FIC: "The Spirit Is Willing (And the Flesh Is Weak) for nothorse Recipient:nothorse Author/Artist: ??? Title: The Spirit Is Willing (And The Flesh Is Weak) Rating: NC-17 Pairings: Neville Longbottom/Millicent Bulstrode, Neville Longbottom/Millicent Bulstrode/Moaning Myrtle Word Count: ~5215 Warnings/Content Information (Highlight to View): *[threesome, polyamoury, ghost sex]*. Summary: Neville is elated when Millicent gets a position at Hogwarts so they can finally be together. However, with a jealous Myrtle on his hands, their relationship may not have a ghost of a chance. Author's Notes: Dear nothorse, this may be the oddest pairing I’ve ever written, so you've only got yourself to blame. You gave me a lot of free rein to do what I wanted, but I loved the idea of characters settling into adult life and romance, at least the living, breathing ones, so there's that plus polyamoury and a little bit of fluff. Thank you so much for the prompts! I hope you like it!
Thanks to my dearest S. for all the betaing and brilliant suggestions, and for keeping me going when I wasn’t sure if I should. And my undying gratitude to our fantabulous mod atdelphi for putting together such a fantastic fest, and for being so patient with me.
"So, which do you think?" asked Neville, holding up two ties.
Myrtle squinted behind her thick glasses, perusing them both before pointing to the one draped over his right hand. "The green. It brings out the colour in your eyes more than the blue one."
He blinked in surprise. "But my eyes are brown."
"Your eyes are hazel," Myrtle replied matter-of-factly, floating closer to him. Neville could feel the air growing cooler as she did. He'd never quite got used to that sensation. "The green one will bring out the green bits. The blue does nothing for you."
Biting his lip, Neville considered her sartorial suggestion. He had no idea if she was right, but Myrtle seemed to have better ideas about clothing than he'd ever had. "All right then, I'll wear it." He tossed the blue tie onto a chair, and continued to get dressed.
The clock chimed six, making Neville jump. He was meeting Millicent at The Three Broomsticks at seven, and he didn't want to be late.
Myrtle let out an exaggerated sigh, draping herself across his dresser, and partially blocking his view of the mirror hanging behind it. "I really wish you weren't going to see her, Neville," she finally said, her voice quavering. "You ought to stay here with me tonight."
"Myrtle," Neville finished tying his shoe laces, then shook his head sadly. "We've been through this before. You know I can't."
Myrtle's lower lip began to tremble, pearly tears welling up in her eyes. "It's hardly my fault I'm dead, now is it?"
"Of course not, but—" He frowned, uncertain of what to say to comfort her. It wasn't as if they hadn't had this conversation a million times before. Neville cared very deeply for Myrtle; she'd been there for him during the long and dark year he'd been in charge of Dumbledore's Army, a staunch ally, a trusted confidant, and a very useful spy against the Death Eaters running the school and terrorizing his fellow students.
When Neville had been alone and afraid, trying to keep Dumbledore's Army going, and unsure of how to do it, Myrtle had been the source of great comfort and strength. She had encouraged him to continue fighting, listened to him, and allayed his doubts and fears. She understood him in ways that no one else ever had – she knew what it was like to be an outcast, ridiculed and bullied.
Neville loved her for being so kind and supportive to him, and he truly wished it could be more than just a close and enduring friendship. She was a sweet and clever girl when you got to know her well, albeit one who had been dead for close to sixty years, and would forever be sixteen. Unfortunately, her status as a spectre put all sorts of limitations on a romantic relationship that even the greatest wizard could not change.
"It's not fair!" Myrtle was in full-blown misery mode now, tears streaming down her face. She sniffled loudly before wiping her nose on her sleeve.
"It's not," Neville agreed, wishing there was something he could do besides spout useless platitudes. He truly wanted to comfort her, but there was no way he could. "Myrtle, I'm so sorry."
"If you were sorry, you wouldn't go!" With a heart-wrenching sob, Myrtle went zooming towards Neville's bathroom. There was a loud crash and the sound of glass shattering on tile. Neville ran in to find his bathroom glass in pieces on the floor, presumably knocked over when Myrtle had thrown herself down his sink.
With a tap of his wand, the glass repaired itself, then leapt to its proper place. A glance at his watch told Neville he needed to leave if he was going to meet Millicent on time. He felt a pang of guilt at upsetting Myrtle so – he certainly didn't want to hurt her on purpose, he never did. However, Millicent – a warm, flesh and blood woman – was waiting, and so Neville would have to comfort Myrtle later.
When Neville arrived, Millicent was already seated at their favourite table, looking radiant. She was not a conventional beauty— too tall and too large — but Neville had never put much stock in looks, preferring substance over style. He thought her extremely attractive, especially now, in dark green robes that hugged her curvy frame, cut low enough to show off her substantial cleavage, and with her long, black hair twisted up in an intricate knot. Her face lit up as she caught sight of him making his way to her side.
"Hullo." Neville leant in and planted a kiss on her cheek, catching a whiff of some exotic and heavy perfume. "I didn't keep you waiting long, did I?"
Millicent shook her head, smiling. "Not at all. I just got here myself. I was so busy unpacking that I almost lost track of the time."
"Settling in all right, then?"
"Mostly. Still feel like it's all just some sort of incredible dream though. I never thought in a million years that old Slughorn would ever put my name in as assistant Potions professor. Especially when I'm hardly in the same league as most of his favourites. It's not like I was ever a member of the Slug Club or anything."
Neville grinned. "You obviously impressed him with your talents." He would never let on that he'd put a word in Horace Slughorn's ear to recommend Millicent as his successor. Besides, Millicent had deserved the position because of her potions prowess and her bravery during the War. No Death Eater sympathizer, Millicent had risked her life to help Neville thwart the Carrows, setting up an anti-Voldemort resistance with the few Slytherins willing to stick their necks out, and passing on vital information whenever she could.
Their friendship had deepened while they both worked for Slug & Jiggers' Apothecary in Diagon Alley. Neville had been in the Herbology Department, Millicent apprenticing with the in-house potions' makers. After spending time together, their friendship had blossomed into an actual romance, one that Neville hoped to continue now that they were both at Hogwarts.
Millicent shrugged, although she was grinning from ear to ear, her cheeks now an attractive pink. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Longbottom."
"Oh, yes." She smirked suggestively, her eyes half-lidded in mischief.
Neville felt himself beginning to blush. It suddenly felt too warm inside the pub. "Ermm, before I forget—" He reached inside his robe, and pulled out a flower from his inside pocket. It was a perfect rose, so deep a red that it was nearly black. "This is for you. I-I grew it myself."
Millicent reached for it, gazing at the flower in astonishment. "Oh, Neville, it's beautiful."
He slid into his seat, then took her free hand in his. "And so are you." Neville had practised those words over and over again before tonight, praying that they didn't sound too silly. Ginny and Hermione, ever his good friends, had coached him in the proper things to say to a woman, and he was forever grateful.
"You're very charming," Millicent purred. "Keep this up, and you're guaranteed to get lucky tonight."
With that sort of encouragement, Neville was determined to do precisely that.
Millicent was as good as her word. After a good dinner, and a bottle of fine wine, Neville had taken her upstairs to a room he'd booked for them. He'd been unsure of the Hogwarts policy on staff fraternization, and had not quite got up the bottle to raise the subject with Headmistress McGonagall about it just yet. However, he supposed that awkward conversation was coming sooner than he'd have liked.
Spending the night away from his Hogwarts chambers also kept Myrtle away. The last thing Neville wanted was for her to intrude on his time with Millicent in a state of jealous rage. He dreaded to see what condition his rooms would be in when he got back to the school. Myrtle was quite capable of wholesale destruction when she was in a mood. He didn't want to hurt her, and he sincerely wished things could be different, but he was hardly going to put his life on hold because there was no way to go forward with their relationship. That would have been utter madness.
Happily, Millicent had been able to distract him from his troubling thoughts of Myrtle, McGonagall, and pretty much anything and everything else in the world. It was unbelievably easy to lose himself in Millicent's firm and warm embrace, in her passionate kisses and soft caresses, not to mention between her soft, pale thighs, and Neville did his utmost to stay there.
They spent the night making love, finally falling into a heavy, uninterrupted slumber in each other's arms.
The sun was filtering in through the room's small window when Neville stirred, awoken by the sensation of Millicent's kissing on his forehead, on his eyelids, on his lips, her fingers brushing along the curve of his ears, his shoulders, and his bare chest.
"Mmmm." Neville pulled her to him, and kissed her firmly on the mouth. He could feel his cock starting to twitch, growing harder by the second. "Morning."
"Good morning." Millicent pushed him flat onto his back, sliding over so that she was straddling him, her solid weight both comforting and arousing as she pressed him into the mattress. Neville liked that Millicent was not a frail sylph of a girl, but that she was a large woman: curvaceous, big boned, and nearly equal to his height.
His breath hitched as Millicent began to rub herself against him, one hand reaching down between his legs to stroke his cock.
"I-I need to get back to school." He forced the words out between gasps. "Meeting with McGonagall—"
Millicent shook her head, her dark, tangled hair cascading over her shoulders and down her back. "It's still very early, Neville. You'll be there in plenty of time."
He opened his mouth to protest further, but she silenced him with another kiss. It was so difficult to think when she was touching him like that, and then when she shifted and started to lower herself down onto his cock, it was impossible. All he was capable of doing was groaning and bucking his hips up to meet hers.
Millicent's full breasts bounced and jiggled above him. Neville was mesmerized by the sight. He grasped at her in desperation. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips, and he clung to her as she rode him furiously, her thighs clamped against his sides.
"Merlin, Merlin, Merlin." he moaned. His cries grew louder, mixing with Millicent's own when she bore down, then tightened around him. She began to tremble, then shake, her body wracked with violent shudders of pleasure.
Any tenuous control Neville might have had was ripped away — he came hard, thrashing and gasping beneath Millicent as he spilled into her. She lowered herself down on top of him, her breasts crushed against his chest. Neville wound his arms around her and pressed his lips to the crown of her head.
"Best way to be woken up," Neville murmured.
She let out a throaty chuckle and snuggled against him. "I was hoping you'd see it that way. Don't suppose you've got time for more, do you?"
With a regretful sigh, Neville craned his neck to glance over at the wall clock. "I wish I did. I really do have to meet with the Headmistress if I want to keep my job." He kissed her gently. "I'm sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry about, Nev." Millicent propped herself up on her elbows, gazing down at him. "You'll just have to make it up to me tonight, won't you?"
Neville couldn't think of a better compromise. "I promise that I will."
After Neville had left, Millicent had lingered in the room, taking a quick bath and spending time tidying herself up before heading back to the school. The last thing she wanted to do was arrive at the castle doing the Walk of Shame. While she had no regrets about her relationship with Neville, it was no one's business, and it wouldn't do to set the Hogwarts staff's respective tongues wagging.
Luckily, most of the other teachers were still at breakfast as Millicent made her way to her new chambers. She would be able to change her clothes, then set about unpacking without anyone being the wiser. She was grateful to discover that even Peeves seemed to be off somewhere else entirely, rather than roaming the corridors looking for someone to torment.
There was a loud splash as Millicent stepped into her chamber, her boots immediately filling with cold water. Looking down, she saw the entire room was flooded, the water pouring in from her en-suite bathroom. "What the—?" She turned to head back out the door in search of Filch, but a loud shriek stopped her in her tracks.
"He doesn't love you!" Myrtle manifested in front of her, blocking the way out. Her eyes looked puffy and as red as they could given her ghostly pallor, her cheeks wet with tears.
"Erm, what?" Millicent asked, utterly baffled by Myrtle's pronouncements.
"He doesn't love you!" Myrtle repeated. "He only wants me!"
"Who wants you? What are you on about?" The water level was rising, creeping up the hem of her robes as well as her stockings. "Myrtle, I haven't got time for this now."
"Neville." Myrtle choked back a sob.
"Neville?" Millicent echoed.
"Yes, Longbottom! He's mine, not yours, you silly cow. Hands off him!"
If Myrtle had been a living, breathing woman, Millicent would have knocked her out of the way, but in this case it was impossible. "Whatever are you talking about? I need to go fetch Mr Filch before I drown in here." Millicent cocked an eyebrow at Myrtle as full realization hit her. "Did you do this?"
"So what if I did?" Myrtle snapped. "And I hope you drown — you're so big you ought to sink like a stone."
"Hardly," Millicent retorted. "I know how to swim very well, thank you."
A whimper of frustration escaped from Myrtle's lips. "I can still make it very uncomfortable for you if you don't leave him alone."
"And why should I?"
"Because he doesn't really love you. He wants me. He has done for ages." Myrtle puffed out her chest in an attempt to look intimidating, at least that's what Millicent assumed she was doing.
"Funny that he's never mentioned it to me." Millicent was thankful that Neville had warned her about Myrtle's crush on him years before. He'd used Myrtle as a go-between when passing on information during the War, and Millicent was used to her tirades.
"That's because he didn't want to hurt your feelings," Myrtle insisted. "He's very kind that way."
The absurdity of the situation was not lost on Millicent. It was very difficult to take things seriously when her seeming rival for Neville's affection was dead. The only thing she could do was placate Myrtle now. "Yes, he is," she agreed. "He's a very good man."
"It's so unfair," Myrtle blurted. She started sniffling again, then wiped her nose on her transparent sleeve. "You get to be with him, and I don't. I can't ever—"
She looked so miserable that Millicent couldn't bear to stay annoyed at her. "I'm sorry."
"No, you're not. You're a horrid, fat cow and I hate you!" Myrtle screamed, then pushed through Millicent as she made a bee-line for the bathroom. Millicent felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of icy water over her and in her.
Meanwhile, Myrtle plunged herself into the toilet, making it gurgle and splash while more huge waves of water sloshed out onto the already flooded floor.
Millicent contemplated the situation, determined to sort things out to her own satisfaction. She was a Slytherin, and therefore, would find a solution to get what she wanted — in this case, Neville Longbottom — without a petulant ghost bollixing it up for her.
Surely there had to be a way to mollify Myrtle and cement her relationship with Neville at the same time. The seeds of a plan began to form in Millicent's mind. First she'd get Mr Filch to see to the plumbing and clean it all up, then she'd talk Myrtle if she could get her to listen...
Neville arrived back in his rooms late in the day, feeling tired but satisfied. His meeting with McGonagall had gone well, and he'd spent the rest of his time in the school's greenhouses, keeping an eye on all the plants needed for the upcoming school year. He'd missed Millicent at lunch — she'd never shown up in the Great Hall, and he'd heard something about having to deal with a mess in her quarters. He had no clue what that was about, but assumed she'd catch him up when they finally did meet again.
The sound of Millicent's voice startled him. The sight of her leaning against one of the columns of his four-poster bed, striking a seductive pose, and dressed in nothing by a short, skimpy nightdress was even more shocking.
Not that it was a bad sort of shock, of course.
Not in the least.
"Erm—" His cock was already stirring beneath his robes, thrumming with the dull ache of arousal.
"We wanted to surprise you."
"We?" Neville whirled around to see Myrtle hovering on the opposite side of the bed. His brow furrowed in confusion. She was the last person he'd expected to see here along with Millicent.
For once she seemed happy. That was even more of an unexpected sight.
He had no clue what was going on here, and he didn't like it one bit. A wave of anxiety washed over him as he tried to suss out the meaning of her presence alongside Millicent's. A war hero he might be, but Neville was completely daunted by women, and he suspected he always would be.
"All right, what's going on here?"
Millicent smirked. "Myrtle and I had a bit of a chat this afternoon."
"Of course. We both care about you."
"We do," echoed Myrtle.
"And we both want to be able to show you just how much."
Myrtle began to giggle at Millicent's words, and the two women shared a knowing look. Neville's stomach lurched, a trickle of sweat forming on his upper lip. What they were playing at?
He'd never been particularly good at dealing with surprises either.
Despite that, he felt his body starting to react, his cock twitching beneath his robes. The thought of being with Millicent while Myrtle watched was intriguing, even if Neville wasn't quite sure why.
Millicent strode to his side, her hips swaying gently and setting his pulse racing further. Placing one hand on his cheek, she caressed him, the pad of her thumb brushing along his skin. "You needn't worry, Nev." She planted a light kiss on his mouth, and then assured him, "You know you can trust me."
Giggling again, Myrtle floated closer. "And me."
Neville cast a quizzical look at Millicent, then Myrtle, before turning his attention back at Millicent. She smiled mischievously, then leant in to kiss him again. Neville swallowed hard, forcing himself not to panic. He did trust Millicent – and Myrtle too – so he made the decision to play along. He wound his arms around Millicent's waist and pulled her in close. As he deepened the kiss, Neville was determined not to let their odd behaviour faze him in the least.
Millicent's lips were warm and soft against his, and he thought he could taste the faint tang of her lipstick. Suddenly, there was the oddest sensation Neville had ever experienced — an icy cold blast spreading across his mouth, then his skin, wherever Millicent was touching him.
With a yelp, he pushed her away, staring at her in confusion. Millicent was still there, but she was now surrounded by a faint pearlescent glow — and Myrtle was nowhere to be seen.
"Are you all right?" Millicent asked, sounding concerned. Her breath was coming out in puffs of icy air, and her movements looked strange to him, almost as if she were trying to force her way through a layer of silvery ice.
"Yes. No. I don't know."
There was an infinitesimal shift, and then Myrtle was hovering next to Millicent again.
"I told you he wouldn't like it," said Myrtle, now sounding like her more usual — and miserable— self.
"Calm down, Neville," Millicent insisted, frowning slightly. She looked perfectly normal again.
"I am calm," he insisted.
“We were trying an experiment, Myrtle and me. And now, we have a proposition for you."
"Well, Myrtle fancies you, doesn't she?"
If Myrtle had been corporeal, she would have been bright red at that moment. She giggled, then cast a coy look at Neville. "He knows I do."
"It's not as if she's kept a secret, is it?"
"And you said you fancied me too, didn't you?" Myrtle continued.
Neville found himself blushing furiously too. "I do like her."
Millicent gave him a swift nod, not even remotely bothered by his confession. "Myrtle only wanted to be with you, and I thought it might be okay. She told me about how her fellow ghosts 'eat' at their parties. They can taste things by walking through them — as long as the food's especially strong. So, I thought that perhaps she could feel what being with you was like by sampling whatever sensations I'm experiencing."
His eyes widened in surprise, and his cock started to throb insistently. "Can she do that?"
"Well, I'm not completely certain." Millicent smirked at him. "But, I reckoned it was worth a try."
"You said you fancied me, Neville," said Myrtle, sounding wounded. "I only wanted to find out what it felt like to kiss you."
Sceptical, he replied, "Just kissing?" It was hardly a secret that Myrtle had a naughty side, and a well-deserved reputation for being a voyeur. Particularly in the Prefect's bathroom. Neville suspected she lurked in his chambers as well, especially when he was in the bath or the shower.
Millicent let her fingertips trail along the length of Neville's arm. "Surely a brave Gryffindor like you isn't put off by something a little different, now are you?"
"How different are we talking here?"
"You and I—" She kissed him softly. "make love, and I let Myrtle share it all with me. You don't have to do anything more than you usually do at all."
"Except that Myrtle will be watching. Or joining in. Or whatever you want to call it." Just saying it sent a jolt of arousal coursing straight down to his groin.
Neville pretended to ponder the request for a few moments before finally nodding in assent, not wanting to sound too eager. "All right. We'll try it and see what happens."
Myrtle's squeal of excitement was so high-pitched and loud that Neville expected the windows to shatter from it. He decided the best course of action was to just ignore it, rather than encourage her to make even more noise and attract unwanted attention from anyone, particularly Peeves. The last thing he wanted was the poltergeist coming in and commentating on the activities in his bedroom.
Taking Millicent's hand in his, Neville led her to the bed, easing her down slowly onto the mattress. Millicent tugged him closer to her, catching him up in a passionate kiss as he stretched out by her side. Neville was so distracted by their kissing that he barely noticed Myrtle's presence at first. There was a subtle change in temperature, the air around them chilly while Millicent's smooth skin grew cooler under his fingertips and her mouth once again colder on his own.
Plus there was the strange sensation of two sets of lips, two sets of hands, two bodies pressing against him where there ought to be one. If he concentrated, he could tell one girl from the other; Millicent far more confident and forceful, Myrtle more hesitant and uncharacteristically shy. He supposed that she'd had next to no experience with boys prior to her death.
Neville could relate to that — other than the being dead part, of course. It wasn't as if he'd been a sex god at the age of sixteen. It wasn't as if he was a sex god now, although Millicent seemed pleased with his prowess, and that was all that mattered.
His head was swimming, and he felt confused, but his body was reacting all the same. He was already painfully hard, his erection straining against his pants. He tried to ignore it, forcing himself to focus on Millicent, rather than his own desperate need.
She moaned softly as he slid his hands over the swell of her breasts, feeling the nipples hardening through the silky fabric of her nightdress. One strap slid down her shoulder, and the garment fell away, baring her breast: full, pale, perfect. Neville lowered his head to encircle her dark, red nipple with the tip of his tongue, his fingers caressing her soft flesh. He savoured the chill of her skin — it was quite a different sensation —, even more so when he drew the nub of pebbled flesh between his lips, and sucked greedily. Millicent arched her back and moaned again. Neville thought he could make out Myrtle's more shrill squeals mingled in with them.
Yanking at the top of Millicent's nightdress, Neville pushed it down around her waist, both breasts now uncovered. He quickly set to work on lavishing his attention on her opposite side with the same enthusiasm as before. Millicent writhed and sighed, burrowing her fingers in Neville's hair. He felt Myrtle's cold touch along his scalp as well, making him shiver.
He worked his kisses between Millicent's breasts, then started to trail them downward, over the curve of her belly, then to the edge of her knickers. He let his hand slip under elastic, his questing fingers coming into contact with her clit, already hard and slick. Millicent gasped and shifting against him, while Myrtle whimpered. Millicent grew even wetter and warmer from Neville's touch, each little mew and cry from both women only adding to the intensity of his own arousal.
His hand moved in slow circles, teasing her clit. Millicent responded to his touch, biting her lip as her hips bucked upwards. Her knickers were stripped off, then carelessly tossed to the floor before Neville continued. He kissed and nibbled his way up Millicent's long legs, from her dimpled knees to her soft, smooth thighs, and then between them.
He took a deep breath, inhaling the strong musky fragrance that was uniquely Millicent. His tongue flicked against warm, slick flesh, and Millicent let out a hiss of pleasure. However, before he could go any farther, Millicent tugged his head up by his hair.
"Together," she panted, giving his hair another quick tug, indicating she wanted him to join her.
Hastily, Neville shucked off his confining robes with Millicent's assistance. He wriggled out of his pants, and threw them in the same vicinity as her knickers. Naked as the day he was born, he crawled up the length of the bed to join her. His cheeks started to burn with embarrassment as he heard Myrtle's giggles, even though he knew very well that he wasn't the first naked man she'd ever seen let alone the first time she'd seen him like this.
He didn't have much time to dwell on things; Millicent was touching him and caressing him everywhere, and the tinge of coolness coming from her fingertips meant that Myrtle was joining in. Goose pimples rose on his skin, and he shivered from both the cold and excitement. Millicent always seemed to know just how and where to touch him in order to drive him mad.
"I need you inside of me. Now," she stated, then pulled him down on top of her. She wrapped her one leg around his hip and rubbed herself against him shameless. One of the things Neville adored most about Millicent was her direct approach to everything. He never had to guess at what she wanted — she was always more than willing to tell him outright.
Neville shifted on top of her, allowing her to stroke him to further hardness, then she guided him in. He marvelled at the feel of being sheathed in Millicent's tight, wet heat , then gasped at the additional cold tingling and pulsing along the length of his shaft courtesy of Myrtle. Millicent sighed in approval and tightened her leg around him, her heel pressing into his lower back. Neville clamped his mouth on hers and started to move in slow, deliberate thrusts.
He moaned against her lips as he felt her constrict around him, the sensation of skin against skin spurring him to quicken his pace. Millicent writhed beneath him, whispering words of encouragement as she ran her fingers down the length of his spine. Meanwhile, Myrtle crooned filthy suggestions into his other ear that would have shocked him if he'd had even the slightest ability to concentrate on her words.
He and Millicent moved together as one, Millicent responding to each thrust inward with surprised gasps and cries. She clung to him, her nails raking his back as she thrashed beneath him.
"Neville, oh, Neville…" she gasped.
Neville thrust harder, wanting to take care of first, despite his own urgent need for release.
Millicent was suddenly quivering, then quaking, her whole body convulsing with wave after wave of ecstasy. Her loud cries — along with Myrtle's shrieks — were nearly deafening.
Neville couldn't hold back any longer. The tension began to build up inside him, and with one final push, he was coming too, the orgasm tearing through him hard and fast.
It seemed like an eternity before he came back to himself, still caught up in Millicent's strong embrace. He peppered her face with kisses, then buried his face in the crook of her neck.
"Wow," she breathed.
"Mmmph," Neville replied in agreement, incapable of articulating any better.
"I liked that," Myrtle announced smugly. Judging by the chilly spot near his right shoulder, Neville guessed she was hovering on the corner of the mattress.
Millicent ran her fingers through Neville's mussed hair, and murmured, "So, what did you think?"
"Hmmmm." He was so comfortable where he was that it took a great deal of effort to lift his head, but when he did, he knew he was grinning from ear to ear. He glanced over at Myrtle, then back at Millicent, smiling so hard that it hurt. "I definitely think I could get used to this. Assuming both of you could too."
"Oh, yes!" Myrtle could barely contain her enthusiasm, while Millicent gave him a playful squeeze indicating she felt the same.
He blew a kiss in Myrtle's direction before kissing Millicent again, making a mental note to check with Headmistress McGonagall about the rules regarding romantic relationships between staff members as soon as he possibly could.
And perhaps he ought to check the policy concerning involvement with ghosts while he was at it.