It was so strange, to be stared at with such an obvious...want. The way he looked at her made her feel like a sex object, like she was sexy, which was bizarre and new and flattering and hot and scary all at once. She had yet to feel confident enough to look at him like that, like she was hungry for all of his parts. Just like Neville was ahead of her in how he felt, he was ahead of her in this comfort with being sexual. Probably because he was a boy. Probably.
Hannah's hands flattened against the back of his neck. But she had screwed up: if she had broken up with Anton when things got bad...if she had let Neville know that she had a crush way back in third year...maybe they'd already have been together for years and years. Be like Ron and Hermione, engaged and moved in. Be like Harry's parents, married with a baby on the way.
For a brief, dark second, Hannah wondered what would happen if she didn't take her birth control potion in the morning (if she and Neville had sex sex tonight, that is). She felt absolutely frozen and wicked as she pictured herself with a baby. And Neville would be such a good daddy, and they would be a family. A perfect family, filling her house to make up for the family she had lost. She'd get it all back.
Oh, Merlin. Hannah was able to shake herself out of it, and she flew forward, kissing Neville hard on the lips, her eyes filling with tears. "Please, don't let me mess it up. Please," she begged, kissing him again and again.