Archive of Our Own ^beta

No pressure. I'll be there at eight with two Butterbeers. Green jumper. If you like what you see, come and have a chat.

At eight-fifteen, Hermione toyed with the parchment in her pocket, looking across the crowded pub at the last person she expected to find sitting alone in a green jumper with two Butterbeers.

Neville Longbottom took a sip from his mug, his knees bouncing under the table. His hair was mussed on one side, as though he had repeatedly stuffed his fingers into it and then tried to smooth it back down. He scanned the room, and his eyes found hers. He gave a visible start and then, collecting himself, tentatively waved and smiled.

Hermione had no choice but to at least say hello.

It was fine, she thought, as she took a deep breath and made her way towards his table, numbed by surprise. Neville didn't know that she was the one he was waiting for. She could still get out of this. If she wanted to.

Neville? Neville Longbottom was her match?

"Hermione!" He rose from the table and gave her a hug. Like all hugs from Neville, it was warm but not intrusive. The perfect friendly hug. He did pull away more quickly than usual, though, his eyes still darting around the room. "What brings you here?"

"I was working late. Thought I might stop by for a quick bite." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't exactly the truth, either.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you, too, Neville. I've been meaning to thank you for the tip about the Dragon's Tail."

"You found a good spot for it, then? South-facing window?"

"I did, and it's putting off the most exquisite purple scales."

"Nice!" he exclaimed, although he was clearly torn between wanting to be friendly and wanting to keep an eye out for his date.

There way no way around it. This was going to be awkward. Really awkward. For both of them. But it would be cruel to go on with the small talk and even more cruel to leave him there without coming clean. He would think he'd been stood up.

"Am I intruding?" Hermione asked, nodding towards the untouched Butterbeer.

"What? Oh. No. I was waiting for someone, but..." He scratched the back of his neck. "It doesn't look like they're going to make it."

It was now or never. "Neville," Hermione said quietly, taking a deep breath. "They made it. They like what they see. And they've come to have a chat."

He stood there for a moment, gobsmacked. Hermione pulled out the parchment, unfolded it, and showed it to him. He dragged his hand over his mouth, his eyes now firmly fixed on her. Then, collecting himself, he said, "Do you want to sit down?"

"Yes." Again Hermione nodded to the Butterbeer. "So this is for me?"

"Yes."

She took a long, grateful gulp.

Neville grasped his own mug but didn't drink. He worried the handle with his thumb. "So. You're...."

"Box number 5822," Hermione confirmed. "I'm sorry I didn't come right out and say it."

"No, I understand. Sorry, I'm..." He shook his head. "This is kind of surreal."

"Isn't it? Have you ever done this sort of thing before?"

"No. First time. You?"

"First time for me, too," Hermione replied. "I've seen these matching services in the Prophet, of course, plenty of times, but I always thought they were a little dodgy. I mean, they are based in Arithmancy, I suppose, and the questionnaire was quite thorough, to say the least. But it's not an exact science, is it?" She paused at the hesitant look that crossed Neville's face. "That's not to say...."

"What?"

Hermione tried to put all the reassurance she could into three words. "I'm not disappointed."

"You're not?"

"No. Not at all. Just surprised."

That seemed to relax Neville. "I'm not disappointed, either," he said quietly. "Pleasantly surprised, in fact. Even if...."

"Yeah, it's weird," Hermione said, a nervous chuckle bubbling up in her throat.

"I filled out the form on a whim," Neville said, as if giving an excuse. "To be honest, I wasn't expecting a match."

"Why not?"

Color rose in his cheeks and neck. "I don't know. I, er... well, I didn't hold back on the questionnaire."

"Yeah. Neither did I."

"So what made you decide to fill it out?" Neville asked.

"Oh. I was curious, I guess. I figured there was nothing to lose. Although I was worried I might get too many matches, and not the sort I'd want."

"Ah. Yeah."

"Turns out I wasn't wrong there." Hermione couldn't help a slight roll of her eyes as she remembered some of the replies she'd gotten.

Neville looked sheepish. "I hope mine was okay."

"More than okay. It definitely made me want to meet you."

The color was back in his cheeks, though this time it seemed to have a tinge of pride to it. "Nice to meet you," he said with a small smile.

Again, Hermione marveled at how this was possible. An error in the formula, perhaps? There was no way he was looking for the same sort of thing. Not Neville Longbottom.

She felt she should be very clear up front. "Neville, this particular service is for something more casual."

His blush heightened. "Mm-hmm."

"I just want you to know... well, things have been so overwhelming with the law exam revision, and then I've gone and taken that desk job at the Ministry as well, and I don't really have time for anything complicated, and honestly, I didn't expect to go through with any of this. I only say this because I don't want you to think I'm—" She took a huge sip of Butterbeer to stop herself.

A freak. A slut.

Neville shrugged. "We're both here for the same reason. I work a lot, too. In fact, I just got a promotion at the greenhouse."

"That's great!" Hermione exclaimed sincerely, glad more than anything for a brief respite from such an awkward line of conversation.

"Yeah," Neville replied, although he didn't look as happy about it as she did. "I'm managing some of the larger clients now. The pay raise was nice, but to be honest, I'm not keen on the business side of it. I'd rather be getting my hands dirty."

Hermione's eyes were drawn to those hands, which she'd never noticed were quite large, the flat-nailed fingers indeed stained from his work. It wasn't a turn-off at all.

"Anyway," Neville went on, "it doesn't leave much time for socializing. It's not that I wouldn't be looking for something more substantial at some point, but right now...."

"Right now you just needed to blow off steam?"

"Yeah," he said with a laugh. It was immediately followed by a knitting of his brows. "But maybe this isn't a good idea. Not exactly uncomplicated, is it? We've always been friends."

"I don't think it's a bad idea," Hermione replied, as if to convince herself as much as him.

"You don't?"

"We did the service. We're both here. It wouldn't hurt just to talk about it."

"No, I guess not."

"It's not like I was planning to start something tonight," Hermione said.

"Yeah, me neither. I mean, I wouldn't be averse to the idea." Neville smiled, but there was also something in his uptilted look that she could only describe as hungry. "But I wasn't counting on it."

Hermione wondered if she looked that hungry. She felt that hungry. In fact, Hermione hadn't realized until this moment exactly how hungry she was for the kind of connection they were flirting with. Not love, certainly. But not just lust, either.

"Look, Neville," Hermione said in her best no-nonsense tone. "We both did the questionnaire, and we both know what kinds of things were on it, so I don't see any reason to beat around the bush. If there's been some kind of mistake in the matching..." And honestly, there had to be, right? "...we should settle it now, laugh it off as best we can, and enjoy our Butterbeers while we catch up. Don't you think?"

Neville clearly wasn't expecting such a direct approach. "Okay," he said slowly.

"Neville, on the questionnaire, I said I was looking for someone to take charge." Hermione blurted it all out as quickly as possible.

It was like he'd been hit by a stunning spell, except for the motion of his chest, which rose and fell more noticably than before. "Oh yeah?"

"But you're not...." Like that. He couldn't be. "You wouldn't...."

"Take charge?" She could see Neville swallow, and his voice dropped. "Yeah. I'd like that."

Hermione looked around the pub, full of people engaged in their own diversions, completely unaware of the discussion taking place between Neville and herself. Nevertheless, she lowered her voice, as much as she could and still be heard. "Have you ever done anything like that before?"

Neville shook his head. "No. I've wanted to. I have to fight it, actually. Because when I get really turned on...." He shifted in his seat. "This is too weird. I mean, you're...." He motioned wordlessly. "Are we really going to talk about this? You wouldn't really consider... getting together... not like that...."

Ironically, Hermione could tell she was going to have to take charge of the conversation if it was going to happen. She didn't see why it shouldn't. "When you get really turned on, you what?" she asked.

Neville looked a bit like a trapped animal. He opened his mouth, but words didn't come out.

"You want to take charge?" Hermione prompted him.

He blew out a heavy breath. "Yeah. But I don't want to scare anyone. I definitely don't want to hurt anyone. I guess... I guess I did the matching service because I'm tired of fighting it. And I figured, if there's someone who wanted it, who really wanted it, and maybe we had a chance at working it out together...." Neville folded his arms on the table and leaned closer, squinting at her. "You really want that?"

Now Hermione felt her own cheeks begin to heat. "I guess I'd be the last person you'd suspect of it, right?"

His eyes flitted back and forth between hers. "It's not too hard to believe."

Hermione took a long sip of Butterbeer, now feeling a bit like a trapped animal herself.

"Have you ever done anything like that before?" Neville asked.

"No."

"But you've thought about it?"

She couldn't look him in the eye. She needlessly adjusted the hem of her skirt under the table. "Honestly, I've thought about it a lot."

"And when you say 'take charge'...."

"You know, order me around. Stuff like that." Hermione realized she was being vague. She pinched her nose. "I want to feel like...."

"Like what?" Neville asked eagerly.

Helpless. Overwhelmed. Forced to admit to my own depravity.

"I don't know," Hermione replied because the truth was too messy.

"It's okay," Neville said. "You don't have to know." He jerked his head as if coming to a sudden realization. "That's what you want. To not have to know."

Hermione stared at Neville, her heart pounding in her ears.

"That's tricky," he said.

"Yes, I know," Hermione replied with unchecked impatience.

"Because—"

"I know." What were they doing here? It was never going to happen. "Maybe you're right. Maybe this is too weird."

"I know what I'd want to do," Neville said quietly. "If I had the chance to take charge."

"What?"

He paused for a long moment. "Well...."

"What?" Hermione demanded, her usual bravado returning full force at his reticence.

"I'd want to tie someone up."

Hermione couldn't help the smile that broke out over her face. "No."

"Yeah. It was top of my list, actually. For as long as I can remember, the idea of a woman tied up...." He dragged his hand down his face and exhaled heavily through his pursed lips. "That turns me on more than anything in the world. I don't know why. That's terrible, isn't it?"

"No. I don't think it's terrible at all."

"You don't?"

"No."

And it wasn't hard to believe, now that Hermione thought about it. One woman took his parents away from him, and another spent most of his life telling him he'd never measure up to them. Neville was the last person she would suspect of misogyny. But she could understand why he'd like the idea of having a woman completely in his control like that. Exerting power, asserting his masculinity. She also knew what it must be costing him to admit to it. Hermione felt a rush of softness towards him, mingled with more than a trace of arousal.

She leaned in closer. "What about it turns you on?"

"I guess... knowing I could do anything." He gave her a faint smirk. "Or nothing. And I like the idea of...." He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Of what?"

"You promise you won't think less of me?"

"I promise."

"I like the idea of... a struggle."

Neville looked like he expected that to be the end of the discussion. And indeed, Hermione had no idea how to reply, in part because her mind raced with all the possibilities in those words.

Before this moment, she had only rarely entertained the thought of being with Neville, assuming he would be bumbling and tender to a fault. Now she took in his bulk. It was a different kind of bulk than their school days. His shoulders were more defined, his upper arms thicker in a different way. Hermione imagined having that bulk looming over her. Being tied up and teased, unable to escape no matter how much she writhed. Unable to seek pleasure unless he gave it to her. Having to beg him for it. She started to get wet.

"Only if it's in the right spirit," Neville added a little desperately. "I have no idea why I'm like that. I'm not like that. I don't really want a struggle. I'd never want..." He covered his face with his hands.

"No, I understand," Hermione replied eagerly, her voice a little higher and more breathless. She tugged at his sleeve until he looked at her again.

"You do?"

"Yes." Her throat had gone dry, but she ignored her Butterbeer. "What would you want to use?"

Neville's eyesbrows knitted together in confusion.

"To tie someone up."

"Oh. Rope. Not magic," he specified. "Real rope. We use it in the greenhouses, and I got good at tying all sorts of knots. Kinda became a bit of a hobby, learning to tie knots, even making up a few new ones. And it's practical, of course. Some of our plants are always trying to kill us."

They shared a tension-breaking laugh, but Hermione's eyes went to a pronounced scar peeking out of his sleeve, ominously shaped like foliage. She had never considered that part of the appeal of Herbology for Neville was in dealing with something dangerous. Something he could coax and nurture, even as it fought him. It was amazing she had never thought of him as the take-charge type before.

"Anyway, when I was learning all those knots," Neville went on, "all I could think about was how else I could use them. You know, the kind of knots that minimize friction. But tighten under pressure. Are you sure this isn't too weird?"

"I'm sure," Hermione replied. And it wasn't, but she felt like it should be, like she should find it more shocking or off-putting than she did. "But I think most people would start with something like silk scarves, wouldn't they?"

"Yeah, probably," Neville admitted. He looked a little ashamed.

"Would you be into silk scarves?"

He rubbed at a spot on the table. "No, not really. That's more sensual, isn't it? But ropes.... I don't know how to say this without sounding like a creep."

"We're just talking. It's fine."

"Well, ropes say..." Neville looked up at her. "...you're my prisoner."

He said it quietly, but there was a sort of menace in his voice that she knew to be playful because Neville Longbottom could never be truly menacing to her. But the voice he used didn't sound playful, and she realized that was intentional. He was gauging its effect.

The effect was immediate and almost paralyzing to Hermione in its eroticism. She could feel heat creep across her neck and chest. Her lips parted of their own accord, her breathing shallow. Neville took note, and suddenly any hint of shyness or hesitation left his features.

"Like I said," he went on in that transfixing voice, now steadily holding her gaze, "I like a little struggle."

"Do you have any rope with you right now?" Hermione blurted out.

Neville dug in his pocket and pulled out a bit of thick, soft-looking rope, carefully wound and knotted so as to prevent tangles. With one nimble motion, the knot fell away, and he unwound the length of rope, sliding it through his fingers, watching her carefully. "Do you want me to show you?"

Hermione let out a giddy laugh, again looking around the pub. She didn't recognize anyone. In fact, she'd chosen this pub specifically for that reason. But still... "Here? Now?"

"Only if you want to. I don't want to make you uncomfortable. But Hermione—" Over and over again he ran the rope through his calloused fingers. "—you don't look entirely put off by the idea."

"I'm not," she admitted. Quite the opposite.

"Give me your wrist." Neville still spoke in that voice, but now there was a gentler quality to it.

This. This was what she wanted. Hermione held out her wrist.

Neville searched her eyes for a brief moment and then looped the rope around her wrist. In a flurry of unfollowable motions, it was knotted. He took hold of the loose end and nodded at her. "Try it out."

She pulled back, and it immediately tightened. "Oh." It wasn't enough to hurt, but it definitely wasn't a silk scarf. It would leave a mark if it stayed on for long. If she fought too hard against it. "Strong."

Neville nodded. He let go of the loose end, his fingers hovering over hers for a moment. Then he slid them up hers in a light touch, watching wordlessly as chill bumps exploded over her forearms. He tugged at the knot, loosening it just enough to slip his thumb and finger under it. They closed around her quick-beating pulse.

"Does it make you anxious?" he asked cautiously.

Hermione could only shake her head. "No. Not anxious."

"Huh," Neville said with a look that bordered on marvel. Hermione shared the feeling. He let go of her wrist, pulled the knot free in another deft motion, and wound the length of rope back up.

The table between them suddenly seemed unbearable. "Neville, will you come sit over here with me?" Hermione asked.

Neville stopped with the rope halfway back to his pocket. "'Course. If that's what you want."

"I do."

Hermione scooted over and watched as he stood, taking more interest in his body than ever before. His clothes were well cared-for but loose-fitting. Still, she chanced a glimpse at his crotch and noticed a bulge that the baggy chinos couldn't hide.

Neville slid in beside her and stretched his arm over the back of the seat. He didn't touch her, but it gave her the sensation of being caged in. In a good way.

Hermione suddenly felt she couldn't look at him. She instead looked at the now empty seat in front of her and asked in a low voice, "So what would you do? If you had someone tied up?"

He laughed. "What, you want a play-by-play?"

"Why not?" No one could hear them. The way he was angled towards her, no one could see, either, if one of them happened to reach down....

"I reckon it sounds silly," Neville said. "Saying it out loud."

It was a lot to ask, for sure, when Hermione couldn't even give voice to the basic feeling she was looking for. This was all a little silly — the matching service, the absurdly specific questionnaire, the meet-up in a pub, the thought that one of them might make a move under that table. Silly and exciting.

Hermione angled herself to look at him. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

"Okay. Right." The blush was back, but Neville took a deep swallow and forged ahead. "Well, at my place, I have this bed with wooden slats on the headboard. Found it for cheap at a resale place."

Hermione felt an instant thrill shoot between her legs. "Did you buy it with that in mind?"

"Yeah, I did," Neville admitted with a sheepish smile. "Never used it that way, of course. But I've thought about what it would be like, asking someone to get on that bed. And let me tie them up."

"Let you?" Hermione smirked. "I thought they were your prisoner."

She could see the same thrill go through Neville. His eyelids drooped as he realized they were really going to go for it. "Telling them to get on the bed," he corrected. The voice was back. "Face down."

Hermione squeezed her legs together. "Why face down?"

"To limit their field of vision. And... I really like that view."

"Naked?" Hermione asked, trying to sound casual.

Neville nodded. "Maybe a pair of shoes. The kind you'd never wear in public."

But of course.

"The kind that would really hurt if I got kicked with them," he added.

Ah. A plant with thorns. "You'd have to immobilize their feet," Hermione noted. "So you wouldn't get kicked."

"No, I'd want the lower half free."

"But their wrists?"

"Tied to the slats," Neville said. "Just like I tied yours."

"And then?" Hermione asked breathlessly.

"And then..." Neville cocked his head to the side, a truly devious smile tugging at his lips. "Anything I want. Right?"

The idea — and hearing it spoken aloud by Neville Longbottom, of all people, and in that voice — was too much. Hermione instinctively grabbed his knee. Anything he wanted. It should have been a terrible idea. She hoped he could tell, by the way she squeezed his leg, that she thought it far from terrible. The muscle flexed under her fingers, but he made no move to touch her back, and he made no move to pull away.

"And what would you want?" she asked.

"If I had you tied to my bed?"

You.

Hermione flattened her palm on his leg, her breath short and fast. It was so hard to meet Neville's eye. So hard. But she did. The devious smile was gone, but his eyes gleamed in the low lamplight. "Yes. If you had me, Hermione Granger, naked and tied face down on your bed. In a ridiculous pair of shoes. What would you want to do?"

Neville laughed nervously, and the spell was broken.

"Seriously!" she exclaimed. "You can't stop now."

"Why?" Neville glanced down at the hand on his leg and the knees pointing in his direction, parted slightly beneath her skirt. "Are you excited?"

"Yes," Hermione replied with an unneccessary nod.

"Me too. But you know, if this really happened, we'd have to be careful. We'd have to have a way to stop it or pause it, or—"

"Of course!" Hermione snapped impatiently. "But we're not doing it. We're just talking about it, so we don't have to worry with all that right now." She eased her fingers up and inwards a little. "I'm your prisoner, and I'm all tied up. What would you do?"

"Nothing." Just as Hermione was about to protest, that devious smile returned. "Just look."

"And touch yourself?" she asked hopefully.

Neville shook his head. "No. Just look." He looked now, long and hard, at where her skirt had ridden up. "Would you want to be touched?"

"By that point," Hermione said, "I imagine I would really want to be touched."

Neville's gaze drifted slowly up her front. "That's why I wouldn't do anything."

Hermione huffed. "Well, if you weren't going to do anything, then I'd have to try to help myself."

Neville's eyes lit up. "You could try." He let that hang there, encouraging her participation.

Hermione put on her best voice of reason, even as her hand slid a bit higher up Neville's leg. "So there I am, all tied up, face down, bottom half free. I suppose, if I wanted any sort of meaningful friction, I would have to really spread my legs wide. To get to the mattress. To rub against it."

Neville's nostrils flared. His fist tightened on the table.

"It wouldn't be enough," Hermione said, now acutely aware of the almost painful ache between her legs as she sat in that booth, trying not to rock her hips. "But there wouldn't be anything I could do about it."

"Maybe one thing," Neville hinted.

"I could ask you to touch me."

"You could ask."

"Would you touch me then?"

"No."

His legs were spread. It would have been so easy to slide her hand the rest of the way up, to seek confirmation that he was as aroused as she was. For that matter, it would have been easy to touch herself, but Hermione just let the ache build impossibly. She was soaking her knickers, her skirt, maybe even the seat below.

"How long would you let this go on?" she asked.

Neville leaned in. For a moment, Hermione thought he might kiss her. But he just moved his lips to her ear, his breath hot against the hair between them. "How long would it take for you to beg?"

"Neville." Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't keep sitting here in this booth under this torture. "Neville, I know this sounds mental, but I want to get out of here."

He jerked back, eyes wide. "What? You mean—?"

"Not for sex. I don't know," she said desperately, grabbing a fistful of his trousers. "Neville, I'm so turned on."

"So am I."

"Can we just... fool around or something?"

Neville narrowed his eyes. "Fool around?" He didn't seem averse to the idea, just unsure what it might entail.

Hermione really wished he could read her mind. "You know, keep our clothes on and whatnot, but just...." She cast around for a way to word it. "Like kids at school, you know... where you can't do much, and you're too shy to get under each other's clothes.... Not that I ever...."

"Yeah." Neville cleared his throat. "Got it. Okay. Where?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"Out back?" Neville suggested.

"Oh god," Hermione replied, blowing out a deep breath.

"Is that a no?"

"No. I mean yes. It's a yes. It's a definite yes." Near the top of her own list, actually.

"All right." He hesitated for a moment. "Do you want to make it a game?

"What do you mean?"

"How about...." He shifted closer, his voice very low indeed now. "You head out back and keep your wand at the ready."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to follow you. I'll be right behind you. You're going to hear my footsteps, but you won't turn around. You'll walk faster. I'll walk faster. And when you approach a spot you like, you'll point your wand down and light the tip."

"And then?" she asked eagerly.

"And then I'll capture you."

Hermione shuddered, her mind racing with all the messy implications she didn't want to think about, battling with an absolute barrage of fresh arousal. "Should I resist?"

Neville looked torn. "I dont know. Do you want to?"

"Yes," Hermione admitted. "Do you want me to?"

"Yes," Neville nearly hissed. "But not with words. Save words in case you really need them. And use them if you need them. If I do anything you don't like. Tell me to stop."

"Yes, okay," Hermione snapped. Necessary. But not sexy.

For the first time, Neville touched her. He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, and not too gently. "You promise?"

Hermione nodded as best as she could in his grip. "I promise."

He searched her eyes until he was satisfied, and then he let her go.

"Is this really happening?" Hermione asked, blood pounding in her ears.

"Only if you want it to."

She chewed her bottom lip. She trusted Neville with her life. And she really wanted to play that game. But admitting it... actually doing it....

"We don't have to. We can just snog. Believe me," he added with a desperate sort of smile, "that would be more than fine with me right now. We don't even have to snog. We don't have to do anything tonight. Maybe we should just—"

"No," Hermione interrupted him. "I want to."

"You want to play the game?"

"Yes."

"Say it."

"I want to play the game."

A cool, easy look settled over Neville's face, as though he was taking that as a cue to begin. It was like he was putting on a mask. "Where's your wand?" he asked.

Hermione pulled it from her skirt pocket with a shaky hand, gripping it tightly. "What are you going to do?" she asked again, even though she liked not knowing.

He blew out a breath through his nose, maybe a hint of a chuckle. "I'm gonna get you off," he replied. It almost sounded cocky.

"I want you to talk some more." She wasn't stalling. Not entirely. If he really wanted to get her off.... "Like you were talking before."

"We'll see."

"Are we really doing this?" Now she was stalling.

Neville was done stalling. He stood, bulge now readily apparent. "I'm ready if you are."

As promised, the footsteps were right behind her. They were measured and slow at first, like he was stalking her. Hermione sped up, and so did he. She wanted to turn around so badly, to see Neville stalking her.

She mindlessly turned a corner, concentrating on finding a good out-of-the-way spot, but not too out-of-the-way. She knew there was a small alley nearby, one she would never venture down without Neville right behind her. She would have laughed at the irony, if she wasn't so fired up with anticipation.

He was definitely right behind her now. This was it. This was really going to happen. She was going to snog Neville Longbottom. Neville Longbottom was going to try to get her off. It was going to take laughably little after that conversation. Her knickers were a mess, the slippery crotch rubbing her with every step.

She lit the tip of her wand and slipped into the narrow alley, barely wide enough to accomodate two people to walking shoulder-to-shoulder.

Almost at once, a strong hand closed around the wrist of her wand hand.

Chest heaving, she turned. In the pale light from her wand, Neville's eyes flashed like sun hitting jasper in a creek bottom. His jaw was set, the faintest trace of a predatory smile on his lips. She gave a feeble attempt at pulling her wrist away. His grip tightened, and he pulled her closer in a quick motion that made her feet scuffle slightly on the stones. Their bodies were so close that her breasts brushed the bottom of his ribcage. She wondered if he could feel her straining nipples through their clothes.

Neville held her there a long moment and then dropped her wrist.

Somehow, instinctually, Hermione felt like he wanted her to back away from him. So she did, just to see what he would do. She took one careful step and another. And another. She could see excitement flood Neville as he followed. She could only suspect she mirrored it back at him. Farther and farther back they went into the alley, his stride gaining on hers until he was beside her, forcing her to turn her back to the wall. He lifted his arms, flattening his palms against the wall on either side of her.

She had really never appreciated Neville Longbottom's stature.

His eyes leisurely moved up and down his trapped prey. Hermione's head felt fuzzy from the blood pounding through it, yet all her senses were razor-sharp, every detail surreally magnified. The warmth of his nearness. The rhythmic rasp of her shallow breaths. The white glow of her wand, which cast half of his face in shadow. The smooth wood under her tight grip. The audible sound of his swallow.

Neville's open mouth hovered over hers, not angled for a kiss, but just taking in her breath. He leaned closer until their lips touched, both still parted, and then she felt his tongue touch hers. Hermione instinctively moved to kiss him in earnest, and he pulled away. "Don't move," he whispered.

She gave the slightest nod. She couldn't help imagining this was a stranger who had cornered her in this alley. She didn't have to strain her imagination too much. She had certainly never seen this side of Neville before, and never in a million years had she dreamed she would be about to kiss him. Fool around with him.

She started to regret the no sex thing.

Again their parted lips touched, and this time Hermione held perfectly still, though she couldn't suppress a whimper when their tongues touched. Then Neville was kissing her for real, perfectly. Heavy coaxes with a flash of tongue that eased into soft pecks and back again, never giving her too much. Or enough.

She mindlessly reached up and grabbed his jumper. Lightning quick, Neville grabbed her wrists and pinned them against the wall. But at Hermione's sharp intake of breath, he dropped them immediately. "I'm sorry, I..."

He looked stunned. Hermione couldn't tell if he was sorry he'd done it or sorry he'd stopped on instinct and shattered the illusion.

She held her arms just as he'd left them. "Please don't stop."

Neville stood cramped between her and those narrow walls, panting. Hermione realized that he was frightened by that violent impulse in himself, much more than she was.

"Unless you want to," she added.

"No. I don't want to stop. I want...." His jaw tightened, worry creasing his eyebrows. "I wanted to attack you."

"Do it," Hermione said.

Neville shifted from one foot to the other, looking at her proffered wrists. He grasped them again, more gingerly. Hermione tested his grip, hoping it would encourage him, and it did. He tightened it, and now, in the direct wandlight, she could see how aroused he was. He closed his eyes briefly, as though the image of her pinned against that wall was too much for him. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Then, seeming to break, he did, indeed, attack. He went for her neck with harsh, heavy, open-mouthed kisses, working them under her collar and across the bit of chest exposed by her shirt. When his chin caught on the first button, he moved to her breast with a hungry growl.

Hermione arched helplessly, and Neville answered with his teeth. They caught the edge of her bra cup and awkwardly jerked it down until her bare nipple pressed at the thin fabric of her shirt. He sucked it into a wet peak and watched it greedily bulge for more attention.

He cursed, again attacking her neck, nosing her hair out of the way. When he reached her ear, he whispered, "I just wanna rip that shirt to shreds."

Hermione bucked against him at the thought, desperate for friction. Neville shoved his thigh between her legs, her skirt hem caught between his trousers and her soaked knickers. He flattened his forehead on her chest. "Ride it," he gritted out.

Oh, how terribly Hermione wanted to close her legs around his and rub herself to orgasm. Instead, she experimentally tried to squirm away, working herself up the wall in the process. Neville growled. He transferred her wrists to one hand and grabbed her hip with the other, making her rock. "Ride it."

Game or not, Hermione didn't have it in herself to resist any longer. She rubbed shamelessly.

"You know what I'd do?" Neville asked through ragged breaths. "Once I had you tied to my bed? Begging me to touch you?"

Hermione could only answer with a whimper. He was going to get her off, all right. Quickly.

"I'd grab you by the hips. Lift you up on your knees. Spread you wide open. And I'd lick." He licked a long, hot stripe up the side of her neck. "And if I thought you were going to come, I'd stop. And start again. And again. And again."

"Neville..."

"Wouldn't use my fingers, though. Only one thing I'd use inside you. Can you feel it now?"

"Yes." It was rock hard against her hip. Impossible to judge the size through their clothes. But so, so hard.

"How would you wanna be fucked?"

"Hard."

Neville groaned against her neck. "Then I'd have go very... very... slow." He didn't now, though. His fingers dug into her hip, urging her to rub harder.

"You couldn't go on like that," Hermione said. And neither could she.

"Wanna bet?" Neville jerked her skirt up out of the way. Her knickers cut into her from the rocking motion, her slick, exposed lips dragging on his trousers. "I'd go on like that until you were sobbing that word."

"Please."

"That's the one. Hermione. I would fuck you. So. Hard." His hand tightened around her wrists, his thumb pressing into her pulse. "No escape."

Hermione could see it. She was so close.

"I'd hold your legs open with my knees. Those shoes wouldn't help you."

So close.

"You couldn't do anything but take my cock. And drip all over my bed."

There was no hiding it when she came. Hermione's lit wand flared, sending a momentary burst of white light through the alley. Then it dimmed to a yellow glow as she worked out the spasms on a series of slow, hard bucks against his thigh, gasping for breath.

Neville's grip loosened, but he didn't let go. He hummed against her neck and rocked back against her with the gentlest of motions. When he finally spoke, his voice was completely different, almost weak. He ginglerly rubbed her wrists. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No." It was the truth. Her wrists tingled, but she began to think he'd practiced this on himself before, tested his own strength the way he'd tested his knots.

"Please tell me if I did."

"You didn't," Hermione assured him. Their rocking slowed, although she could feel how hard he still was. "You don't want to come?" she asked tentatively.

He let out something halfway between a laugh and a groan. "I'm going to come so hard later. I won't last three seconds."

"But not now?"

Neville pulled back, shaking his head. "Not now."

He let go of her wrists, and Hermione's arms immediately went around his neck. Her head jerked with a wild thought. "You like that feeling. Wanting. Just wanting."

"Yeah," he admitted. "I like to make other people feel it, too."

"You did. I was...." Hermione broke off with a chuckle. She'd been gagging for it. If this was anyone other than Neville, she'd might feel a tinge of shame.

But this was Neville. Neville.

"I'd like to make you want it even more," he said. He lowered his head, suddenly looking like the old, unsure Neville she'd known at Hogwarts. "Maybe another night? If you like." When she didn't reply right away, he added quickly, "It doesn't have to be like that, you know. Like the fantasy."

Hermione swallowed heavily. "But it could be."

"Yeah," Neville whispered, his eyes meeting hers. A whole new world of possibility stretched out between them. "Maybe it could be."