Title: Welcome To My Life, Tattoo
Author: ragdoll
Characters/Pairings: Neville Longbottom/Lavender Brown
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: tattoos, celibacy
Other Warnings:
Word Count: 3775
Summary/Description: Despite being a war hero, Neville still doesn't quite feel like he deserves the adulation he gets. He's hoping a tattoo might change his outlook.
Author's Notes: Thanks to luvscharlie for the idea, and coffee_n_cocoa and r_grayjoy for their support and quick betaing. Title courtesy of Pete Townshend.



Neville stood outside the shop on the Hogsmeade High Street, glancing down at the piece of parchment in his hand, checking the address Dean had scrawled last night one more time. "Magical Ink," the sign over his head said, the name flashing brilliant green, the bright purple followed by glowing orange. It was definitely the shop Dean had recommended.

Swallowing hard, Neville stared at the door, summoning up the courage to cross the threshold and speak to Madame Elle, the tattoo artist Dean had said to see. Dean did occasionally work for the shop, using his considerable talents to design tattoos for customers; his sketch for Neville's proposed tattoo was in the leather scroll case Neville clutched in his sweaty palm.

It had been almost two years since the War had ended, two long and arduous years since Harry had defeated Lord Voldemort with help from so many other people, including Neville himself. The Wizarding world called Neville a hero, and yet, he didn't feel very much like a hero at all. Neville had only done what he felt was right while at Hogwarts, keeping Dumbledore's Army alive while Harry, Hermione and Ron were off hunting for Horcruxes. Neville had used whatever limited power he'd had to keep people safe and protected, but in his mind, that didn't make him any more heroic than anyone else would have been in his position.

He certainly hadn't suffered the way some had — Luna's ordeal at Malfoy Manor came to mind — and he'd survived. While Neville hardly had a death wish, it did make him sad to know they'd lost so many while he, the Boy Least Likely, still lived...and thrived. Since the War, Neville had been treated like a celebrity — he'd been in all the newspapers and even on the cover of The Quibbler, been given a cushy job in the Auror's Office and medals from the Minister for Magic himself, and then there were the women. Witches threw themselves at Neville whenever they recognized him or discovered who he was, all types: old, young, thin, fat, pretty, not so pretty. It didn't seem to matter. None of them seemed to want to get to know Neville, though — they just wanted a piece of him, as if his fame and supposed status would rub off on them if they were near him.

His mates like Seamus and Dean and Ron thought he was foolish — that Neville ought to shag any witch willing to drop her knickers for him, but he didn't want that. He couldn't explain it to his friends, but he wanted more from a woman than a quick shag, and he wanted to be more than just a trophy hanging off some smug witch's arm.

Because of this, he'd thrown himself into his work, aiding the Aurors to capture renegade Death Eaters and helping put the Wizarding World back to rights now that the war was over. While Harry and Ron seemed to excel as Aurors, Neville felt out of place and awkward. He really wanted to go back to his Herbology studies, perhaps take a job with an apothecary like Bobbin's; he knew he could do far more good trying to Heal people that way, but Kingsley Shacklebolt had asked him personally to stay on, and Neville could hardly say no to such a request. Still, he didn't feel particularly worthy of the honours.

This was why Neville had decided to get a tattoo now, to commemorate the final days of the War and to remind himself that he was a true Gryffindor, through and through.

With one final exhalation, Neville pushed at the shop door; a bell jangled above his head as he entered. The inside was cool and bright, loud music blared from hidden speakers, and the walls covered floor to ceiling with examples of the shop's work.. The tattoos were as animated as Wizarding photographs: they danced and shimmied, glowed and glittered in their respective frames. Neville looked around in wonder, studying them all as he made his way to the shop's glass counter.

"Oh, hello!" A young woman entered through a pair of swinging French doors which separated the front of the shop from the back. She was of medium height, her honey-brown hair pulled up off her face and twisted into a makeshift bun, tendrils escaping to curl around her face. She was trim but curvy, wearing tight denims and a grey sleeveless cotton vest; Neville couldn't help but notice the swell of her ample breasts straining against it. Her arms were covered in a variety of tattoos: swirling geometric designs, assorted flowers, and a wolf's head near the top of one shoulder. As the woman approached Neville, the wolf tipped its head back into a silent howl.

"Hi, I erm..." Neville started.

"Neville Longbottom!" The woman beamed at him, her grin wide and sincere. "I haven't seen you in ages."

Neville blinked, then realised he knew who she was. "Lavender?"

"Of course!" She giggled, then grabbed his hand and shook it enthusiastically. "How've you been, Neville?"

"I'm all right," he replied.

"Are you here to get some ink done?"

He nodded, then fiddled with the scroll case. "I'm here to see Madam Elle. Dean recommended her to me."

"I'm Madame Elle," Lavender told him, giggling again. "Dean does brilliant work — I keep trying to get him to work for us full time, but he prefers being freelance."

"You're Madame Elle?" Neville echoed, suddenly feeling his stomach twisting in knots.

"Of course, Elle...for Lavender, silly," Lavender explained, snatching the scroll case from Neville's hands and opening it. "Dean didn't tell you? It's his nickname for me because sometimes I do psychic consultations for people who can't decide what kind of tattoo they want. The Inner Eye is good at revealing all them." She pulled a face as she carefully withdrew the parchment from the case.

"I suppose Dean wanted to leave it as a bit of a surprise — he loves to wind people up, doesn't he? This is my shop," she continued while she studied Dean's work. "Well, mine and the Patils. Padma is our business manager and charms consultant while Parvati does all the mendhi and cosmetic work."

"I had no idea," Neville admitted. "Have you been open long?"

"For about six months, but we're doing quite well so far. Magical tattoos are all the rage these days." Lavender looked up, holding the drawing up for Neville to see. "I like this — do you want it in black and white, or in colour?"

"Oh, erm, colour. If it's not too complicated, that is."

"No, no, not at all. Colour would be lovely. Why this particular design though?"

"Why, is there something wrong with it?" Neville blurted.

"Oh, no, of course not. I was just curious about the symbolism involved. I like to know why our clients are putting things on their skin — it makes the job more interesting, really."

Neville felt his cheeks starting to heat up. "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to sound accusatory or anything. This is just my first time..."

"A virgin," Lavender said with a wicked grin. "Just how I like 'em."

Neville was blushing so hard that he suspected he now resembled an over-ripe plum. "Well, the sword ought to be self-explanatory—" It was the Sword of Gryffindor, the one he'd used to slay Voldemort's snake. "And then I wanted the vines and things," he pointed to the plants wrapped artfully around the sword's blade and entwined around its hilt, "to represent Herbology since that's also sort of me. The flowers are thyme and borage which are symbols of courage."

"Oooh, I like that. See, that's why I like to know these things. It helps me to know you better and make the work more enjoyable. The more I know about the reasons behind the design, the easier it is to do. The colours will be fun too — red for the rubies on the sword, purples and blues for the flowers. Very nice." Lavender glanced at the parchment once more, then indicated he should follow her. "Come on, then...let's go to the back and get you sorted."

Neville followed her around the counter, through the French doors and into a small private room. A large padded chair sat in the middle of the floor; it reminded him of an examination chair at St. Mungo's, although this one looked infinitely more comfortable and far more adjustable.

"So, where do you want it placed?" Lavender asked.

"Here?" Neville indicated his right bicep.

Lavender shook her head in dismay. "Come on, Neville, you've got to be more decisive than that! Now where's that famous Gryffindor pluck? Tell me where you want it."

"H-here," he repeated, pointing again to his bicep and trying to sound more certain.

"That's better. Now take off your shirt and get comfortable."

Neville did just that, stripping off his t-shirt with trembling hands before going over to the chair and settling into it, the leather creaking beneath him as he shifted. He was a bit embarrassed to be sitting there shirtless in front of Lavender — well, any woman really. Even though he was slimmer and more muscular than he had been back at school, he still felt like the same clumsy, podgy boy he'd been in his first year.

Lavender didn't seem to notice. She proceeded to adjust the chair to her liking, raising it and lowering it, then rearranging the arms and foot rest until she seemed satisfied. Neville watched with interest as she rolled a low table towards him, the surface covered with an assortment of small pots filled with what he assumed was tattoo ink in a wide variety of colours, as well as a stack of quills.

She grabbed a pair of dark rubber gloves, and pulled them on before opening an amber glass bottle, and dipping a clean cloth into it. Neville thought he could smell the familiar scent of cloves mixed with something else as she swabbed his bare upper arm from shoulder to elbow, his skin feeling warm and tingly when she was done. Finally, Lavender took Dean's drawing, and pressed it against Neville's skin, inching it back and forth until she looked pleased with its alignment, and then waved her wand over the entire thing. She waited a few moments before slowly peeling the parchment away, the design now wholly visible on his arm.

"Right, now comes the fun part." Lavender smirked. "I've numbed it up a bit so it shouldn't be too painful, but if it's too irritating, tell me and I'll stop for a bit."

Neville blanched, his hands involuntarily clenching into fists. "W-will it hurt?"

"Nah. Usually it just feels a bit like a bee sting, or someone drawing on you with a prickly pen. Which," she pointed her chin over to the pile of fresh quills, "is exactly what I'm doing. Just close your eyes and relax, Nev. You're in good hands with me."

Neville squeezed his eyes shut, breathed in deeply, then exhaled slowly, bracing himself for an unknown ordeal. He'd suffered the Cruciatus Curse at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange and survived — surely this couldn't be any worse?

To his surprise, it was barely painful at all. There was a slight pricking sensation as Lavender began to draw over the lines of Dean's drawing; it felt as if someone were dragging a pin over his skin, but no worse. Relieved, he began to relax, his shoulders loosening as his fingers uncurled to rest slack against the chair's arms. He could hear Lavender humming to the piped-in music as she worked, the quill sweeping in longer arcs along his skin.

Cracking one eye open, Neville peeked over at Lavender. Her head was bowed over his arm, the quill moving quickly in her hands. She shifted slightly, giving him a good view down her vest. Her breasts were round and pale in contrast to the rest of her tanned skin; Neville thought he could see the head of a rose drawn on one of them, the thorny stem disappearing into her cleavage. His cock stirred, causing him to shift uncomfortably.

Lavender looked up for a moment, laying down her quill to grab a rag and blot at the ink on his arm. Her mouth twisted up into a mischievous grin as she picked up another quill, and dipped it into a pot of gleaming ruby red ink. She caught Neville's eye, causing him to blush furiously and look away as she returned to her work.

Neville did his best to remain still after that, letting her get on with the tattooing. It was difficult when his cock had continued to respond to her proximity to him, each and every touch causing it to throb harder and more insistently. He also began to think she was doing some things purposely — accidental nudges of her hip against his, leaning over his prone body to reach for new quills or reloads of ink, her breasts brushing across the span of his bare chest, occasional swipes of the quill feathers against his neck and shoulder.

Biting his lip, he endured the entire ordeal, until he felt her push her stool away from him, the wheels squeaking as she rolled back. "There," Lavender said, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. "I think we're done now. Want to see?"

Neville opened his eyes fully, squinting in the sudden light. "Yes. Please." He lifted his arm and craned his neck to look at his arm. It hurt slightly to move, but it was not as painful as he'd feared. The tattoo ran from shoulder to elbow, the Sword of Gryffindor shining and glinting against his skin like it had been cast from actual metal. The rubies had the gleam of real stones, the vines and flowers swaying slightly as if moved by an gentle breeze. "Wow," he breathed. "That's fantastic."

Lavender smiled broadly. "Let me cast a few charms to set it properly, then." She picked up her wand and pointed at the tattoo, her lips moving in a series of silent spells. His upper arm flared with a bright nimbus of light, then faded.

"Thank you so much, Lavender. It's brilliant."

"I rather like it too," she said in agreement, then peeled off her gloves, dropping them onto her table. "Now, what shall we do about that other sword of yours?"

"Erm, what?" Neville looked at her blankly, his face flushing as he watched her gaze shift from his arm to the crotch of his khaki trousers. His erection was fully visible, tenting the fabric upwards. It was enough to make him wish the floor would open up and swallow him whole. Immediately. "I, erm...sorry."

Lavender reached out to grab his hand, squeezing it softly. Her hands were warm and soft and slightly damp from being inside rubber gloves. Her touch did nothing to alleviate his state of arousal. In fact, it only added to it. "Oh, don't be. It's common enough — most people get endorphin rushes while they're getting ink done and often it manifests like that." She grinned. "I don't usually comment on it, but...well, you must know I fancy you, Neville."

He blinked in surprise. "You do?"

"Have done since Seventh Year, silly. You were just so kind and brave and smart...plus you're the one who fought off that awful Greyback when he attacked me. I think you're wonderful!"

Neville nodded, biting his tongue. He knew he ought to point out that it was actually Hermione who'd driven Fenrir Greyback off Lavender first during the Battle of Hogwarts. He, along with Ron, had just beaten the werewolf into submission afterwards, but the subject of Hermione Granger had always been a sore one with Lavender, and it felt really good to have her looking at him the way she was right now. For once, he accepted the compliment with grace. "Thank you."

She looked at him expectantly.

He had absolutely no idea how to respond.

"Don't you like me, Neville?" Lavender pursed her lips together, batting her eyelashes at him. Neville had never realised how deep and brown her eyes were before this.

"Of course I do! It's just that—" He turned away, too embarrassed to say anymore.

"Do you like boys better? Or have you got a girlfriend?"

"No!" he exclaimed. "I like girls just fine and I haven't got a girlfriend. I've never had one and I—"

"Oh!" Lavender sounded surprised, her fingers tightening around his. "So you really are a vir—"

"Yeah," he replied quietly, barely able to get the admission out.

"Well then," she continued, "why didn't you just say so?"

His face was so red and warm by now that Neville was shocked that it hadn't set the chair on fire. "It's not something a bloke likes to go around advertising, now is it?"

"Surely there were women who've wanted to—"

"Of course there were," he said with a huff. "I just didn't want any one-off thing. Or, or, being used to put a notch in someone's wand. A lot of girls, they're just star collectors. They don't want me, they want some Champion of Hogwarts so they can brag about it to their friends or get their picture in the Prophet."

Lavender nodded. "Well, I want you, and not because I want to brag about it. I just," she heaved her shoulders in a quick shrug, "like you."

"Really?" Neville's arm throbbed with pain; the numbing potion was wearing off. It also served as a reminder of his tattoo and what it stood for. He swallowed, then tilted his head up towards hers. "I've always liked you too."

He didn't know if it was the endorphins rushing through his bloodstream or the tattoo which emboldened him, but Neville found himself reaching for Lavender, cupping her chin in his free hand before pulling her in to brush his lips against hers. He heard her let out a giggle, then she leaned forward and deepened the kiss considerably. Her arm snaked around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair as she kissed him long and hard.

Finally Lavender broke away, leaving Neville panting for breath. She grabbed her wand from the table, and flipped it at the door to lock it, Neville watching her with wide eyes. Pulling out of his embrace entirely, Lavender got to her feet, grinning mischievously, her eyes twinkling.

She reached down to pull her vest over her head, tossing it onto her stool before kicking off her shoes and wriggling out of her jeans. Neville felt his mouth growing dry as she flicked open and shrugged off her black lacy bra before stepping out of her matching knickers and then stood, entirely exposed, before him.

Neville had never seen a naked woman so up close and personal before, least of all one as beautiful as Lavender. She strode forward, hips swaying and breasts jiggling with each step, leaving him mesmerized. When she got to the edge of his chair, she reached up and pulled the pin from her hair, shaking her head and allowing her hair to spill over her shoulders in soft, loose waves.

A groan of approval escaped Neville's lips as he continued to stare, completely transfixed by the sight. Smiling, Lavender leaned forward, sliding the flat of her palm along the outline of his erection, applying gentle pressure. Neville felt his toes curling as he threw his head back, his groans growing louder. He didn't protest as she unfastened his trousers with deft fingers, raising up his arse to allow her to tug the restrictive fabric over his hips and down his legs. His underpants followed immediately.

Lavender growled in appreciation as her eyes roved over the length of his body, her hands already on his cock. Neville hissed as she began to stroke him lightly, her fingers tightening around his shaft. He watched as she threw one leg over his and hauled herself up onto the chair to straddle his thighs.

He marvelled at her wetness as she settled on top of him and rubbed against him, her hands still stroking him to a state of unmatched hardness. His cock ached and throbbed at her touch, his hips starting to buck in time with her movements. Tilting forward, Lavender dipped her head down, capturing his mouth with hers, her tongue darting between Neville's parted lips.

Neville felt her weight shift, then she eased herself down on top of him slowly, surrounding him in tight, wet heat. Crying out, Neville jerked his hips up to meet hers, grabbing at her arse desperately. Lavender raised herself up into a seated position, her palms resting on his chest, breasts bouncing and hips rolling as she began to ride him, hard and fast.

He'd never imagined sex could feel like this. Or that it could feel even better when she constricted around him. It was a brilliant feeling and Neville wanted to make it last, but try as he might, he couldn't contain himself any longer. Panting and moaning, he tensed and gripped Lavender tightly, his fingers digging into her soft skin. She bore down on him, undulating against him and Neville came harder than he'd ever done before, shuddering and jerking beneath her.

Finally, he fell back against the chair, limp and exhausted. Lavender laughed and kissed him, brushing his hair off of his damp, flushed face.

"That was—," Neville fought to catch his breath, "amazing."

"You shouldn't have waited so long, silly," she told him, then bit playfully at his earlobe, making Neville squirm.

He shrugged, then winced as he felt dull pain spreading across his bicep. "It never felt right before. But I promise it won't be another nineteen years before I do it again."

That caused Lavender to smile. "I promise it won't be either."

He pulled her closer to him, pressing his hips up against her. "I really want to make you feel good too."

"I wasn't planning on letting you leave here before you did." She brushed the tip of her forefinger lightly over his tattoo. "Besides, I want to see just how much courage this thing's given you. I take great pride in my work, you know. So, I'm warning you now that it will have to be a very thorough inspection."

"I think I can live with that," Neville replied with a smile. He kissed her enthusiastically before adding, "I think I'm starting to feel braver already."