Hannah hadn't kissed like this in ages, not since...well, not since her mummy died and Anton put her back together like she was made of glass. When they snogged, there was always caution between them, a distance: Hannah was his good, dutiful girlfriend that would become a good, dutiful wife and be a wonderful mother--at least he always gushed about that, how sure he and everybody else was that Hannah would be a great mum--but she wasn't who he ravished. There were no more sneaks into stairwells at Hogwarts to kiss until they got sweaty or scampering off for private moments during summer visits, their hands going everywhere. Her mother died, and part of the relationship died with her--Hannah just never how to explain it. And she didn't know she deserved any better, no matter what Ernie told her.
So this? This was like uncorking a bottle, and as her brain was empty, just buzzing along on pure energy and want, she balled her fist into his shirt, letting him hold her closer, pressing as tight to him as she could as the kiss continued. Because as long as they kissed, there wouldn't be an after where she'd have to figure out how to put herself back together again, all of the pieces she was still in after Anton. No: she whimpered slightly into Neville's mouth and put her other hand around his neck so they could be closer, closer.