feel you fall apart for me, sweet girl.”
“Nev,” she gasped, her fingers digging into his biceps. “Please, I feel—Neville, I’m so close.”
“Are you?” Neville pulled back, gripping her chin with his thumb and forefinger as he forced her eyes up to meet his. “Are you going to come for me, little witch?”
Hermione nodded, swallowing roughly as her brows pinched together. Her hold on his arms tightened, nails digging into flesh, and Neville groaned as he leaned in to slant his mouth over hers.
“Feels so good,” she whimpered into his mouth. Neville groaned, sliding his hand up from the back of her neck to tangle his fingers in her hair. He gripped the strands firmly, tugging her head back as he moved his mouth to her neck.
“You feel good,” he replied, rolling his hips to drive his cock deeper inside of her. “So bloody tight, baby. Fuck, you’re so wet for me. And you’re so close, aren’t you? What do you need, love? Let me give it to you.”
“T-touch me,” Hermione stuttered out through gasping breaths.
“Good girl.” Neville kissed her shoulder as he released his hold on her thigh. He slid his hand up, splaying his fingers over her stomach as he pressed his thumb to her clit and began to draw slow, tight circles of the sensitive nub.
Hermione gasped and leaned back, her shoulders braced against the cupboards behind her as she bit her lip. Her brows pinched together once more, and she nodded.
“Yeah? That’s it, isn’t it? Feel good, baby?” Hermione nodded again, and Neville straightened, watching her face as he continued to move. He could feel his release pooling in his lower stomach, his cock throbbing almost painfully inside of her clenching heat, but he held back. He thrust harder, faster, his thumb steady against her clit as he felt her cunt spasming around his cock.
“Neville,” Hermione moaned out his name, her voice thick and needy as she came. “Oh, gods, you feel so good.”
“There it is,” he crooned. “Godsdamn, you drive me crazy. The way this fucking—fuck, baby.”
He yanked her forward by her hair, crashing his mouth to hers as he spilled inside of her, and Hermione moaned, deepening the kiss and tangling her tongue with his until his cock finally ceased its throbbing.
“So bloody perfect,” he said through laboured breaths as he pulled back, smoothing her hair out of her face. “Better, now?”
“Yes,” Hermione agreed with a laugh. “I’m sorry I was so moody this morning. I’m just anxious about lunch. They’ll all have received the owls by then. I hope they’re excited for us.”
“No sorries,” Neville said, planting another quick peck on her lips before he gripped her thigh and slid his cock out of her with a grunt.
“They’ll be ecstatic for us, baby. All these years, and nobody has ever had a single negative thing to say about our relationship, right? Don’t overthink it.” Neville tucked his cock away, running his thumbs along the waistband of his pyjama pants as he re-situated his clothing and then looked back up to watch Hermione hop off the counter.
“And for what it's worth, never apologise for being in a mood in the morning,” he added. “You know that getting to have my fiancée first thing is my favourite start to the day.”
“Fiancée.” Hermione sighed dreamily as she held her hand out, inspecting his mother’s ring for what must have been the thousandth time in the last week. “I can’t believe we’re getting married.”
“I can’t believe you finally said yes. I’ve only been asking since we were fifteen,” Neville chuckled as he reached for her arm. He tugged her against his chest, resting his cheek atop her head, and Hermione wrapped her arms around his waist as she sighed in contentment.
“Good things come to those who wait,” she quipped. “Now, first shower, or breakfast duty?”
“Breakfast,” Neville decided. “Go clean up, baby. I’ll make you an omelette, yeah?”
“My hero,” Hermione sighed, clutching her hands to her chest as she pretended to swoon.
Neville grinned, running his hand over his mouth as he watched her walk away, the creases below her round arse on full display beneath the hem of his t-shirt as he thought, also for the thousandth time in the last week, that he just might be the luckiest wizard on the entire godsforsaken planet.
Getting Hermione to agree to marry him had been no easy feat. He truly had been asking her for almost as long as they’d been together. And while he’d been half-joking in the first few years, in the starry-eyed first-love sort of way, he was certain by the time the war ended that he wanted this, with her.
A future. A real life, a happy home, a whole house full of kids with her wild hair. His mother’s ring on her finger, his last name—unfortunate as it may have been—on the woman he had loved since he was eleven years old, the woman he had gotten to love out loud since he was only thirteen.
Naturally, Hermione was focused. She had a five-year plan, and a ten-year, and so on and so forth, and every time he brought up marriage, she simply patted his cheek and told him, “Not yet.”
She told him he’d know when the time was right, and for as many times as he thought he felt that thing, nothing compared to the moment when they knew. It had been a night like any other; the two of them, curled up on the couch in their flat while he annotated a book about venomous plants and she talked about her day at the foundation she’d spearheaded after the war.
When he’d set the book down, she’d laid her head in his lap. And it was then, as he ran his hand through her hair whilst he stared down at her, watching the way her eyes lit up as she talked about a new initiative to bring educational resources to children that resided in forest-dwelling werewolf packs, that a feeling had bloomed in his chest.
He couldn’t explain the way it played out. For all the times he’d imagined getting down on one knee, filling a room with her favourite flowers, hiring an orchestra, or the million other scenarios his mind had concocted over the years, the proposal was more a lack thereof.
After she’d gone to bed to read, he’d come out of the shower to find her curled around a book, his favourite jumper hanging off one shoulder, and her hand tucked beneath her cheek as her curls spilt across the pillow, and he’d just… acted.
The ring had been in the drawer of his nightstand for the better part of two years, and as he’d climbed into bed and cancelled the disillusionment charm, he’d just known. Truly, unwaiveringly known, just as she’d said he would.
And so, he slipped the ring on her finger and gently placed her book onto the nightstand before he pulled her into his arms and went to sleep. In the morning, he awoke to the sight of her leaning back against the headboard, staring down at her hand with a goofy grin. The moment she caught him watching her, she said yes, and then, after a few rounds of celebration, she had settled on a plan to tell their friends.
The Save-the-Dates had been sent out the morning before. A fun way to surprise everyone, Hermione had said. Neville had agreed, if only because he didn’t foresee a world in which Hermione, soon-to-be-Longbottom, could have possibly been wrong about a single thing.
Now, it was nearly time to face the music. Molly Weasley was hosting a lunch at the Burrow to celebrate Hermione’s latest legislative measure being passed, and all of their friends would be in attendance. It was sure to be a spectacle, and while they’d always preferred to keep their relationship private, he couldn’t deny his excitement.
Neville could not have cared less for the attention they would receive when they stepped through the Floo, but Hermione deserved to be celebrated by a room full of their friends and family, so, for her, he’d deal with the rabble—if only because he knew that at the end of it all, he’d get to bring her home and have her all to himself again.
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When they arrived, the Burrow was eerily silent and utterly devoid of the usual hustle and bustle that pulsed within the Weasley home. Hermione looked up at Neville, who furrowed his brow and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze before he slipped his hand in hers.
“Maybe everyone’s out back,” he murmured as he led her deeper into the home.
However, when they turned the corner toward the kitchen, intending to head toward the back door, they found several people gathered around the long dining table, silently staring down at something Hermione couldn’t see from her vantage point.
Molly glanced up as they entered, then looked around wildly, as if she were shell-shocked, before she pasted a smile on her face. “Oh. Erm…hullo dearies. Sit, sit,” she rushed out, gesturing to the empty chairs to her left as she held up the Save-the-Date card. “We were just talking about your…news. Your wonderful news,” she quickly corrected.
Hermione smiled as Neville brought her hand to his face, kissing her knuckles before he released her and pulled out the chair to Molly’s left. Hermione took the seat as she glanced around the table, where Ron, Daphne, Ginny, Pansy, George, Theo, Harry, Luna, Dean, and Seamus all sat.
Everyone looked… strange, and she opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but Neville spoke first.
“The cards are beautiful, aren’t they?” Neville asked, taking the seat next to Hermione. He nodded toward Harry, who sat across the table, staring down at the Save-the-Date in his hand, before he continued, “I can’t believe Hermione found someone to get them done so quickly, but leave it to her to make things happen once her mind is made up.”
“Right. Erm, it’s—well, it's certainly wonderful, we just…” Harry trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.
“We’re confused,” Seamus cut in.
“Is this one of those marriage pact situations?” Ginny asked. “Like an ‘if we’re not both married by this age, then we’ll just give up and marry each other’ sort of thing?”
“What? No, why would you—” Hermione began, but Ron cut her off.
“It’s just that…well, Hermione, Neville, you know we love you both, but we didn’t know this was…a thing.”
“A thing?” Neville asked.
“A thing. As in…” Ron trailed off, looking as if he were at a loss for words, and Daphne rolled her eyes, squeezing his arm as she sat forward in her chair.
“What my dear, dumbfounded husband is trying to say is that we didn’t know that you two were together,” she explained.
Hermione and Neville shared a look, brows furrowed, before they both burst into laughter.
Of course, they were joking. Hermione had thought for a moment there that something was actually wrong, but clearly, their friends were just having a laugh at their expense, so she rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair.
“Very funny,” she intoned. “Now, can we move on to the celebrating bit?”
“No, Hermione, really, we…nobody knew you two were together,” George said, looking more serious than Hermione had ever seen him. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she glanced around the table once more, taking in the shocked looks on everyone’s faces.
Was this really happening? Were their friends actually this daft? She had half a mind to laugh again, but Harry met her eyes, and she realised that this…this wasn’t a joke, not at all.
“What the fuck?” Neville murmured.
“You can’t all be serious,” Hermione said, her voice tight. “You—are you all stupid?”
“Oi!” Ron called out, looking thoroughly offended.
“Rude,” Theo sighed, shaking his head.
“Honestly, Granger, do you really even have to ask with this lot?” Pansy supplied, arching an eyebrow as she stared down at her nails.
“This is… You two are just having a laugh, aren’t you?” Seamus asked. “That’s gotta be what this is. There’s no way you two are actually together. That’s just… well, that’s hilarious, innit?”
“What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?” Hermione snapped as Neville sat up straighter in his chair, glaring daggers at Seamus.
“Now, now,” Molly said in a soothing tone, reaching out to pat Hermione’s hand as she cast her eyes around the table. “Everybody just settle. This is certainly a miscommunication beyond any I’ve ever seen, but I think I speak for everyone here when I say we couldn’t be happier for the both of you.”
“Right.” Harry cleared his throat and sat up straighter in his chair as he looked between Hermione and Neville. “You both mean the world to me. And you, Hermione, you’re the closest thing to a sister I’ve ever had, so—”
“Rude,” Theo scoffed playfully.
“So,” Harry continued, cutting his eyes toward Theo before he turned his attention back to Hermione. “Knowing that you’re going to spend your life with someone like Neville, someone honest and kind, someone who will take care of you—well, it’s bloody brilliant, innit?”
Neville grinned and draped an arm around Hermione’s shoulders, pulling her closer to his side, and she smiled up at him. “Thank you, Harry.”
“Can I just…I mean, it is brilliant. Harry isn’t wrong,” Ron said. “But I guess I don’t understand why you never just said it out right.”
“Well, at first we sort of...wanted to keep it ours, you know? To stay in that little bubble where we were young and in love. And then time went on, and the war picked up, and I guess we just forgot to ever formally announce it. We never saw the need,” Hermione explained, nervously picking at a loose thread in the jumper she wore.
Neville’s jumper. She’d been wearing his clothes for a decade. Sleeping in his bed, sitting in his lap at group events. Hell, they may not have been much for public displays of affection, but honestly, the longer she thought about it, the more irritated she got. Were their friends really that daft? “We slept in the same bed through all of eighth year. He shared a dorm with Seamus and Dean.”
“I just thought you two liked to have a cuddle,” Dean replied sheepishly. “Everybody had nightmares after the war, you know?”
“That’s fair. But I—George! You caught us snogging on the balcony during Daphne and Ron’s engagement party,” Neville said, gesturing toward where George sat at the end of the table.
“Well, shit, you’ve got me there. But I snog everybody, how am I supposed to differentiate between a friendly snog and a romantic one?” George defended, shrugging his shoulders.
“Theo walked in on us having sex this morning!” Hermione blurted out, then immediately buried her red face in her hands.
“I did?” Theo blinked in surprise. “I suppose that makes sense. I did wonder why Neville’s arse was out. It’s a good arse, by the way.”
“It’s a wonderful arse,” Hermione huffed, waving a dismissive hand in Theo’s general direction. “That’s not the point right now.”
“The point is,” Neville began, sighing heavily as he sat forward in his chair. “Clearly, somewhere along the way you lot missed what was right in front of you, but it doesn’t change the fact that this is real.”
“I’ve always wondered why your auras are so well-aligned. How long have you been together?” Luna asked airily from where she sat to Harry’s right.
“Since third year,” Neville answered, turning his gaze to Harry, then Ron. “S’pose I have you two to thank for that. We got closer when you were both ignoring her after she turned the Firebolt into McGonnagall. By the Easter hols we were dating, but we didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. We were Thirteen and Fourteen, just…kids, but obviously it worked out.”
“Yeah, it did.” Hermione smiled up at Neville again before she turned her focus back to the others. “Honestly, I guess we never did quite say the words aloud to anyone else. But it was just ours. We liked being in our little bubble. We never intended to keep it a secret, we—we are not a secret.”
“Not at all. We’re just private, I suppose. We like that this is ours,” Neville explained. “But really…you are all kind of daft. We’ve lived together since we finished our eighth year.”
“Right, but loads of people have roommates,” Seamus defended.
“You have all been to our one-bedroom flat,” Hermione responded, suppressing a laugh. “We may not be the type to be all over each other in public, but we always sit together, you’ve all heard us say I love you. Neville kisses my forehead every time we’re out somewhere, and he’s leaving the room, I mean, how did anyone miss this?”
“Well, I just thought you were…weirdly close. Erm, co-dependent, honestly. Harry and I have talked about it, but we knew Nev was there for you during eighth year while we were off at Auror training, so we just assumed you two were…yeah, weirdly close, I guess,” Ron sighed. “We really are all stupid, aren’t we?”
“Speak for yourself,” Pansy drawled. “I’ve always known.”
“You have?” Ginny asked, her voice riddled with shock as she turned in her seat to face her girlfriend. “What the shit?”
“Language, Ginevra,” Molly sighed.
“Of course, I knew. They’re not subtle at all,” Pansy said dismissively.
“So this is really happening?” Harry smiled over at Hermione and then gave Neville a nod. “Our blatant idiocy aside, this is incredible. So happy for you both.”
“Are there any more not-secrets to share?” Luna asked. “I think this has been rather fun.”
“Oh, not—not today, nope. Fresh out of secrets,” Neville said, squeezing Hermione’s shoulder. She turned her head again, smiling up at him before she kissed his cheek, and she heard Molly let out an airy, “Aww,” causing her to blush.
“Well, good then. Now that that is out of the way, can we talk about wedding plans? How do you feel about a navy suit, Neville? Or will you be going traditional?” Pansy asked, immediately snapping into party-planner mode.
“Oh, wouldn’t navy just look wonderful on him?” Molly gushed. “And Hermione, we must talk flowers.”
“I’m the best man, right?” Seamus asked.
“No, that’d be me,” Ron responded, lacing his fingers together behind his head as he leaned his chair back on two legs.
“Okay, let's—let's do this one step at a time,” Neville laughed. “We were thinking next spring, so there’s plenty of time to prepare.”
Hermione giggled as Pansy gasped, an affronted look on her face before she launched into a lecture about venue waitlists and florist demands.
It was all surreal, if she were honest with herself. She knew their friends had a tendency to miss the forest for the trees, and sure, maybe she and Neville had been more private than most, but the fact that nobody—save for Pansy, apparently—had known was hard not to laugh at.
As she sat, listening to Molly and Pansy rapid-firing a million details about what all went into planning a wedding, she let her mind rewind the clock. Things had never been easy for Hermione, from life at school to the war, to the difficulties in her relationship with her parents, she’d always had to work harder than most. The result of a life spent busting her arse was nothing short of high-strung perfectionism.
She’d never allowed herself the luxury of softness, of calm. But then, third year really had changed everything. When her best friends were angry with her—even though she knew, without a doubt, that she had done the right thing—she’d been a wreck, spending more time in the library than ever, only slinking back to the common room minutes before curfew just to avoid having to see them laughing and living without her.
Enter Neville Longbottom.
They had been friends since the first day on the train, when she’d helped him find Trevor—who now lived in a lovely tank in their sitting room, by the big window where he could soak up the warmth of the sunlight.
Neville had always been her soft place to land. When everyone else turned their back on her, he was there, unwaveringly so. It started slowly, as most good things do. After a few nights of her being absent from Gryffindor Tower, Neville sought her out with a stack of books and a cup of her favourite tea, and simply declared that the Tower was too cold without her as he settled next to her and quietly went about his own studying.
At first, she’d thought it odd—comical, even, his comment about coldness—but she quickly understood. There was a warmth next to Neville. A calm, quiet safeness that Hermione knew, even at fourteen years old, she’d never felt before.
And then she kissed him.
It had been quick, sudden, a mere brushing of the lips as they sat on the astronomy tower one night. Hermione was scribbling notes while Neville peered through the telescope, rambling on in his excitement as he tried to spot a shooting star. When he did see it, he turned to her with this brilliant, nearly effervescent grin on his face, and she’d felt this new, unknown urge building in her chest, like she might forget how to breathe if she didn’t kiss him right then and there.
After the fact, when they confessed how they felt, they agreed to keep it to themselves. To stay in their little bubble, as Neville had called it. It had never been about hiding, and they’d certainly never been ashamed of one another. They just knew that once they told everyone, everything would change, and neither saw any point in rushing to announce that they’d recently decided to start snogging about the castle.
Then fourth year brought the Triwizard Tournament, and with it, the strain between Harry and Ron, culminating in Voldemort’s return. It was then, Hermione supposed, that they tightened their bubble around themselves. They knew the burgeoning love between them could be used as a weapon against them, and so through fifth year, they kept quiet.
But by sixth, they were hardly hiding anything, even if they weren’t snogging all over the damn castle in every public space they could find like other young couples. After the Horcrux hunt, when they’d crawled through the portrait hole and into the Room of Requirement to meet with the DA, she’d launched herself at Neville, and he’d lifted her up to snog her senseless, right there in front of everybody.
Except it hadn’t been in front of everybody, had it? Because they were all too focused on Harry’s return to notice—understandably so. And then eighth year, everyone was dealing with their own post-war issues, and… well, really, she could do this all day.
She could sit and overanalyse every possible reason people around them had missed what they had, but it wouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter. Hermione and Neville had never needed the opinions or approval of others to know what they had—even if, now, she had to admit it was nice to see everyone getting more excited for them by the minute as the self-appointed wedding planners continued to lose their minds.
“Hold on, now,” Hermione finally cut in, holding up a hand with a laugh. “We’ll marry in the spring. A simple ceremony, here at The Burrow, if that’s alright with you, Molly? Good, then. Wildflowers will be fine. Whatever is in season. We don’t need—we very specifically do not want anything fancy.”
“That’s rude,” Pansy huffed. “Surely we could at least hire some—okay, okay, fine,” she sighed, holding her hands up in submission when Hermione narrowed her eyes at her. “Wildflowers, it is. Do you really want to wait all the way until next year, though? A fall wedding would be nice.”
“Hermione gets what she wants,” Neville said, shooting her a knowing smile as he reached for her hand again. “We’ve got a lot to get in order before the wedding, anyway.”
“The wedding,” Harry breathed, a grin breaking out across his face. “Hermione, you’re getting married.”
“Married,” Daphne repeated, a starry-eyed look on her face.
“And for what it's worth, you… Well, you look so bloody in love that it’s almost gross,” Ron added.
“Yeah, we’re pretty gross,” Hermione giggled. “Nice of you all to finally catch up.”
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The moment they stepped back through the Floo and into the sitting room of their flat, Hermione groaned, collapsing into the nearest chair as she tilted her head back against the headrest. Neville watched her for a moment, his heart lurching with the need to gather her into his arms.
Instead, he leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead and then knelt in front of her, carefully untying her shoes as he studied her face. After the war, Hermione had become more…closed off. Not to him, of course. Never to him. Her social battery just drained a lot faster than it had when they were young, and it had been worse than ever in recent weeks, so he did what he could to take care of her.
She loved their friends, loved getting time with those who mattered to them, of course. She just had a solid two-hour limit in any social gathering before she was ready to go home, and Neville certainly had no complaints. He’d always liked it best when it was just the two of them in their own little world.
Gently, he slipped her shoes off and flicked his wrist to send them to the shelf in the closet before he wrapped his hands around her feet, rolling his thumbs along her arches. Hermione groaned in relief as she melted into the chair, and he smiled up at her, pressing a kiss to her ankle before he stood up.
“You’re sore today, baby. I’ll make you a cuppa and draw a bath, does that sound nice?” He reached out, tucking a curl behind her ear, and Hermione nodded as she leaned into his touch.
“Yeah,” she said with a yawn. “You’re the best.” Neville grinned, tapping his finger against her chin before he made his way to the kitchen. Once he’d brewed her tea—ginger, these days, with a dash of lemon and two sugars—and fetched the book she was reading off the nightstand, he tucked a blanket over Hermione’s legs and made his way to the bathroom.
It was small, like most of their flat, but the old claw-foot tub was big enough to seat two—or, to cover both knees and tits, which was an important requirement for Hermione. He turned the knob to begin filling the tub and made his way to the bedroom, pulling out one of his t-shirts and a pair of knickers for her, then stopped to grab a towel out of the little linen cupboard in the hall before he set everything down on the vanity and went to work.
First, he cast a few charms over the tub to keep the temperature right where she liked it—40° Celsius, exactly—and then added her favourite citrus-scented bath salts and a few drops of Eucalyptus oil to help soothe her aching muscles. Once everything was perfect, he lit a few candles and then made his way back out to the sitting room.
Hermione still sat in the chair, sipping her tea as she stared toward the window, where Crooshanks was sunbathing atop Trevor’s tank.
“We have to move,” she sighed, flicking her eyes up to watch as Neville reentered the room. “I hate that we have to move.”
“I know, love.” He approached the chair and gently took the teacup from her hands, setting it on the end table next to her book before he lifted the throw blanket from her lap and tossed it onto the nearby couch.
“It will be fun, though,” he continued as he bent down to lift her from the chair, gathering her up in his arms bridal style.
“House shopping is going to be fun?” Hermione giggled as she looped an arm around his neck. “You hated touring flats before we moved in here.”
“Eh,” Neville responded, shrugging as he set her back down on her feet in the bathroom. He reached for the hem of her jumper, pulling it over her head, and then set about divesting her of the rest of her clothing as he continued. “I was anxious and ready to be settled, then. We’ve got a bit of time now. And a clearer idea of what we need, versus ‘uhh…a flat. With bookshelves. Maybe a balcony for the cat,’” he quipped.
“A clearer idea,” Hermione repeated thoughtfully. “A little cottage with space for a greenhouse, and a spare room we can turn into a little library for me.”
“A good kitchen, with lots of light,” Neville added, lowering himself to his knees as he began to work her jeans down over her hips.
“And a cellar, to turn into a potions room. Somewhere in Scotland, so you can Floo to the school for work,” Hermione continued.
“And a little nursery, with my mother's rocking chair in the corner.” Neville pressed a kiss to the soft swell of her stomach just beneath her navel, and Hermione sighed in contentment, looking down at him as she ran a hand through his hair.
“Should we have told them?” she asked, sounding suddenly nervous. Neville shook his head and rose to his feet. He took Hermione’s hand and helped her step into the tub, then stripped off his own clothing as he watched her settle into the water.
Once he’d climbed into the tub behind her, caging her in with his legs, and she’d leaned back against his chest with another happy little sigh, he finally responded.
“I think one bit of apparently-shocking news is enough for our poor friends for today,” he said with an air of finality as he splayed a hand over her stomach. “Besides, I kind of like having something we get to be back in the bubble with, at least for now. Once we tell them, then it’s…everybody’s news. I think I’d like it to stay just ours, until you’re a little farther along.”
“I like that,” Hermione confessed. She sat up and turned to face him, sloshing a bit of water over the side of the tub as she straddled him, draping her arms over his shoulders. She grinned, running a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck as she added, “You know, we could just wait and see how long it takes them to notice.”
“Right,” Neville laughed. “With our daft friends? It could take another decade before they realise we’ve been lugging a kid alongside us everywhere we go.”
“Probably.” Hermione laughed as well and leaned in, kissing a trail along the slope of Neville’s jaw before she pulled back to meet his eyes.
“Happy?”
“Always, with you, little witch.” Neville let his hands rest on her hips, dragging her forward as he rolled his hips, and Hermione let out a low whimper as she trailed a hand down his chest.
“Why don’t you show me how happy you are, then, Daddy?” she cooed, reaching between them to wrap a hand around his cock. Neville sucked in air through his teeth and let his head fall back against the tile wall behind the tub as Hermione pushed up on her knees and began to sink, impaling herself inch by inch on his cock.
She let out a shuddering gasp once her pelvis met his, and he sat up, wrapping his arms around her back to crush her to his chest as he began to move, thrusting up into her tight heat.
“You feel so good,” Hermione whimpered.
“Yeah?” He nipped at her lower lip, then darted his tongue out to lick over the spot. “You love the way I feel inside of you, don’t you, baby?”
“I do. It’s…Gods, Nev, you’re so thick,” she moaned against his mouth. “I can’t—”
“Roomies!” Theo’s voice called from down the hall, effectively cutting her off. Neville groaned, dropping his head to press his forehead to Hermione’s shoulder. She laughed, shaking in his arms as George’s voice joined Theo’s, blathering on about wanting them to come across the hall for pizza and cards.
“We’re looking for a new place tomorrow,” Neville sighed as Hermione continued to giggle atop him. “And we’re blocking those two from the floo.”
“I heard that!” Theo called out indignantly, his voice now directly outside of the bathroom door.
“Are you two shagging in the bathtub?” George asked.
“Oh my gods, lovey, you can’t just ask people if they’re shagging,” Theo huffed.
“I was just curious!” George defended. “I don’t know how Neville can even fit in that bathtub. He’s rather…mountainous, isn’t he?”
“You know, I’ve always wondered if he’s that big everywhere,” Theo added thoughtfully. “What do you think? Eight inches? Nine?”
“Holy fucking gods,” Neville groaned.
Hermione sat up straighter, leaning forward to peck him on the forehead before she looked over her shoulder toward the bathroom door. “Nine and a half. Now, could you both shut up and kindly fuck off so we can get back to work?”
Theo and George grumbled, but thankfully made their way out of the flat. As soon as the sound of the door closing rang out, Neville sat up straighter, cupping Hermione’s jaw as he shook his head.
“Our friends are idiots,” he sighed. “Shameless, boundary-crossing, blind idiots.”
“But they’re our idiots,” Hermione responded. “Now, you shut up and get back to work.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Neville laughed, dropping his hands back down to her hips.
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