WHO: Hannah Abbott and Neville Longbottom WHEN: During Hogsmeade, December 8th WHERE: Room of Requirement SUMMARY: Hannah and Neville share some butterbeer and a confession is shared. RATING: PG STATUS: Completed Log
Hannah had known that there was a very good chance that Neville would not be coming to Hogsmeade. And even though she had been looking forward to the chance to share a butterbeer with him at the Three Broomsticks, she felt awful that he didn't have the chance to go somewhere other than Hogwarts and escape the wretchedness of the place that they were locked away in. But if he couldn't come with her, she was going to bring something to him.
She had a box and a four-pack of butterbeer that thankfully made it through the probity probes. Just as they'd planned, she started heading toward the Room. There was something about all of this that made her a little bit nervous, but she kept carrying on. There would be no stopping her. She really enjoyed every moment she had alone with Neville, and this was a great opportunity to get to spend time in his company and get to know each other better.
Pacing along the corridor to make the door appear, Hannah's smile grew a little more with every turn. When the door appeared she almost made a run for it, but managed to compose herself and enter it quietly.
Neville was already there. She had a feeling he would be. "Hello, Neville," she said pleasantly. She set her things down on a little table and started unwrapping herself from her coat and scarf. "I hope you're hungry. And thirsty, of course."
Neville glanced up from the book he'd picked up while he was waiting for Hannah and smiled, albeit tightly. After the week he'd had, he could've really used the time away from the castle. To add insult to injury, he wasn't even allowed outside and he'd no idea how long that would last. It was a frustrating year that was growing increasingly frustrating and, though he refused to give up, there were moments when he wasn't sure he could actually handle it all. But there was no alternative. He'd started the year with a target on his back and he had a feeling someone had used a permanent sticking charm on it.
"Hey, Hannah," he said, the same tightness as his smile in his voice, as well. He set aside the book and leaned forward. "You really didn't have to do all this."
"I know I didn't need to," she said. "But I wanted to." She started unpacking the box. She'd purchased two small meat pies and a container of chips. She knew she couldn't offer Neville his favourite food, but they had agreed that chips were fantastic and so she'd thought that was a good idea. And then there was the butterbeer, of course.
Hannah couldn't know the extent of Neville's frustration, but she knew enough to be unsure if happiness would be irritating or calming. She wanted this to be a nice afternoon, but with the tightness that was in his voice she felt worried that she'd do the wrong thing and ruin it.
"I know we've had lunch," she said. "But I couldn't help but think you might enjoy a bite more. I'll warm them up and the butterbeer is still warm." She waved him over to the table.
"Well, thanks," he said, pushing himself out of the armchair the Room had provided and making his way over to the table.
Neville regarded the food with brief uncertainty before finally sitting down. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the gesture, but he had a complicated relationship with food. On the other hand, he didn't want to hurt Hannah's feelings. And it certainly didn't help matters that the chips smelled really good and he hadn't had proper chips in ages. He opened his mouth to ask if she'd mind if he saved the meat pie for later when the light suddenly dimmed and two lit candles appeared on the table between them. He blinked and then gave the ceiling a baffled glance.
The lights dimming made her suddenly blush. It was as though the room had somehow looked deep inside of her. Not that the Three Broomsticks was darkened, but there was still something somehow intimate about being together with someone in the midst of all the commotion and it seemed the Room wanted to give her that sense of intimacy despite them being in the Room.
She gave a little awkward cough as she set about opening the butterbeers. "How odd," she said, her voice a little higher. "It's like the Room wants to make this like a restaurant."
Just as Hannah said that, the Room began to play the ambient noises of a restaurant, the keening of a violin mixed with the low murmur of couples having dinner and the clink of silverware against china. It definitely didn't sound like The Three Broomsticks. Neville half-expected a waiter to appear at their table and ask for their wine order, but he chuckled once he shook off the surrealness of it all. Who knew there could be a restaurant in the middle of Hogwarts?
"I didn't know it could do that," he said with a grin, all tightness magically gone.
The colour on her cheeks grew redder and she pursed her lips tightly out of nervousness. Did the Room know how she felt about Neville? That made everything a bit spookier. She would have discussed the apparent understand the Room had with him if it weren't for the fact that she'd have to admit that she had feelings for him. Not that she hadn't admitted to the whole school that she'd like to snog him, but for all that she knew he might not be sure that she fancied him and to be honest, she wasn't sure if she wanted him to know or not.
But he was smiling now, and that was all that mattered to her. "Sounds like fine china but I've only napkins," she said. And as soon as the words were out of her mouth, place settings appeared on the table. She lifted her eyes to meet Neville's in bewilderment.
Luckily, Neville couldn't make out the colour in Hannah's cheeks through the dimmed lighting or the flickering candles or he might have turned to embarrassment himself. Instead, he laughed aloud, picking up the champagne flute that came with his place setting.
"Susan and I managed to get it to look like Madam Puddifoot's after the last Hogsmeade weekend," he said with a shrug, as if he hung out in rooms that could magically provide him with cloth napkins and silverware all the time. "This is nice, too, though. Is this you?" He lifted champagne flute an inch or so. "I think the violin might've been me."
"That's brilliant," she said. "This Room is just… always full of surprises." She opened up a butterbeer and poured some of it into her own flute first since he had his up in the air and she didn't want to chance spilling it.
"Yeah, I love to drink out of flutes," she said with a hint of a giggle. "Everything feels fancier in a wine glass or flute. So that probably was me." She poured some butterbeer into his. "This seems so very fancy for some meat pies and chips. But I won't argue."
"I don't think I've ever actually drank out of one," he said, lifting the flute to his mouth. He took a sip, feeling a bit silly, but he was happy to indulge the fantasy. It had put him in a better mood and after a long morning and afternoon of feeling sorry for himself he'd needed to feel better.
"I do feel pretty fancy, though," he added, as he set his flute down.
"That's a pity," she said. "Not even on New Year's? I remember…" She was quiet for a brief second before powering on. "My mum used to let me have one. Just a bit of champagne once I started staying up with the others. After that sip it was just apple juice for me. But I felt so adult for a brief moment."
She grinned at Neville. The colour in her cheeks had gone away, and she was feeling calm and at ease in his presence. They were just having fun, there was nothing to be anxious or worried about.
An idea struck her and she took a napkin, charmed it black, and then attempted to transfigure it into a top hat. It was, unfortunately, something of a mess. The brim curved and the top drooped. "Well," she said with a self-deprecating laugh. "I was hoping to make you feel fancier."
Neville listened quietly as Hannah spoke about her mother, nodding at the appropriate moments and smiling at the memory she was sharing. It was bittersweet, though. He didn't usually like to dwell on his parents, but for various reasons they'd come up a lot lately and were fresh in his mind. He wasn't proud of it, but as Hannah talked about her mother allowing her sips of champagne, he was envious. All his mother gave him were empty gum wrappers and though he treasured each and every one, it wasn't enough.
He fought to keep the smile on his face, though, and leaned in with an interested look as she tried to transfigure her napkin into, well, something. He wasn't sure what it was right away and even though it curved and drooped, he reached for the top hat anyway, dropping it on his head.
"Thanks," he said, grinning again. "So, how was Hogsmeade?"
She smiled at him as he indulged her and put the hat on. Hannah couldn't help but laugh softly at the image of Neville in such a shoddy excuse for a top hat. "You do look extra fancy now, you know," she told him as she relaxed back into her chair. "I think I need a tiara but I'm not going to even bother transfiguring it so…" She twisted a napkin together in a roll and tucked both edges into her hair.
"Hogsmeade was… Well, they've got all these propaganda posters up right now. About Muggles doing experiments on us and that sort of thing. Puddifoot's is closed now, I don't know why. There wasn't any sign for it. But I got what I needed. Did some shopping with Megan." She shrugged. She didn't want to say anything really of the positive to make Neville feel worse. It had been nice to go to the village but there really had been a subdued feeling about all of it.
"The universe clearly doesn't want Susan and me to go to Madam Puddifoot's," he said, frowning. "Or the Death Eaters, I guess." There was more to Neville's frown than Puddifoot's being closed, but it felt like yet another thing that was being taken from him. Even if it was just a silly tea shop. Feeling awkward suddenly, he lifted a hand to run it through his hair, but remembered the hat at the last second and adjusted its brim instead.
"We should do something about those posters," he said. "I'm sure I'll not be allowed to go again, but I don't think we should let them brainwash the younger years."
Hannah mirrored his frown. "One day," she said. "One day you'll get to go. To Puddifoot's. I'm sure of that." She put a hand over her heart. "I just know it." For a pessimistic person, she certainly liked to be optimistic for those around her. It was a conflicting part of Hannah's personality, but she knew that she wanted Neville to feel better and she wanted to do anything she could that was genuine to make that happen. And she did feel confident that it would work out in the end. "When Harry comes back," she said.
"I'll talk to the kids in my house," she said. "Start a dialogue about the posters. I'm not letting anyone brainwash my Hufflepuffs."
"I can talk to some of the Gryffindors," he said, "but I meant we should take them down somehow." His expression turned sheepish, though. "But that's probably not a very good idea. Everyone'd get caught and then they probably couldn't go to Hogsmeade and we'd have no way of getting potion ingredients in."
"I'd do it," she said. "Next Hogsmeade. There'll be one around Valentine's day and I can remove them." She was starting to feel like she didn't care anymore. She did, though. She cared a lot about her own well-being, especially when she wasn't full of the rush of emotion and adrenaline. But sometimes it was easier to pretend she didn't care, convince herself it was nothing. "I didn't bring any supplies in," she confessed. "I didn't know if I'd even get to bring the butterbeer in."
"Are you sure?" he asked, concerned now. "Getting ingredients is important and all, but getting away from the castle counts for a lot, too. I wish --" He cut himself off abruptly. He didn't want to make her feel bad for getting to go. But he didn't want her to throw away her chance to get out of the castle.
"I wish I could go, is all," he finished. "I think I'm probably trapped in the castle again, too." He looked down at his hands.
"We'll see, I guess," she said. "That's still two months away." Maybe she would change her mind. Or maybe she'd be more determined to do it. Only time would tell. Hannah watched him as he cut off. She frowned, wishing that she could do anything to help. She hoped that this little snack did a little bit to ease the frustration, but she also knew that Neville was meant for the outdoors. It had been hard for him to be locked in the castle even with access to the greenhouses, and now he couldn't go on the walk to the village, and--
"You're locked in like before?" she asked.
"Yeah," was all he could bring himself to say on the subject. "I don't really want to talk about it, though. I'll have the greenhouses, at least." He was quiet for a second or so. They could take the greenhouses away from him, too. They probably would eventually. "For now, anyway."
"We'll talk about other things then," she said. She placed a meat pasty onto his plate and took one as well. As she spoke, she cut hers into neat little bite-sized pieces. "I know what's a very happy topic. The holidays. I can't wait for it. December 20th can't come fast enough, really. Wouldn't you say?"
"Yeah," he said, although it wasn't really the subject change he'd been looking for. He wasn't sure they'd actually let him go home for the holidays. But he was trying to stop himself from throwing a pity party so he didn't say as much. He busied himself with his meat pasty, digging his fork into it and cutting off a more than bite size piece for himself. "I just hope Gran sends what I need for Susan's gift exchange thing soon. I want to give it to them before we leave."
"Oh? What are you waiting on?" she asked. "Who've you got? I've got June Chambers. I need to ask Anthony what she'd like, I'm sure he'd give me some good ideas. And if not I can think of something. It's really fun, and I'm glad Susan is putting it on. Everyone in the castle could do with a little bit of being nice to each other if you ask me. Maybe little things will make a big difference."
She looked at the ceiling at the sudden increase in music, feeling a bit confused. But Hannah took a bite of her pasty all the same. "Do you reckon you'll still be able to help me with the tulips? It's fine if you can't."
Neville hadn't expected Hannah to tell him who her gift exchange partner was or to ask him what he was getting said partner and he felt a bit trapped. The Room responded in kind as the ambient sounds grew suddenly louder as his anxiety grew. He leaned in and was relieved when she mentioned her tulips. Maybe she'd not realise her other questions were being dodged.
"Of course I'll still help you with your tulips," he said earnestly. "I said I would."
Hannah definitely noticed that he changed the subject, but she decided not to dwell on it too much, even though her curiosity was piqued. She didn't want to be an annoyance or a bother in any way during their time together. It wasn't as though it mattered.
"Brilliant! I just wasn't sure if you still had time or…" Or if he'd wanted to find an excuse. Not that he hadn't just said that he'd get a butterbeer with her anyway and didn't make an excuse for that. But still, she was a bit sensitive since she had such affection and admiration for him. She didn't know how he felt about her and while she could hope it was very positive, her nervousness told her it was near negative.
But she wanted to test it out. "Now that the music's so loud," she said, leaning closer to speak to him over the noise. "It's almost as though we ought to dance. Or do you not like dancing?"
And just like that the music stopped altogether. He felt a bit badly about how abruptly the Room had responded to his anxiety. It wasn't that he didn't like dancing either. Because he'd definitely liked it the last time he'd given it a try, even being as unskilled a dancer as he was. But the intimacy of the candles still flickering on the table and everything else the Room had provided was not lost on Neville. He'd seen what she'd said about snogging him, even without Jack bringing it to his attention. But he'd also asked Hannah to dance already in a roundabout way. How could he forget fourth year's Yule Ball? He wasn't sure what to do.
He gave an uncomfortable laugh that rang a little too loudly in the sudden silence of the Room. "Sorry," he said. "That was definitely me. I, um, I don't know."
She forced a grin and shook her head. "You don't need to be sorry. It's fine. I don't mean to make you uncomfortable. I'm the one who's sorry." She took another bite of her pasty even though what she wanted to do was get her things and leave the room. If this had been a Witch Weekly advice column, she would have been told to ask him to dance and been assured that he would respond positively. It wasn't as though Neville had given her a no, but it wasn't a yes and so it wasn't what she'd wanted. She laughed, too, once her mouth was empty. She lifted her flute. "Cheers, Neville."
"Cheers, Hannah," he said, tapping his glass against hers before lifting it to his lips. He took a long swallow of his butterbeer, hoping it might give him some clarity or at least a solid shove. But neither came to him. He was waiting on Hannah to do or say something about what she'd said about him. He'd definitely entertained the notion that her invitation to have a butterbeer with her in Hogsmeade might have been a prelude to that. He wasn't entirely clueless, after all.
"You don't have to be sorry, though," he said finally. "I'm not uncomfortable. I'm just...awkward, I guess."
"I don't think you're awkward," she said simply. "I like you just the way that you are." She paused, mulling over what she could say next. After all, there were things she wanted to say. Things she wanted to clarify. But she didn't know that she could just say them out at once. She didn't know how they'd be received and she was nervous about it. But he had never expressed disinterest. He just hadn't expressed interest either.
She'd hoped that he'd say yes to the dance and, in the closeness and intimacy of the moment, she might have revealed how she really felt. But he'd said no--or, he hadn't said yes. Perhaps that was just Neville's way.
But she had a chance. And she might not get another until it was the holiday, and not knowing was killing her. She took several deep breaths to steel herself. She glanced at where her coat and scarf and purse was in case she needed to grab them and make a quick exit.
"Right, so, Neville," she said, her voice high. Her words came together quickly, almost jumbled. "I just wanted you to know that… I meant what I said. About snogging you. And that wasn't how I wanted it to go. I shouldn't have played, but… I fancy you, so. That's why I said it. And, yes. That was… I mean, I thought I ought to say that. And--" she said, suddenly rushed. "I don't expect anything. I don't mean to put you on the spot. I'm not saying it because I think--I'm just saying it. That's all. Just saying it."
"Oh," was the best Neville could manage on such short notice. He guessed that settled once and for all whether or not it was a joke.
There was a little voice in the back of his head that sounded a bit like he had in fourth year when his voice had been changing, urging him to just snog her already. She'd said she wanted to, after all. And it was tempting. If anything, Hannah Abbott had gotten prettier since he'd fancied her in fourth year. But he'd meant what he'd said to Susan. He didn't fancy Hannah right now, but he didn't not fancy her either. It was complicated.
"I'm really rubbish at this, Hannah," he said after a few moments of staring at her. "I don't know what I'm supposed to say. I mean, you're...you're really pretty and I really like you, but I'm not, I mean, are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure," she said. She'd been sure for over a month now. But she didn't say that. She was already feeling bared in front of him. If he was going to say yes, she thought, he was surely taking his time. And the but kept ringing in her head like a bell.
"You're smart, you're funny, you're talented and fit. You're a great leader. You always make me feel better about myself and what I can do and…" Her voice trailed off and she looked at the remnants of her pasty. She sighed and, still looking down added, "You don't have to say anything, Neville. Honestly. I just wanted to say that, and that can be the end of it."
"It doesn't have to be the end of it," he said quietly, looking down at this hands. "I'm just, I'm trying to wrap my head around it." He wished he could pause the conversation and run off to find Ginny or Susan. They'd know what to do. He tugged the transfigured top hat off his head and ran his hand through his hair, feeling awkward, but also feeling a bit silly being told someone fancied him while wearing a drooping top hat.
"All right," Hannah said quietly. She didn't really know what to do or say. She had questions, but she didn't want to press in the slightest bit. So she looked up at him for a moment, and saw that he was looking down, and so she felt all right about looking down into her lap as well. "It's not like I'm going to suddenly stop fancying you," she said, still looking down.
He wanted to mutter something self-deprecating about he wouldn't blame her if she stopped fancying him, but he didn't quite understand why she'd started fancying him. The compliments she'd given him had barely registered and he'd only half-believed her about them anyway.
"This year is just," he trailed off, lifting his eyes to a spot just beyond her head. "It's a lot. But well, um, I'd definitely snog you in a heartbeat."
"It is a lot," she agreed. "I mean, I honestly don't… I even told Susan that I thought you might be preoccupied and, I mean, that's fine! I know… Yeah, it's a lot." She made a point with her shoes, the toes of either foot pressing into the other. But she did feel encouraged by his comment about the snogging and gave a quick nervous laugh, ducking her head shyly for just a moment before looking up at him.
"Do you want to snog now, then?" she asked. Usually she just went for it, but there was a table between them and she wanted to know that that was what he wanted before she moved closer to him. "You don't have to. But."
"You're really sure?" he asked again, dropping his gaze down to meet hers.
That, at least, had to mean yes. So for an answer she slowly stood and stepped toward him. In this area, at least, Hannah was confident. He'd said he'd snog her in a heartbeat and he'd called her pretty. He seemed to only be hesitating out of uncertainty, and so she wanted to make it very clear that she wanted to snog him. "Completely," she said, resting a hand on his shoulders, looking down at him with a smile.
"Okay," he said, tilting back in his seat to look up at her properly. He wasn't really sure how one initiated snogging beyond a mutual agreement to snog one another, especially when her face was all the way up there. "Here?"
She smiled down at him and looked behind. There was a couch there. If it had been there before she'd come into the Room she didn't know, but there it was. So, without a word, she reached for one of his hands and drew him with her, walking backwards so that she kept her eyes on him. She sat down on the couch and looked up at him, waiting for him to sit. Once he was there, she placed a hand on his knee and leaned forward, pressing her lips gently against his.
Despite the fact that Hannah was very much kissing him, Neville was still having trouble wrapping his head around a girl wanting to snog him. He tried to ignore just how baffled he was, though, and focused instead on where his hands were meant to go and wishing he could've brushed his teeth beforehand. He settled his hands on her waist and kissed her back with as much expertise as he could muster.
His experience didn't matter to her. She was just so glad that she was snogging him. For one, she didn't know if he'd even ever kissed someone. It wasn't something she would have ever asked him, and he wasn't holding back, so it was good enough for her. Maybe he had snogged someone… She just didn't know who that would have been.
The lights dimmed further, and a bit of music began--this time, Hannah thought, it might have been her. But it was soon forgotten as the kissing continued. There was a part of her that wondered if she was dreaming that Neville was snogging her, but she could feel the warmth of his hands on her waist, her hand was moving over his shoulder. It had to be real.
And she'd relish this reality until it came to an end.