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Chapter Text

CHAPTER 1

HOGWARTS... HOME! 

He never thought that he would be back, back to the castle that held so much tormenting memories. The place where he and his friends found each other and formed close bonds but at the same time… The place where each person lost someone they knew, someone they loved and would never see again. It’s been five years since the war, but they all still carried a piece of the war with them.

For Neville Longbottom, he felt the loss of Hannah the most. After the war they had fallen into the comfort of each other, lonely nights were filled with moments of passion, night terrors were chased away by the silky warm touch of her skin curled into his embrace. They had built a world of their own, helping each other heal from the scars left behind due to the war.

After returning to Hogwarts for their 8th year, Neville was offered an apprenticeship with Professor Sprout, his core focus being on Herbology and the study of magical plants and their properties. This apprenticeship gave him purpose and Hannah took up a position in the Ministry as an unspeakable. As their relationship progressed, Neville finally introduced Hannah to his parents, something he was very anxious about as before her, only Hermione, Harry and Ron knew about his parents and what had happened to them.

Following the attack by Bellitrix Lestrange, Frank and Alice Longbottom were moved to the Janus Thickey Ward of St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries in London. Neville, was sent to live with his grandmother Augusta, Frank’s mother, and visited his parents for Christmas and on summer holidays. A year into their relationship on Christmas day, Neville had plucked up the courage and taken Hannah to meet his parents. Hannah was very supportive and though his parents were in their own little world, their little gestures and soft smiles to Neville, symbolized their acceptance, even though there was no way to determine the validity there of, but he like to think as much.

Neither one recognised him as their son, but they did acknowledge his presence, and seemed to know that he was someone they were fond of; Alice gave him bubblegum wrappers every time he came to see them, so many that he could paper his bedroom with them if he so desired.

Every wrapped in someway was important to him and over the years he had shrunk them down, placed them into a trinket box, his gran had given him, which according to her was the first gift his father had gifted his mother when they started courting. That Christmas with Hannah, he left once again with both pockets filled with wrappers.

“Mr Longbottom…. Mr Longbottom…. NEVILLE!”

Snapping our of his trip down memory lane Neville looked up into the stern yet worried expression of Headmistress McGonagall.

“Sorry Headmistress, being back here just flooded my senses and brought back some memories.” He replied, feeling rather embarrassed that on his first day as the new Herbology professor, he was spacing out because he couldn’t get his feeling under control.

“ It’s all good Mr Longbottom, it is  understandable, I am sorry to hear about Hannah. I’m sure that being back here cannot be an easy thing to do.”

McGonagall looked at him with sadness edged around her eyes, he of cause had not ment for her to witness his little episode.

“No, no it’s okay Headmistress, I just didn’t expect to have this moment, my apologies” he stated while clutching his gloves rather tightly, hoping that she wouldn’t handle him with kit gloves.

“I am happy to be back Headmistress, after all Hogwarts will always be home. That’s what I’m feeling right now, like I’m finally home.” He replied, while smiling softly at his former head of house and now boss.

It did feel like he was home, Hogwarts had always felt like home, even when it was over run by blood purists and even when everything layed in ruins. Nobody could take away the love he and his friends had for the place no matter how hard they tried.

No matter what tragedies they crossed paths with, the castle held their childhood and all the happy memories, which out weighed the bad ones. That's why they fought so hard to protect it and why they would continue to do so for generations to come.

With a look of understand on her face, McGonagall took her seat behind the head mistresses table and motioned for Neville to join her. Shuffling through her parchments she located his appointment duties, while conjuring tea service with little ginger biscuits.

“Well, as we discussed in your appointment letter, you will be taking over Professor Sprouts Classes, working with the first and second years, however when Professor Snape is unable to do so you would then be assisting him with his lessons for years 3 and up”

“Yes Headmistress, that’s all in order, I’m looking forward to experiencing Hogwarts from a different perspective, I am rather anxious though.” He admitted and took a sip of his lavender tea, avoiding eye contact with McGonagall purely because being anxious wasn’t something he was proud of being.

“Nonsense, you have always been my first pick, I’m extremely delighted that you accepted my offer, although I would have liked it to have been under different circumstances. But never mind that, your home and I have full confidence in your abilities Mr Longbottom. “

With a sheepish smile and nod of his head Neville thanked McGonagall and stated he would do his best always.

Their meeting flowed with stipulations of when lesson plans would be due and that Neville would be the new Head of house for Hufflepuff and subsequently his room was located next to the castle kitchens.

Once formalities were concluded McGonagall welcomed him to the staff of Hogwarts.

“Mr Longbottom, your no longer a student, but a colleague, I believe formalities are not needed when addressing me, your welcome to address me as Minerva or Mini…” McGonagall smiled motioned him towards the exit of her office.

“Uhmm.. It will take some getting use to but likewise Mini, you may address me as Neville.” He smiled, nodding his head and rushed towards the exit eager to settle in and catch some sleep after a rather long journey.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER. 

The heavy oak door swung shut behind him, sealing the echoes of his conversation with Professor McGonagall within her study. Neville Longbottom inhaled deeply, the familiar scent of old parchment and polished wood mingling with the cool draft of the castle corridors. Each step he took carried a quiet sense of transformation—he was no longer the nervous student fumbling through lessons, but the Herbology professor, entrusted with the legacy of Hogwarts’ botanical wonders. More than that, he was now Head of Hufflepuff House, a responsibility that settled on his shoulders with a quiet weight of honor.

As he strode through the dimly lit halls, torches flickering in their sconces, the realization grew ever more tangible—this castle, with its shifting staircases and whispered secrets, was now his home in a way it had never been before. His new quarters awaited him, tucked within the familiar warmth of the Hufflepuff wing, where students would look to him not just as a teacher, but as their guide, their protector. The thought sent a thrill of pride through him.

A new chapter had begun.

Neville rounded a corner near the moving staircases, his thoughts still caught in the weight of his newfound responsibilities when—bam! A collision sent him staggering back.

“Watch where you’re—” came an irritated voice, sharp and unmistakable. His eyes locked onto none other than Pansy Parkinson, impeccably dressed in deep emerald robes, her posture still radiating the unshaken confidence she had carried as a student.

Neville blinked. “Pansy?”

“Professor Parkinson,” she corrected swiftly, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Surprised?”

He was. Of all people, Pansy was the last person he expected to run into within the castle’s corridors, let alone as a member of the Hogwarts staff.

“You’re—” he started, but she finished his sentence for him, her smirk widening.

“The new Transfiguration professor.”

Neville stared for a moment, adjusting to this strange new reality. He had known her as an adversary once—more concerned with sneering remarks than serious magic—but time had a funny way of changing things.

“Didn’t peg you for the teaching type,” he admitted.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “And I didn’t peg you for the responsible type, yet here you are, Head of Hufflepuff.” She glanced him over with mild amusement, as though assessing just how well he’d fit the title.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the years between them stretching and settling into something almost… neutral.

“Well,” Neville finally said, readjusting the strap of his satchel, “guess we’re colleagues now.”

“Looks like it,” Pansy murmured, before stepping aside with effortless grace. “Don’t let me keep you, Professor Longbottom.”

Neville exhaled and continued toward his quarters. Hogwarts, it seemed, still had plenty of surprises left in store.

Still dazed from his unexpected encounter with Pansy Parkinson, Neville finally arrived at his new quarters, tucked beside the castle kitchens. The scent of fresh-baked bread and simmering stew drifted through the air, wrapping around him like an old memory waiting to be unearthed. As he placed his satchel down, the dim candlelight flickered, casting elongated shadows across the warm, earthy tones of the room—and suddenly, the past tugged at him.

A younger version of himself, slightly less confident but just as determined, tiptoed through these very corridors, his fingers loosely intertwined with Hannah’s. They had laughed in hushed whispers, pressing themselves against the cold stone walls each time a distant footstep signaled the approach of a wandering prefect. It had been their first date, though neither of them had dared call it that aloud.

He could still hear her voice—soft, teasing—just as they had slipped through the swinging door of the kitchen:

”You do realize this isn’t exactly romantic, sneaking into the kitchens like a couple of troublemakers.”

Neville had only grinned, pulling her toward the warmth of the bustling house-elves, who, rather than scolding them, eagerly piled plates with sugared pastries and steaming cocoa.

”I don’t know,”he had mused, watching her tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. ”I think it’s perfect.”

The memory lingered a moment longer before reality settled back into place. Neville exhaled, shaking his head with a small, wistful smile. That had been another lifetime—a time of stolen moments, whispered laughter, and uncertainty.

Now, as Professor Longbottom, he wasn’t sneaking into the kitchen for midnight snacks—he was here to guide students the way others had guided him.

Still, as he moved toward the window, watching the glow of torchlight flicker through the corridors, he couldn’t help but wonder if Hannah ever reminisced about that night too.

The warmth of the memory faded, replaced by a sudden, suffocating cold. Reality settled in—a cruel, irrevocable truth—Hannah was gone. No matter how many times he reached for the past, he would never hear her voice again, never see that gentle smile that had once made everything feel lighter.

A sharp pang of grief took hold as Neville sank into the chair near his desk, fingers trembling slightly against the worn wood. The castle kitchens, the laughter, the stolen moments—it was all frozen in time now, unreachable.

And then, the memory shifted, dragging him back to a day he wished he could forget.

Rain had drummed against the canopy of mourners, each drop heavy with sorrow as they gathered around the casket adorned with white lilies. Neville had stood among them, numb, his fingers curled into fists at his sides. He hadn’t been able to speak—not really. Words had been too small to contain the enormity of loss.

He remembered staring down at the simple engraving on the headstone, his vision blurred by rain and grief.

”Hannah Abbott : Kindness Beyond Measure.”

The world had felt impossibly empty.

Now, sitting alone in his quarters, Neville closed his eyes, letting the weight of it press against his chest. The pain wasn’t as sharp as it had been that day, but it was there—it would always be there, woven into the very fabric of who he was.

With a slow breath, he reached for a small, worn photograph tucked inside his satchel—a snapshot of them, laughing, arms tangled around each other, carefree in a way that felt like a lifetime ago.

“I hope I make you proud,” he whispered, voice barely audible against the flickering candlelight.

And for a moment, just a moment, he could almost believe she was still with him.

Neville ran his fingers over the worn edges of the photograph, his gaze lingering on the frozen moment of laughter captured within it. Hannah’s eyes crinkled at the corners, her smile radiant, effortless.

A surge of quiet longing settled in his chest as he scanned his new quarters, searching for the right place—the perfect place—to keep this last tangible piece of her.

He finally found It: a small, sturdy shelf near his writing desk, just beside the window overlooking the Hogwarts grounds. He set the frame down carefully, adjusting it until the angle felt just right, as if the memory itself were watching over him.

With a weary sigh, he turned to his satchel and began unpacking, the simple act grounding him in the present. Books found their way onto shelves, his favorite quill into the drawer, and a warm Hufflepuff-colored blanket draped itself over the armchair near the hearth. Slowly, the empty space began to feel less like unfamiliar territory and more like something his own—a sanctuary within the towering walls of Hogwarts.

The evening stretched on, the castle murmuring with the distant echoes of footsteps and moving staircases. Neville let the routine of showering wash away the weight of the day, steam curling around him in thick clouds as exhaustion settled deep into his bones.

Later, as he lay beneath the soft glow of candlelight, the warmth of blankets pressing against him, sleep came easily—but with it, so did dreams.

Hannah was there, her laughter filling the air like it always had, her fingers brushing against his wrist as they passed a cup of cocoa back and forth in the kitchens. He could feel the heat of it, could hear the bubbling of the cauldron nearby, the hum of house-elves preparing trays for the morning. It was so vivid, so achingly familiar, that for a fleeting moment, it didn’t feel like a dream at all.

But dreams were fleeting. And morning would come.

For now, though, he let himself stay in the memory just a little longer.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Morning came sooner than Neville had expected, sunlight filtered through the narrow window of his quarters, casting long beams of gold across the stone floor. He laid still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, willing his nerves to settle. This was his official first day not as a student, nit as a visitor, but as a Professor. The realization was as daunting as it was surreal. 

After dressing in crisp robes, though they still felt foreign on him in this context, he made his way to the teachers lounge. His steps were steady, but his heart quickened. He had walked these corridors hundreds of times before, yet this morning they felt different. The air hummed with an unfamiliar weight, the knowledge that, beyond those doors, sat witches and wizards who had once graded his essay and corrected his wand work. Now, he was expected to sit among them as an equal. 

The heavy wooden doors creaked as he entered and the low murmer of conversation halted for just a fraction of a second, long enough for him to feel the shift. Eyes flickered his way, some curious, some indifferent and others vaguely amused as the sight of the once-clumsy Gryffindor now wearing the robes of a professor. Neville cleared his throat, stepping inside. 

Before he could fully take in the room, he felt a presence beside him. A sharp, familiar voice cut through the air. 

"Longbottom." 

Neville stiffened instinctively, before turning, his eyes landed on Professor Snape, draped as ever in billowing black robes. Time had not changed the professors imposing nature, though Neville noted the wear in his expression, the kind that only years of war and survival could carve into someone. 

"Professor Snape," Neville greeted, voice even, though his stomach twisted in an old reflexive discomfort.

Snape's gaze swept over him with cool assessment before he spoke again, tone measured but edged with something resembling reluctant acknowledgment. 

" You'll be expected to fill in for me on occasion," he said, voice low, efficient.

"When iam occupied with other matters, you will ensure my students do not descent into utter incompetence."

Neville swallowed, forcing himself to meet Snape's gaze steadily. 

"I understand," he replied, not daring to add anything beyond that.

Snape regarded him for a moment, as though searching for cracks in his resolve. Perhaps he expected the old fumbling Neville, the one who shrank under his gaze in Potions, the one who had once feared speaking too loudly in his professors presence. But that Neville had long since been tempered by war, by loss, by quiet resilience. 

Finally Snape gave a slow, almost subtle nod before sweeping past him without another word.

Neville exhaled, tension draining from his shoulders. He glanced around, noticing a seat near Professor Sprout and moved towards it, accepting the reality that, for better or worse, he belonged here now. 

__________________________________________

Neville has barely settled into his seat when Professor Sprout, in her familiar and cheerful voice greeted him. 

"Ah, Neville! There you are."

He took his seat and turned to see Professor Sprout beaming at him, he round face crinkled with a smile that radiated nothing but warmth. She looked different outside of the demanding bustle of her usual classroom, relaxed, content as if her finally deciding to  retire had given her the time to truly appreciate the world beyond Hogwarts.

"You made it through your first morning," she said, giving his arm an affectionate pat before settling into the chair beside him

"And now, officially, I hand over the reins."

Neville offered her a grateful smile. 

"Thank you Professor. It means a lot that you trust me with it."

"OH nonsense," she waved dismissively.

"You were always meant for this, dear boy. I've watched you grow, watched you fight for what matters and most of all, I've seen your love for Herbology flourish. Hogwarts needs people like you, people who care."

The words settled deep within him, threading through the quiet doubts he had carried. It wasn't just a passing encouragement, to him this was validation, the kind that carried weight. 

She leaned back slightly, sighing wistfully. 

"Now that I've stepped away, I finally have time to tend to my own garden properly. That greenhouse behind my cottage has been neglected for far too long. And... oh!... I've been considering a bit of traveling. There's a rare strain of Magical fungi I've been itching to study in Peru and I may finally get to see it up close. "

Neville chuckled, picturing Professor Sprout knee deep in some enchanted rainforest behind her cottage , covered in soil and beaming with excitement.

" Sounds like the perfect retirement Professor. "

She grinned." I certainly hope so. But enough about me, you'll be brilliant Mr Longbottom. Just trust yourself and if you ever need advice, well," her smile turned mischievous, "I'm only an owl away."

Warmth spread through him as her words, setting the last remnants of uncertainty. He wasn't just stepping into a legacy, he was carrying it forward. 

The murmur of conversation filled the teachers lounge, mingling with the clinking of goblet and the scent of freshly prepared dishes. Neville sat stiffly in his chair, trying to ease into the unfamiliar space among Hogwarts faculty, his fingers loosely curled around the stem of his goblet. 

The chatter stilled, however, the moment Headmistress McGonagall stood, her sharp presence commanding quiet without a single word. With deliberate grace, she lifted her glass and the room held its breath in anticipation. 

"A moment please," she said, her voice firm, carrying with it both authority and deep respect.

"Tonight, we celebrate a transition. A farewell to a treasured colleague and the welcome of another."

She turned towards Professor Sprout and he expression softened just slightly. 

"Pomona, there are few who have nurtured these castle walls with as much care, patience and unwavering dedication as you. You have guided generations of students, not only through their studies, but through their struggles, their triumphs and  their quiet moments of doubt. For that, Hogwarts owes you more than what mere words can convey. "

A warmth spread across Professor Sprouts face, her hands folded over her goblet as she accepted the praise, eyes shinning with the depth of memories shared within these walls.

McGonagall raised her goblet slightly higher. 

"To Professor Sprout, whose legacy of wisdom and kindness shall endure far beyond her tenure at Hogwarts."

A chorus of voices followed, each repeating the sentiment... "To Professor Sprout!"... As goblets met in quiet reverence. Neville lifted his own, swallowing against the weight of it all.

The, just as the room settled, McGonagall turned towards him, eyes sharp and steady. 

"And of course," she continued, " We welcome Professor Longbottom and Professor Parkinson, whom will be the new Transfiguration professor into our ranks. Both of them who has shown great courage, great heart and most importantly, great knowledge of the very subject they now entrusted with."

Neville felt the rooms attention shift, his pulse quicken and slightly beneath the weight of expectation. 

" I have no doubt, " McGonagall said, voice unwavering," that Professor Longbottom and Professor Parkinson will uphold the standards and spirit of this institution with all the strength we have come to expect of them."

A scattered applause followed, some war, some polite but all undeniably marking the moment, the passing of one chapter into another. 

As Neville raised his goblet to his lips, catching Professor Sprouts encouraging smile, he let himself breathe. He was here, seated among them, welcomed not as an outsider, but as one of them. And for the first time since stepping into the castle walls, he felt it. 

He was truly home. 

__________________________________________

The hum of conversation filled the teachers lounge once again, a steady rhythm of voices mingled over breakfast and fresh tea.

Neville, still adjusting to the strangeness of his new position, found himself drifting between polite exchanges abd quiet observations.

His gaze swept the room until it landed, quite unexpectedly, on Pansy Parkinson. She was seated at the far end of the table, her posture poised, effortlessly composed, as though she'd always belonged among Hogwarts esteemed faculty.

Her emerald robes, impeccably tailored, caught the morning light and for a fleeting moment, Neville struggled to reconcile the image of the sharp-tongued Slytherin from their school years with the woman now sipping tea in measured elegance.

How had she ended up here?

As if sensing his silent curiosity, Pansy shifted slightly, her dark eyes flickering up, catching him in the Act.

A slow, knowing smirk curled as the corner of her lips. Neville immediately glanced away, busying himself with the rim of his goblet, but it was too late.

He heard the deliberate click of heels against the wooden floor and when he looked up again, she was standing before him, chin tilted ever so slightly amusement dancing in her expression.

"Enjoying the view Longbottom?"

She mused, arching an eyebrow.

Neville exhaled, shaking his head.

"Just... Surprised to see you here."

"Surprised," she echoed, tapping a manicured finger against the rim of her teacup.

"What, did you assume I'd slither off into the shadows after graduation? Find some wealthy pureblood and spend my days lounging in luxury?"

Neville hesitated. Truthfully, the thought had crossed his mind, but admitting it would hardly be diplomatic.

"I just didn't think teaching would be something you'd be interested in," he said instead, careful with his words.

Pansy hummed, swirling her tea with practiced ease.

"Well, I've had my fair share of surprises too. But here we are." She took a slow sip before adding,

"Besides, Transfiguration is hardly child's play. It requires control, precision and an unwavering attention to detail. Something I happen to excel at."

Neville studied her for a moment, the confidence in her tone, the sharpness in her gaze. Whatever had brought her here, she wasn't just filling space, she was determined to be taken seriously.

"Guess that makes two of us, " he admitted, a small smile ghosting his lips. Pansy tilted her head, eyes glinting with something unreadable.

"Looks like it." With that she turned smoothly in her heels, returning to her seat as if the conversation had been nothing more than a passing moment.

Neville exhaled, watching her go and couldn't shake the feeling that Hogwarts still helf plenty of Mysteries, including the one sitting right across from him.

The lunch continued well into dinner time and after much deliberation, Neville decided to head back to his quarters for the evening eager to enjoy the last evening before the castle halls were riddled with students again. He had barely set foot into his quarters before the fireplace flared to life, emerald flames licking at the edges of the hearth.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. There was only one person and his husband responsible of an unannounced floo call at this hour... Harry Nott-Potter and Theo Nott-Potter.

Sure enough, a familiar pair of faces emerged from the swirling flames. Harry's expression was expectant, easy going as always, while Theo's sharp grin was already laden with mischief.

"Professor Longbottom!" Theo drawled, resting his chin on his hand. "Survived your first official lunch did you?"

Neville rolled his eyes, settling onto the armchair across from the fireplace. "Barely."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head.

" Come on, it couldn't have been that bad."

"oh, I don't know," Theo mused, eyes glinting. "I imagine Neville stumbling through polite conversation maybe knocking over a goblet or two in sheer nervousness. Did anyone have to pat you on the back to stop you chocking on your pumpkin juice?"

Neville groaned, rubbing his temples. "it wasn't that bad," he muttered, though the awkwardness of stopping into the teachers lounge still lingered. Harry shot Theo a look.

"Leave him alone, his just getting settled."

But Theo was far from finished.

"and tell me, how did dear Sevie react to seeing you among the ranks? Did he look as though he'd swallowed a doxy?"

Neville huffed a laugh.

"He told me I'll be expected to cover his lessons if needed."

Harry sighed, though amusement flickered behind his glasses.

" You're going to be great Neville," he said sincerely, cutting through Theo's teasing. "You belong there." Neville hesitated, absorbing the weight of those words.

Theo sencing the shift in mood, rolled his eyes. 

"Alright, fine, I'll admit it... PROFESSOR LONGBOTTOM...has a nice ring to it."

Neville smirked. "That's probably the closest thing to a compliment I'll ever get from you."

Theo grinned. "Oh, absolutely, cherish it forever."

The fireplace cracked between the, the warmth of fridnhsip filled the space, stretching across miles. 

Neville leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out as the warmth of the Floo flames flickered  between him and his two friends.

" You'll never guess who I bumped into today."

Harry raised an eyebrow, while Theo lazily sipped his tea, already looking far too amused for Nevilles liking. 

"Who?" Harry asked

Neville exhales, shaking his head. "Pansy Parkinson."

Theo nearly choked on his tea, coughing before leveling Neville with an incredulous look. 

"Your fucking jokin."

"language love!" snorted Harry

"Wish I was," Neville muttered.

"She's the new Transfiguration professor."

Harry's eyes widened slightly, but Theo was already grinning like a Cheshire cat. 

"Oh, this is fantastic," Theo mused, setting his cup down with a gleeful clink.

"The Pansy Parkinson? TEACHING? I never thought I'd live to see the day."

Neville rolled his eyes. "She seemed pretty confident about it, actually."

Theo leaned forward, the mischief oozing from his expression.

"You know, this puts you in quite the position Longbottom... Professor Parkinson, you, Professor Parkinson long nights in the castle.... I see sparks." Theo grinned while wiggling his eyebrows.

Neville groaned. "No, absolutely not."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head, "Theo, leave him alone."

Theo ignored Harry, waving a hand dramatically. 

"Oh, but can't you picture it? She striding through the halls, robes billowing, Neville fumbling over his words..."

"That is not happening." Neville cut in, rubbing his temples.

Theo leaned back, feigning contemplation. "YET."

Neville grabbed a nearby cushion and hurled it at the fireplace, where Theo's face flickered in the flames. 

Theo laughed, unabashed, "I'm just saying. Hogwarts has a history of unexpected romances."

Harry sighed, though there was amusement in his eyes, "Just let him settle in Theo."

Neville groaned again, but a small reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Hogwarts was already throwing him surprises, he just hoped this wouldn't be one of them. 

After enduring Theo's relentless teasing and Harry's quiet reassurance, Neville let out a tired chuckle, shaking his head, "Alright you two, I'm turning in for the night."

Theo smirked, "Sweet dreams Professor."

"Try not to stress too much," Harry added, his tone softer., "You're settling in."

With a flick of his wrist the floo flames died down, leaving Neville alone in the quiet embrace of his quarters. The castle murmured around him, the faint crackle of torches in the corridors, the distant hum of unseen magic shifting within the walls. 

He moved through the familiar routine of preparing for bed, though his thoughts remained elsewhere. The teasing, the warmth of friendship, it was ment to lift his spirits, he knew that. Theo has always been sharp tongue, but beneath the mischief there was care.

. Still, as he unbuttoned his robes and reached for the folded nigh shirt on the chair an ache settled deep in his chest. 

He wasn't over it. He wasn't sure he ever would be.

He paused by the shelf where he had placed her photograph earlier, his fingers grazing the frame. The image stared back at him, her laugh frozen in time, her eyes bright with joy that felt like a dream now.

They had made plans, talked about the future. He had imagined years of waking up beside her, sharing cups of tea by the window, growing old together. 

Instead, he was here... alone. 

Closing his eyes, Neville exhaled slowly, pushing back the wave of grief that threatened to take hold. 

He climbed into bed, the blankets warm but insufficient against the chill or loss.

Sleep claimed him eventually, but not before memories slipped through quietly... Flashes of laughter,  soft touches and stolen moments.

And, just before darkness of dreams fully took over, the quiet realization settled within him.... Theo had only been trying to make him smile. 

__________________________________________

Nott-Potter Cottage

As the emerald flames flickered out, sealing the floo connection, Theo leaned back against the plush sofa in their living room, stretching his arms above his head. He let out a low hum, glancing at Harry with a knowing look.

"You saw that, didn't you?"

Harry, still seated near the earth, exhaled quietly, rubbing his thumb against the rim of his teacup. 

"Yeah," he murmured. "His still carrying it, Hannahs loss."

Theo scoffed softly, shaking his head, "More like drowning in it."

There was a brief silence between them, filled only by the faint crackling of embers in the fireplace. 

"I was just trying to lighten him up a bit," Theo admitted, his gaze flickering towards the embers in the now vacant hearth.

"You know, make him laugh, get him out of his own head for a minute."

Harry looked at him then, something quiet and understanding in his expression, "You did," he assured, "but grief doesn't just... Disappear."

Theo's fingers tapped idly against his knee, " I just hate seeing him like that," he muttered, voice quieter now, more subdued, "It's been years, but Merlin... It's still there, heavy as ever."

Harry nodded slowly, his own thoughts drifting back to Nevilles face during their call, the flicker of something unspoken in his eyes, the way his fingers lingered just out of view, os if holding onto something. 

" He loved her," Harry szis simply," and losing someone like that... It changes you." 

Theo sighed again, stretching out on the sofa.

"Well, if he needs reminding of the living, we can always drop by and torment him in person."

Harry smirked, lifting his cup in silent agreement. 

Theo lunged against the arm of the sofa, twirling his wand absently between his fingers, his expression still tinged with quiet amusement over their call with Neville. But Harry, seated across from him, had drifter into thought, staring into the dying embers.

"His lost a lot of people," Harry finally murmured, his voice subdued, as though the words carried  a weight too heavy to be spoken aloud.

Theo paused, lowering his wand slightly, "Yeah, Hannah was a big one," he admitted, though his teasing from earlier had been meant to lighten the mood, "I don't think he ever really moved on."

Harry exhaled, shaking his head, "It's more than just Hannah," he said, " He lost his parents too. Not tk death, but in a way, it was worse."

Theo frowned, watching Harry carefully. 

"He doesn't have memories of them," Harry continued, his voice thixh with understanding, " Not the kind we do. Not like growing up with parents who cold love you, guide you." he swalloed, "all he has are thode bubblegum Wrappers his mother keeps giving him."

Theo was silent for a moment, his fingers tightening slightly over the wand in his hand. 

Harry glanced at him, his gaze steady but filled with sadness, "Can you imagine, Theo? That's the only thijg left of them... Their minds are gone, their lived frozen in a place he'll never reach."

Theo let out a slow breath, setting his wand down beside him. He had always known Neville had suffered, had grieved, but the thought if those tiny meaningless Wrappers...fragments of a life that had beeb stolen from him... Some how hit harder than expected. 

"Merlin," Theo muttered, rubbing a hand over his face, "that's bloody awful."

Harry nodded, eyes dark with the weight of it all, "It is."

Silence once again stretched between them, heavier than before. 

Then, Theo sighed, shifting his posture as if shaking off the weight of the conversation, "Right, well... I suppose that means I should probably ease off on the Parkinson jokes, yeah?"

Harry chuckled under his breath, though it was tinged with quiet sympathy, " Maybe just a little."

Theo smirked, but there was a softness there now, a silent understanding threading through the humor, "fine, but if she really does end up fancying him, I'm never letting it go."

Harry shook his head, but the warmth of their friendship remained.... A stead presence, something Neville could hold onto, even when the past felt unbearable. 

Chapter Text

Neville straightened his robes, smoothing down the crisp edges as he prepared for his first day as Hogwarts new Herbology Professor. 

The familiar scent of damp earth and flourishing greenery wrapped around him, grounding him on the present, but as he strode through the castles winding corridors, nostalgia wove itself into his thoughts.

The alcoves, half hidden behind towering stone columns, whispered with memory. His eighth year had been turbulent, marked by tentative steps towards normalcy after the war, and in those recesses of Hogwarts, away from the watchful gaze of classmates and professors, He and Hannah had carved out fleeting moments of warmth amid the uncertainty. He could still recall the way she'd laugh, breathless against his lips, as they stole another moment before rushing off to class.

The scent of damp earth and blooming flora faded into memory as Neville found himself drawn into the past... a conversation at twilight, just days before their time as students ended.

They were lingering by the Black Lake, the water reflecting the soft hues of the setting sun. Hannah sat beside him, tracing idle patterns in the grass, her expression thoughtful.

" Your really going to specialize in Herbology?" she asked. Her voice was steady but carrying a note of curiosity.

Neville nodded his head, the decision feeling more solid now that they were speaking about it.

"Yeah, maybe even train as a Potions Master eventually, though I'm not exactly Snapes level of brilliant," he admitted with a chuckle.

Hannah smiled, nudging his shoulder, "Your more than capable, besides, the world could do with fewer brooding, cape swishing professors."

Neville snorted at that and continued watching the world in a silence that was comforting, the slight ripple on the lake and a small breeze playing with bits of leaves beside them. Just being in this moment with her felt like perfection.

Shifting his gaze towards her face and taking in the faint blush on her cheeks, he watched as her expression shifted, more serious now. 

"I've been offered a position in the Department of Mysteries."

Neville's breath hitched, " An Unspeakable?"

She nodded, her gaze sweeping slowly across the lake, "It's not anything I imagined for myself, but it feels... right."

The weight of their futures settled between them, paths leading in different directions, choices that would shape the people they become. Neville remembered reaching for her hand then, squeezing it gently, as if hoping to tether the moment in place.

They spent the rest of that morning speaking in hushed tones, weaving dreams into words, imagining the life they would build together. Neville, with his passion for Herbology, had found purpose in teaching, nurturing students, just as he nurtured his plants. Hannah, ambitious and resolute, had set her sights on becoming an Unspeakable, chasing mysteries hidden in the depths of the Department of Mysteries.

Despite the contrast in their paths, their dreams  intertwined. The envisioned aa home... perhaps a cozy cottage near the Hogwarts grounds, where sprawling gardens would stretch beyond their doorstep. They mused over names for their future children, ones that held meaning, history and strength. There was laughter, whispers of love and the quiet certainty that, no matter where their professions took them, they would always find their way back to each other.

The warmth of memory faded to quickly, like the last embers of a dying fire. The voices, the laughter, the whispered dreams, they had once felt so tangible, so certain.... now only existed in fragments, echoes trapped within the corridor of his mind.

Neville blinked, the scent of damp earth grounding him back into the present. The ache in his chest was sharp a reminder that some dreams remained unfinished, lost to tome, to fate … to death. Hannah was gone. The cottage they had envisioned, the names they had played with, the life they had promised to build together... all of it, mere ghosts of what could have been.

He swallows hard, pushing back the sorrow that threatened to unravel him. There was no room for grief now. Not when a class of wide eyed first years waited beyond the greenhouse doors, eager for their first lesson in Herbology.

Straightening his shoulders, Neville stepped forward, forcing himself to leave the past where it belonged.

He stepped into the greenhouse, the scent of damp soil and freshly misted leaves wrapping around him like an old, familiar embrace. The sunlight filtered through the enchanted glass, casting golden hues over the rows of eager young faces, a new generation, yet unmistakably tied to the past.

Neville's gaze swept over them, catching familiar features among the crowd. Scorpius Malfoy, with his sharp, inquisitive eyes - an echo of his parents, yet softened by something distinctly his own.

Lilly Nott-Potter, her unruly dark curs framing a face full of quiet curiosity and quiet confidence, the daughter of Theo and Harry, carried into the world by Ginny Weasley. Ginny had graciously offered to surrogate for the Nott-Potters after Theo , in a drunken state, had confided in her that he wanted to give Harry the family he never had.

Then , Nevilles eyes fell on the spawn of Ron and Lavender Weasley... Kai and Kian Weasley, twin sparks of mischief, their energy reminiscent of the late Fred and the ever-wild George, already sharing the kind of silent communication only true troublemaker could master. He would need to keep a close watch over them, because clearly the twins were pranksters like their uncles and Neville was sure George was passing down the tricks of the trade to his nephews.

And then there was absences -  not losses, but choices. Luna and Blaise had yet to start a family, their lives still entwined in adventure, in discovery. Luna, ever the dreamer, had confided that she and Blaise wanted to revel in every possibility of their love, unburdened by expectations, before welcoming another soul into their world. But Neville knew better, Luna was freakier than most, Blaise had floo'd to his and Hannah's flat after their first date, out of breath and with fear edged in his eyes. That was the day Blaise realized that Luna was highly underestimated, though she looked dazed half the time and constantly spoke about wraksprauts... Luna had an appetite in the bedroom that scared the Zabini Stallion, but after rehydrating and collecting himself and especially after being mocked mercilessly by Hannah, he declared that Luna was the woman for him and he would just have to buck up and grab the bull by the balls. He was not letting Lovegood get way... He was in love.

Neville swallowed, steadying himself against the tide of memory. Hannah was not here. She would never be here. The warmth of their imagined future - of children with her laugh, of a home filled with shared dreams - had faded into something unreachable.

But there faces before him, this class of eager first years, were here and he was here for them.

Shaking off the lingering ache, Neville straightened his shoulders, stepping fully into the space, ready to teach... ready to nurture something new.

Chapter Text

Pansy reclined on a cushioned lounger, the midday sun casting a golden hue across the shimmering surface of her pool. This had been a new addition to the manor, with the war behind them the wizarding world had become kinder and more informed of the perks muggle amenities had to offer, such as a huge pool with floaties and a built in hot tub.

Today, was a lazy afternoon, perfectly orchestrated for indulgence, but it was rudely interrupted when a sleek owl swooped down, dropping a brown envelope onto the table beside her. 

With a sigh, she reached for the envelope, her fingers trailing over the familiar seal of Hogwarts. The name scrawled across the front " Minerva McGonagall" sent a ripple of unease down her spine. As she unfolded the letter, her eyes skimmed over the formal phrasing, her breath hitching at the words that would shatter her carefully curated existence.

Professor of Transfiguration

Pansy let out a sharp laugh, one that bordered dangerously on hysteria. The very notion was absurd, was McGonagall finally losing her grip on reality? Of all people in the wizarding world, this was clearly an appointment letter and it was addressed to her Pansy Parkinson, why would McGonagall chose her?

She hadn't exactly excelled in Transfiguration, nor had she ever shown any particular inclination towards teaching. Her mind reeled, dredging up memories of her less than stellar performances in the subject, the reprimand and the occasional snide remarks from McGonagall herself!

And yet, here is was... Stamped and official, an opportunity she had never asked for, handed to her by one woman she was convinced had completely gone mad. 

The words blurred before her eyes, the parchment rambling in her grasp as a rush of air escaped her lungs in shallow, frantic bursts. This had to be some kind of elaborate joke. A mistake, a cruel experiment ment to test her sanity.

Pansy clutched at her chest, fingers digging into the soft fabric of her silk cover up as she struggled to steady her breathing. McGonagall of all people, had hand picked her to teach Transfiguration? Had she overlooked the countless times Pansy had barely scraped by in class? Had she forgotten the shape-eyed scrutiny, the exasperated sighs, the pointed corrections delivered in that unyielding tone?

No. This wasn't real, couldn't be real.

She shot a wild glance around her garden as though expecting to find someone lurking in the shadows, waiting to reveal the prank for what it was, but there was no one, just the still surface of the pool, the soft rustle of summer leaves and the inked declaration that had thrown her world in chaos. 

A fresh wave of dizziness crept in, her breath coming in ragged gasps. What did McGonagall see in her, that Pansy herself had never seen? And worse... What would happen if she failed?

The letter slipped from her fingers, fluttering onto the tiles like a fallen leaf, utterly forgotten. Pansy was already on her feet, her heart pounding against her ribs, a burning indignation surging through her veins.

This was lunacy, McGonagall couldn't possibly be serious. 

Without a second thought, she stormed across the patio and into her home, barely registering the lavish furnishings as she made a beeline for the grand fireplace. The emerald jar on the mantel rattled as she yanked it open, her fingers diving into the cool granules of floo powder.

With a fierce toss, she stepped into the flickering flames, heat licking at her skin as she barked, "Headmistress's office, Hogwarts!" 

Chapter Text

The familiar rush of transport spun her world into a blur before she spines into existence in the heath of Headmistress McGonagalls office. The scent of old parchment and polished wood greeted her, but Pansy had no time to reminisce in the nostalgic feeling it brought her.

"Headmistress..." she started, breathless and fuming.

"What in Merlin’s name were you thinking?"

McGonagall, seated behind her immaculate desk, merely arched a brow, her gaze cool and unwavering. 

"Miss Parkinson," she said, folding her hands atop the letters she had been reading before Pansy had dropped in like a whirlwind.

"I wondered how long it would take you to come storming in."

McGonagall stood, the movement deliberate yet unhurried, as if she had expected this moment to unfold. She rounded her desk with a measured grace, gesturing towards the high backed chair in front of her. 

"Sit, Miss Parkinson," she said, her tone firm, but not unkind.

Pansy remained frozen, her breath still shallow, fingers twitching at her sides, but the way McGonagall looked at her...steady, assured... Made it impossible to refuse. With stiff reluctance, she sank into the chair, the antique wood pressing cold against her skin.

A porcelain teapot hovered, pouring steaming liquid into a delicate cup, followed swiftly by a plate of ginger biscuits that landed with a soft clink beside it. The scent curled into the air, warm and oddly comforting, but Pansy barely spared them a glance. 

"Tea?"

"No." the word came out clipped, almost too sharp, but McGonagall didn't react, only nodded as though she understood.

The Headmistress settled into her own seat, fingers lacing together. 

"I imagine you have several choice words for me," she said, her lips curved faintly.

"... and yet, you seem at a loss."

Pansy let out a harsh breath, shaking her head. 

"This, this has to be a mistake, a joke. I mean, I was hardly your star pupil."

McGonagall regarded her for a long moment, as if weighing something unspoken between them. Then with a quiet sigh she spoke. 

"It is no mistake Miss Parkinson and certainly no joke." she paused, leaning forward just slightly.

"You were chosen because you possess something far rarer than perfect grades, a perspective that others overlook, a resilience that you fail to see in yourself."

Pansy blinked, throat tightening against the sudden force of those words. Resilience? Perspective? None of those sounded like traits she had ever associated with herself.

McGonagall picked up her own cup, taking a measured sip before setting it back down. 

"You see Miss Parkinson, it is often those who have stumbled who make the finest teachers. They understand failure. They understand struggle and in the end they understand how to rise."

The words settled between them like a quiet spell, unraveling something deep within Pansy that she hadn't expected. 

McGonagall’s gaze never wavered, her expression unwaveringly composed. 

" Miss Parkinson, you underestimate yourself. "

Pansy scoffed, a nervous breathy exhale as she leaned forward, fingers tangled in her lap. 

"Headmistress, you can't be serious. I was hardly a model student and I've never transfigured anything truly remarkable."

McGonagall’s lips quirked in that subtle knowing way, as if she were holding back a smile. 

"You transfigured half of the drapes in your dormitory to match your Aesthetic preferences within your first month at Hogwarts," she said evenly

"...and I recall a rather impressive instance where your robes were adjusted seamlessly from day wear to evening attire with nothing more than a flick of your wand. "

Pansy frowned, caught between scepticism and confusion.

" That was just vanity, not real Transfiguration, " she muttered.

McGonagall tutted. 

" On the contrary, Miss Parkinson, that was an unconscious mastery of refinement and precision. Many witches and wizards struggle with detailed Transfiguration... Shifting fabric, controlling intricate alterations, but you've done it effortlessly, without recognizing the skill involved. "

Pansy's breath hitched slightly, she had never thought of it that way. She had considered it as mere indulgences, nothing worth noting, but here McGonagall was, listing them as proof of capability.

McGonagall took another measured sip of tea before setting her cup down with a soft clink. 

"What makes a great professor is not simply brilliance in a subject, but the ability to adapt, to see potential where others do not. You have the skill Miss Parkinson... Now you simply need the confidence to wield it."

Pansy swallowed hard, something unfamiliar tightening in her chest. The disbelief hadn't left her entirely, but doubt and intrigue now tangled together, leaving her unsure where she stood. 

Was it possible that she wasn't as incapable as she had always believed?

McGonagall’s words echoed in her mind, ratting against walls she had long since built to contain doubt, to suffocate the fragile hope that dared to surface, but hope was a fickle thing, easily overshadowed. 

A sharp flicker, like the snap of a camera shutter, pulled her backwards into her memory.

"Your place is beside a respectable husband Pansy, not buried in books like some blood traitor."

Her father's voice, crisp and edged with cold expectation, curled around her mind like smoke. She could see him now, standing before her in the grand sitting room, a glass of fine aged firewhisky between his fingers, his expression always unreadable and always calculating.

"You were never ment for more. Your purpose is simple... Spend well, socialize intelligently, look pretty. Leave the complexities to the men."

Another flicker... A sharp inhale. 

She was seventeen again, standing in front of a gilded mirror, clad in a gown she had been forced into, something elegant, something ment to make her appealing to future prospects, but all she had seen staring back at her was a reflection of someone she barely recognized. 

The room around her wavered as she blinked hard, dragging herself back to the present, back to McGonagall watching her with quiet understanding, waiting, giving her space to process, to breath and to fight against the ghosts clawing at her throat. 

Pansy swallowed, her fingers tightening around the armrest of her chair as she willed herself to push back against the years of dismissal against the ingrained certainty that she was nothing beyond her surname and pedigree. 

McGonagall believed in her. 

But did she believe in herself? 

Headmistress McGonagall stood, the scraping of her chair against the floor, the only sound in the stillness. She gestures for Pansy to rise and though her movements were reluctant, she obeyed. 

The Headmistress led her towards the fireplace with the same unwavering composure she always carried, stopping just short of the mantel. Turning to face Pansy, she folded her hands in front of her, the barest hint of amusement lacing her sharp gaze. 

"You have two weeks Miss Parkinson," McGonagall stated, "I expect you well rested and prepared to work when you arrive at Hogwarts."

Pansy swallowed, her heartbeat heavy in her ears... Two weeks.

This was real. 

McGonagall was giving her no room for negotiation, no opportunity to backpadal. The words had been spoken, the decision made. She wasn't being asked to take the position, she was expected to fill it.

Something shifted inside her then, the weight of disbelief easing just enough to allow clarity to seep in. There was no grand joke, no cruel prank.

She was the new Transfiguration professor. 

As the realization anchored itself deep, she exhaled sharply, nodding once.

"Right... Two weeks," she murmured, more to herself that anyone else.

McGonagall’s lips curved slightly before she gestured towards the jar of floo powder. 

"Enjoy the remainder of your holiday, Miss Parkinson."

With that she stepped aside, leaving Pansy standing before the hearth, staring into the flames, trying to reconcile the girl she had been with the woman she was about to become.

Just as Pansy reached for the floo powder, McGonagall turned back, a glimmer of amusement flickering in her sharp eyes. 

"Oh and Miss Parkinson," she said, her tone deceptively mild.

"I do hope you'll arrive for your first day in more... Appropriate attire. While I admire your confidence, I can't imagine the faculty adapting well the Transfigurations professor dressed in a...shall we say... Muggle bathing costume?"

Pansy frowned, her brain stuttering over the words 

" Bathing costume!? "

Then it hit her, like a Bludger to the ribs. 

She had stormed into Hogwarts, into the Headmistresses office, wearing nothing but her designer bikini and an open silk cover up. 

For a breathless second, she was paralyzed, caught somewhere between horror and disbelief. Slowly, her gaze dropped to herself, the diamond studded straps of her bikini top glinting under the offices enchanted candlelight, the barely there fabric leaving very little to the imagination. 

Merlins beard. 

A fiery flush crawled up her neck as she cursed inwardly, all righteous indignation evaporating into mortified silence. 

McGonagall, ever composed, simply nodded toward the fireplace.

Pansy did not need to be told twice. 

With what remained of her dignity, she snatched up the floo powder, barely muttering her destination before vanishing into the emerald flames, leaving behind only the scent of summer-salted skin and the echoes of McGonagall’s barely concealed chuckle. 

Headmistress McGonagall stood motionless, eyes fixed on the dying embers in the floo as Pansy Parkinson disappeared in a swirl of green flames. The office, once filled with the faint scent of parchment and polished wood, now felt strangely still, as though it too were contemplating the weight of the moment.

She had just reassured Pansy, formally now, that she was the new Transfiguration professor. It was an honor, a responsibility and a testament to the quiet persistence the young woman had demonstrated over the years. Yes, as McGonagall settled into her chair, fingers steepled, she could not help but recall the girl Pansy once was, the Slytherin Princess, sharptongued and proud, but endlessly seeking the validation that had never quite come.

Her parents had denied her the warmth of unconditional pride and even after the war, after the tumultuous eighth year where so many sort to redefine themselves, Pansy had worked tirelessly to prove she was more than the caricature people painted. 

Hardworking, capable, more than a name, more than a reputation and still when she graduated, McGonagall had seen it in her eyes... That quiet, gnawing uncertainty. 

Where did she belong?

Now, perhaps, she had found an answer. 

McGonagall took a measured sip of her tea, letting it's warmth spread through her as she stared at the quiet flicker of candlelight in the dim office. 

Pansy needed this, more than she knew, this position was not just a title, not just a responsibility, but an opportunity, a chance to grow and prove... Not to McGonagall... But to the lingering whispers of doubt that clung to Pansys name like an ill fitted cloak, that she was far more than a purebloods trophy wife, more than the ornamental Socialite so many had expected her to become. 

With a resolute nod to herself, McGonagall turned her attention back to the pile of parchment on her desk. Her sharp eyes scanned the pages until they landed on another appointment letter, Neville Longbottom. A fine choice for Herbology. She allowed herself a fleeting smile as she signed it with a firm stroke, then sent it off to be delivered to him. 

Two young souls, finding their place, and in the quiet solitude of her office, McGonagall felt, just for a moment, that Hogwarts itself  was breathing a little easier. 

Chapter Text

The heavy wooden door creaked closed behind Neville. Wet soil and flowers clung to his robes. The shadows lengthened and curled up the stone wall, bearing a disturbing resemblance to the unruly vines he had fought during his first class as the Herbology Professor. He sighed wearily, but there was something almost amused in his tone.

The Weasley twins, Kian and Kai, made the greenhouse a theatre of havoc, their mischief growing like thick ivy which never could be tamed. He'd observed with a mixture of annoyance and grudging affection as the pair caused mayhem, laughter ringing around like ghosts of the past.
How could he not be reminded of Fred abd George!? Their legacy of trickery remained, woven into Hogwarts itself, like Whispers in the walls waiting for the next generation to carry on their mischief.

He passed through the dimly lit halls, the past pressing against him as he walked, not as a burden, but as a quiet presence, unseen... Yet always lingering. 

The morning sun streamed through the arches greenhouse windows as young Lilly Nott-Potter, daughter of Theo and Harry, worked diligently at her station, carefully extracting spores from a cluster of Belladonna leaves. Her concentration, however, was short lived.

Unbeknownst to her, Kai and Kian troublemakers of the highest order, had procured a handful of sluggish Flobberworms and with practiced stealth, slipped them into her robes and workplace.

With an unsuspecting movement, Lilly reached into the folds of her cloak, her fingers brushed against something slimy and unpleasant. In an instant, the wretched creature writhe, releasing a foul spray of excrement across her pristine workstation. A horrified silence hung in the air, broken only by the uproarious laughter of the twins, their mirth echoing through the greenhouse like victorious war cries.

Lilly, her face contorted in shock and fury, shot them a glare that could have set parchment aflame.

"That's it!" she bellowed, shaking bits of muck from her hands.

"I'm sending an owl to your father!"

Kai and Kian, still breathless from laughter, realized, far too late, that Lilly Nott-Potter was not amused. She stood rigid, arms crossed, glaring at them like a stern professor about to deliver a detention worthy lecture.

"Alright, alright," Kai gasped, raising his hands in surrender. "No need to snitch."

Kiab, ever the diplomat, gave his most angelic smile, which frankly did little to ease the tension.

"we'll make it worth your while, Lils. Extra trickle tarts, premium sugar quills...you name it... Just... Let's not bring Dad into this, yeah!"

Lilly arched a skeptical brow. 

"Your mum would send a Howler the size of the Astronomy tower if she found out, wouldn't she?"

The twins pales at the thought. The last time their mother has send a Howler, the thing had burst into song mid rant screaming... YOU ARE GROUNDED UNTIL THE NEXT CELESTIAL ALIGNMENT...in operatic tones.

Kai cleared his throat. 

"Precisely, so let's keep things civil, yeah!"

Lilly pondered, tapping her chin. 

"Double portions of Sugar Quills and you owe me two favors... No complaints!"

"Done," Kian said without hesitation, "a small price to pay for survival."

Neville observed Lilly Nott-Potter and the Weasleys resolve their conflict as he contemplates their uneasiness blending into reluctant acceptance. He decided to wait an additional moment to move forward and when he did, his determination was evident, even if subtle.

"Well," he started, his voice holding just enough weight to indicate he was not an onlooker.

"It's good to see you have some self resolution, but you definitely did not get off that easy."

His attention was directed towards the twins and their glances towards each other. The defiant gleam from their eyes diminished, but remained glimmering.

"Your next week's detention is with me." he stated, his tone radiating authority.

Kai released an exaggerated sigh and Kian rolled his eyes. As for Neville, he was silently raising a brow, waiting for those two personalities to concede to the reality that the trio shared the same fate.

He made his way towards the living quarters with a determined stride, eager to finally unpack his belongings, to carve out a space that felt more like home than a mere room within the castle walls. Yet, as he pushed open the door, the reality of his half empty space met him. 

Boxes sat untouched, shelves waiting to be filled. The only thing he had unpacked, the only item placed with care, was the framed photograph on his shelf, it's glass catching the soft flicker of candlelight. 

Hannah's smile, frozen in time, looking back at him.

For a moment, Neville just stood there, the echoes of a life beyond Hogwarts pressing gently against his thoughts. Home wasn't in the walls or the furniture waiting to be arranged, it was in the memories he carried. 

With a flick of his wand, books soared onto their shelves, robes folded themselves neatly into drawers and stray parchment settled into place. The once sparse room steadily transformed, each item reflecting pieces of himself...warm earth tones, practical furnishings and just enough disorder to feel lived in. 

It wasn't long before the space began to carry the quiet comfort of home.

As he reached for the final box, something inside told him this one would carry more than just forgotten odds and ends. He pried it open, shifting aside layers of carefully wrapped belongings, until his fingers brushed against something familiar. 

A small trinket box. 

His breath hitched as he lifted the lid. 

Inside, neatly tucked together, we're fragile remnants of childhood, a collection of bubblegum Wrappers, each one carefully saved. He ran his thumb across the faded colors, memories surfacing like ghosts, the quiet rustling of hospital linens, the soft smiles exchanged, the gentle hands pressing these Wrappers into his palm as if they were treasures.

To him they always had been 

His parents gifts, simple yet immeasurably precious. 

The weight of them sat heavy in his chest and for a long moment, he simply stared, allowing the past to settle around him in the silence. 

Placing the trinket box beside his bed, Neville let out a slow breath. His fingers worked with quiet precision as he emptied its contents, laying each wrapper in careful rows, as though arranging fragments of memory, but among them...folded and worn at the edges... Was something that did not belong to childhood nostalgia.

A clipping from the Daily Prophet. 

His pulse quickened as he unfolded the brittle parchment, the ink slightly smudged, but the shading unmistakable :

"Tragedy in Knock turn Alley: Unspeakable Hannah Abbot killed in rogue Hex incident."

The words blurred for a moment before sharpening into cruel clarity. 

She had been on a trade mission with Theodore Nott, routine, calculated, nothing that should have led to this. Yet, somewhere amid the exchange, disaster had struck. A curse loosed from unseen hands, a fatal miscalculation in the shadows of Knockturn Alley.

Nivilles grip tightened, his throat dry and his heartbeat a dull roar in his ears. 

He had read these words before. He had folded this clipping with his own hands and hidden it away, as if obscuring it beneath layers of tile could rewrite the truth, but grief was never so merciful.

In the dim glow of his quarters, he sat unmoving, the past pressing in with quiet persistence. 

No spell could undo what had been done. 

He closed his eyes, letting the scent linger...soft, familiar, heartbreakingly unchanged. Even now he could trace every note of her perfume, as if she had just passed through the room, as if time had not stolen her from him. 

A single tear slipped down his cheek, loosing itself along his chest. 

For a moment, he allowed himself to stay there, suspended in the past, wrapped in memory, but memory was not enough...not anymore. 

Slowly, deliberately Neville inhaled and let the breath settle deep in his chest. He cleared his head, cleared the space between longing and acceptance. 

Hannah would always be part of him, that would never change, but the world still moved and he needed to move with it. 

Not away from her. 

Never that. 

...but forward.

After settling the last of his belongings and letting the weight of the day ease from his shoulders, Neville stepped into the warmth of a hot shower, allowing the steam to chase away lingering exhaustion. By the time he dressed and made his way towards the Great Hall, the quiet hum of his thoughts had settled into something resembling peace, but peace as it turned out was short lived.

He rounded the corridor with steady strides only to collide into someone with enough force to make him stagger back a step. 

A familiar sigh, a familiar presence. 

Professor Parkinson arched an amused brow, adjusting her robes with practiced ease.

"Well, Longbottom," she said, dryly but not unkind. "If this keeps up, people are going to start talking."

Neville huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. 

"Right, maybe I should start watching where I'm going."

"Or maybe," she countered, smirking slightly, "...you should start accepting that the castle has a ming of its own."

"How about friendship Parkinson, we will be working together, so I don't see why we cannot be friends." he extended his hand towards her.

It wasn't a word she associated with him, not in the years past, not in the tangled histories they carried and yet, there he stood, offering it openly without pretenses or expectations.

Slowly, deliberately she extended her hand. 

Neville clasped it, firm but not forced, a silent understanding passing between them and a warm tingling sensation running through his arm, one he knew had to be unpacked later, but he noticed her brows creasing while staring at their hands. Could she feel that sensation too?, he dared not ask. 

"Alright, Longbottom," she said, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. 

"Let's see how this goes." 

He chuckled, nodding and together they stepped into the Great Hall, the warm hum of conversation swallowing them into the familiar rhythm of Hogwarts. 

"

Chapter Text

Weeks had passed since Neville and Pansy had stepped across the silent line from professional colleagues to something more, something more stable. Their friendship has fallen into an easy rhythm, inserting itself into the intervals between their responsibilities at Hogwarts. When he was not guiding wide eyed first years through the wonders of sprouting Mandrake and the cultivation of flutterby moss and she was not painstakingly shaping young minds in the art of Transfiguration, they stole moments from each other...brief interludes snatched between breakfast and lunch and if the day permitted, lingering over dinner as the castle hummed with evening murmurs. What started out as mere companionship had grown into something unspoken yet understood, a familiarity that felt like inevitable seasons.

They shared an unspoken understanding, sewn into the silence they shared, a recognition of old hurts neither of them discussed. The weight of personal history hovered around them like the last rumbles of a storm, suspended in the air but never close to overwhelming. Whatever hurt they had known before assuming their roles as Hogwarts stadd, they did not intrude and they did not seek confessions. It was enough to know that the scars were there, shaped by what had tempered them into the people they now were. There were certain things that did not need words, certain burdens were communicated simply by presence...by the ease with which they allowed each other to be. Without explanation.

If Pansy had appeared before her teenage self (the acidic-tongued girl who once took pride in her neatly ordered world of Slytherin supremacy) and told her that not only was she now a professor of Transfiguration, but that she had actually formed a genuine friendship with a Gryffindor… well, she had a fairly good idea of how that conversation would go.

Her younger self would scoff, arms crossed in defiance, dismissing the notion as laughable, impossible. Pansy could almost hear the incredulous retort:

“Me? Befriending a Gryffindor? I’d sooner hex myself.”

But, time had a way of unraveling certainty, reshaping prejudices into silent epiphanies.

The years had softened edges she never thought could yield, and somewhere along the way, she had found friendship in Neville Longbottom, a boy she used to barely notice, now someone whose friendship was as effortless as breathing.

How strange, she thought, that life never quite worked out the way one expected.

Pansy had noticed that Neville Longbottom was not the trembling, round-faced boy whom she had ignored through school years.

No, he had shed that years ago, leaving behind something more subdued, yet more resolute.

He was weighted, he had an unspoken heaviness, the way he stood, the way he walked. It was there in his eyes, in the tension of his fingers when certain memories were brought to the surface, in the manner in which he spoke of the world, with patience gleaned through endurance.

He wore scars, but not the kind imprinted through strife.

The war had tainted him, of course, but there were scars prior to that, deeper scars, carved into him long before he had enlisted in the cause.

She remembered the rumor in their fourth year, the quiet murmurs in the Slytherin common room about why Neville Longbottom was staying with his grandmother.

There had been a name that had filtered through those rumors, black and infamous: Bellatrix Lestrange, Draco's batshit crazy aunt.

Pansy hadn't paid much attention to it at the time either... too caught up in the mundane politics of domestic cliques, but now, looking at the man before her, she asked herself how much pain had been stitched into his past, how many pieces he'd quietly amassed to re-make himself anew and, incredibly enough, perhaps more than anything, she was curious to discover.

Then there was Hannah, the unobtrusive confidence in Neville's life, the woman whose steadying presence he felt grounded him in a way Pansy could feel, but never quite understand the depth of. She had never deluded herself otherwise; his heart belonged to Hannah Abbott, and that was as sure as the stars.

They had all found themselves in relationships afterward, some of which were based on love, some on necessity, and some, such as hers with Adrian Pucey, on something else altogether. It wasn't love, wasn't even affection, truly. It was control.

A brief hold on normalcy, on feeling, on anything that made her feel alive after the devastation of everything they had endured. In his bed, the maelstrom subsided for a moment, the terrors dissolved beneath the innocence of pleasure, but it was flight nothing more. Flight from the war, from the specters that haunted its trail, and above all, flight from the stifling grasp of her father.

He had ambitions for her, as always, pureblood aspirations that had shattered the moment Draco Malfoy's engagement had been obtained elsewhere. A marriage treaty that could no longer be imposed, a prize she had lost before she'd ever desired it.

She still recalled the fury in her father's eyes when he discovered she had not positioned herself in the Malfoy heir's sphere of influence the moment that the war dust had cleared.

She had let him down. That much had been established the instant he discovered that Draco Malfoy, the heir she was supposed to win for him, had been promised to another and not merely just any other—but Hermione Granger.

A mudblood, he had sneered, his distaste so heavy it could taint the very air itself between them.

He had called her out for her failure, bare with each word, commodifying her value to the chance which had fallen through between her fingers.

"You had one job, Pansy," he had growled, storming back and forth before her like a tempest straining to break free. "One job, and you lost to... her. How sad."

She hadn't retorted. She hadn't protested. No pointe, because in his head, her value had never been something she could decide, but Pansy had never been a woman to mourn over lost causes.

Draco had never been hers...not truly, not in any real sense. Hermione owned his heart and soul even though she didn't know it back then.

They had grown up side by side, bound by the familiarity of childhood and by the necessities of their pureblood existence, but they had never loved one another. There had been affection, perhaps.

Understanding, certainly. They had stumbled to bed twice, for the warmth of something familiar, something convenient,but for anything more than that, they had never been meant.

Pansy had always known where Draco's heart was. It never belonged to her—it had been lost a long time ago before either of them even realized that it was missing, snatched in subtle glances and snappy comebacks by a girl who, in the opinions of everyone who knew her, was too good for him....Hermione Granger.

As soon as he saw her, standing on the platform of the Hogwarts Express all those years ago, it had begun. Pansy had seen it, though Draco had refused it for years, fought against it, rejected the inevitability of his own emotions,but there are some things that cannot be fought.

She had never hated him for it.

Draco Malfoy had never been hers in the first place.

She understood the bond Neville had shared with Hannah, understood the manner in which he had loved her... deeply, irretrievably. If fate had been kinder, if a thoughtless hex hadn't taken Hannah away in the rubble of Knockturn Alley, Pansy had no doubt that they would be married today. That was the life he was destined to live, but life had little respect for plans.

Instead, here they were, Pansy,a fractured piece of the Slytherin girl she once was, keeping up appearances, because that was all she had ever been taught,because her parents had taught her, year by year, that she was meant for one thing: to marry a wealthy pureblood.

Not more. Never more.

And Neville, sorrowful, but in that distant fashion which only those who have loved and lost can understand. He kept his hurt concealed, entombing it under purpose, under routine, under the need for not allowing others to see too clearly. She recognized the act because she acted it.

So what? Why would he pursue her? Why become friends with someone like her. A girl raised to believe that Gryffindors like him were to be tolerated, not liked.

She still didn't understand.

A voice called her back.

She blinked, the skeletal edge of recollection vanishing like mist as the real world reassembled itself. Neville remained there, watching her, his expression unchanging, though something (concern, maybe, or soft understanding) clung to his eyes.

"You all right?" he asked, his own voice steady, anchoring.

Pansy exhaled, finally understanding how low she'd fallen into her own head. How the past had swept her under, how easily it had swallowed her entire being.

She put on a smile, the familiar facade she'd relied on for so long.

"Of course, Longbottom," she replied, her tone breezy, polished. "Just wool-gathering."

She was unwilling to admit how he saw right through her.

She exhaled slowly, cocking her head to the side as she flashed a forced smirk a habit rather than intentional.

"Daydreaming," she said, waving a dismissive hand, as if it was not worth noticing at all.

"Those Weasley twins (Kai and Kian) made a complete mess of Transfiguration class earlier. They somehow managed to transform half the classroom equipment into pigmypuffs that just wouldn't quit squealing. It was... " she snorted, rolling her eyes, "a complete circus."

Neville's eyebrow shot up in amusement, but he didn't interrupt.

"I was imagining," she continued, folding arms, acting disinterested, "what the Weasel would do if I Floo called him just to inform him of the disaster. Can you imagine it? Ronald Weasley, enraged and attempting to read me the riot act about Gryffindor honor." She grinned, shaking her head.

"Almost worth the trouble.".

It had been easier to talk about the misbehaving students, the distraction and irritation, than to dwell on the ghosts that still lingered at the edges of her thoughts.

Neville didn’t press further, but she could tell, he saw through her.

Neville leaned back, hands resting casually on the edge of the table as he glanced at her.

“Halloween’s coming up,” he remarked, his tone light, easy... almost as if he wasn’t about to say something ridiculous.

“I’ll be spending it with the Malfoys.”

Pansy blinked. “You’ll what?”

He smiled, clearly not concerned with her reaction.

"Hermione's insisting on having Scorpius, Harry and Theo's daughter Lilly, and Kai and Kian trick-or-treating this year. She has the whole thing planned—costumes, candy, the works." He shrugged as if the most natural thing in the world. 

"Draco's agreeing to it. Not that he'd admit to it, but he secretly enjoys these things."

Pansy snorted, leaning back in her chair. The image in her mind of Draco Malfoy working behind children in ridiculous costumes was almost too much for her to bear.

Then Neville, still in the same careless tone, added, "You should come."

Pansy nearly spat her drink out.

"Excuse me?"

He just smiled.

"Why not? It's sure to be amusing. And," he said, glancing at her with a knowing expression, "you could take a little fun."

She snorted, as if the proposition was absurd. And still, the invitation lingered.

Pansy shifted uncomfortably in her seat, tapping her fingers idly against the rim of her glass.

"I haven't laid eyes on Theo and Draco in years," she muttered to herself, actually, instead of to Neville.

"I suppose Blaise will be coming too?"

Neville smiled. "He would not miss it. Apparently, he's already complaining about the costume aspect, Luna's threatening to dress him out in something completely ridiculous just to see if he moans."

Pansy snorted, shaking her head.

"Knowing Blaise, he'll turn up in something effortlessly expensive and say it's on theme."

Neville chuckled.

"That does sound exactly right."

She took a slow breath, considering. The idea of joining them, of entering a party she'd not been to in far too long, it felt surprisingly foreign, something that belonged to another her.

Nevertheless, she finally met Neville's eye and said, "I'll get back to you by the end of the week."

She was still unsure, but that she had not said no was enough.

Dinner ended calmly, plates stripped and conversation easing into contented silence. Pansy sipped the last of her wine, feeling the warmth it spread through her body, then set the glass down with a gentle clunk against the table.

She got up, stretching slightly, the weariness of the day settling in.

“I’m turning in for the night,” she said, her voice lighter than it had been hours ago. 

Neville nodded, offering her a small smile.

“Sleep well, Pansy.”

She left him there, moving down the familiar corridors to her own chambers, her movements steady, unbroken. Along the way, somewhere between worn pain and loyal fellowship, she'd found something she hadn't anticipated.

Friendship.

Genuine, uncomplicated friendship.

And with a burst of shock, she was grateful for it.

Chapter Text

Neville found some comfort in their quiet companionship. In the weeks since grief had settled in his bones, Pansy had been there, not with forced words or empty reassurances, but with a steady presence that asked for nothing in return. 

She never pried into the aching void Hannah had left behind, never urged him to speak when silence was the only language he could manage. Instead, she simply existed beside him, offering quiet understanding in the form of shared lesson plans and unspoken support. He appreciated that more than he could say.

Their routine had become a kind of refuge, her sharp mind navigating the intricacies of Transfiguration while he guided her through the delicate art of Herbology. It was an unspoken exchange, a balance struck between them, where knowledge was traded like whispered secrets and the weight of loss was lightened... If only for a little while. Those moments made him realize that friendship, in its simplest form, could be enough.

As Pansy excused herself, disappearing into the steady hum of students leaving the Great Hall, Neville lingered at the table absently tracing patterns against the worn wood. The remnants of dinner sat untouched on his plate, but his mind was somewhere else, circling the quiet uncertainty that had settled in his chest.

Had he done the right thing?

Inviting her to Hermione and Draco Malfoys Halloween party had seemed like a natural choice in the moment. Their friendship had become something steady, something he relied on more than he cared to admit, but now as he sat alone in the flickering candlelight, a bit of doubt was starting to creep in. 

Would she even want to go? Would she feel out of place among the carefully curated guest list, caught between old friends and the fragile new ground that they had found together?

Neville exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. 

He wasn't sure, but the again, when had he ever been sure about anything when it came to Pansy Parkinson!

As he gathered his things, a quiet thought settled in the back of his mind, one that had lingered before, but never quite demanding his attention the way it did now.

Why hadn't Pansy seen her Slytherin friends in years?

It wasn't just a passing absence, it was something more deliberate, more final. He had noticed it before, in the way her name never came up in conversations about reunions or celebrations. When he had visited Harry and Theo for Lilly birthday, Pansy hadn't been there. She had missed Blaise and Lunas wedding in Italy, she was absent from the photographs and the laughter that had filled the evening. Same could be said about Draco and Hermiones soul bonding ceremony as well as the birth of Scorpius... She had been nowhere to be found. 

It was clear that Pansy wasn't present in their lives. 

Neville frowned, adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder. He had never asked her why, maybe he had assumed she had her reasons or maybe he had accepted that some friendships faded with time. As he walked the dim corridors alone, he couldn't shake the feeling that Pansys absence wasn't just a matter of distance...it was something else entirely. 

When he stepped into his quarters, the familiar warmth of the fireplace greeted him. He barely hesitated before reaching for the floo powder, tossing it into the flames and watching as they roared emerald green.

"Malfoy Manor," he said firmly, kneeling as the connection took hold.

The flickering image of Hermione appeared first, her curls pulled into a loose bun, eyes bright and curious. 

"Neville!" she exclaimed, a genuine smile lighting up her face. "It's been ages... How are you?"

He couldn't help but smile as her enthusiasm. 

"I'm good, Hermione. Just wanted to let you know... I've invited Pansy to your Halloween party."

For a moment there was silence. Then, a second figure appeared beside Hermione, sharp featured and curious. Draco crossed his arms, arching a brow. 

"You did what now?"

Neville sighed, already anticipating the potential outcome of the conversation. 

He exhaled, steadying himself as Dracos sharp gaze settled on him. He wasn't sure why he suddenly felt the need to justify his decisions but he did anyway.

"Yeah, I invited Pansy, I hope you don't mind?!"

Draco didn't answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than Neville expected. 

"I Haven't seen Pansy in ages," he admitted. "I tried reaching out over the years, so did Theo and Blaise, but she never responded and bared us from her Floo access. We sent invertations her way, but they were met with silence."

Neville frowned, absorbing the weight of Draco’s words. His face was edged with sadness, longing and what looked like regret. 

"It wasn't until much later, after too many unanswered letters, that we found out she had left for France," Draco continued, his tone edged with resignation. "Daphne Greengrass informed Theo and myself at my wedding."

Neville nodded slowly, the pieces falling into place. Pansy had vanished from their lives, slipping away without explanation, without closure and now, after all these years, he had unknowingly extended an invitation that might force her back into a world she had long since abandoned. 

He wasn't sure if that was a mistake.

Draco exhaled, running a hand through his hair as he leaned against the edge of the sofa. His expression was distant now, his sharp features softened by something Neville could only describe as regret. 

"I understood why she left," Draco murmured, almost as if he were speaking more to himself than to Neville. "Or atleast, I think I did. Pansy was never the type to linger where she didn't feel she belonged, she was always looking for an escape, even when we were younger."

Neville remained silent, sensing that Draco wasn't finished.

"but, knowing that doesn't make it easier," Draco admitted, his voice quieter now. "I should have gone after her when I found out she left. I should have done something." He let out a humour less laugh, shaking his head. "Yet, I didn't. I was too busy building Malfoy Corp, managing my new life with Hermione, trying to prove to the world that I was more than just my father's son."

He sighed, rubbing his thumb against the edge of his wedding ring. 

"and in all of that, I let Pansy slip away."

Neville watched him carefully, seeing the weight of unspoken guilt settle in Dracos posture. It wasn't often that Draco Malfoy admitted to regret, but here it was, raw and unguarded. 

"I've carried that with me ever since," Draco said finally, meeting Nevilles gaze. "and I dont know if I'll ever get the chance to fix it."

Draco barely had time to react before Hermione wrapped her arms around him, holding him in a quiet embrace. He stiffened for only a moment before exhaling, letting himself lean into her warmth.

"You'll fix things with her," Hermione said against his shoulder. "and I'll help you. I know how much Pansy means to you."

Draco didn't answer right away, but Neville saw the way his fingers vurled slightly against Hermiones back, as if anchoring himself to the certainly she offered. 

Hermione pulled back, turning to Neville with a small, reassuring smile." Pansy is always welcome in our home," she said firmly. " I look forward to seeing her as the Halloween party."

Neville nodded, shifting slightly as the flames flickered around him. "She said she'd let me know by the end of the week if she'll be joining me," he explained. "I'll confirm once she decides."

Hermione gave him an encouraging nod and Draco, though still subdued, managed a small appreciative glance in his direction. 

With that, Neville ended the call, stepping back as the green flames died down. He let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders before turning towards his desk. 

What happened next was up to Pansy...and somehow, that felt more significant than he had expected.

He sank back into his wingbacked chair, the fire casting flickering shadows across the room. The warmth seeping into his bones, but his thoughts drifted elsewhere... To Pansy. 

He hadn't expected to care for her the way he did. Their friendship had crept up on him, quiet and unassuming, until one day he realized that her presence had become something steady, something he relied on. She understood him in ways few did, never pressing, never demanding more than he was willing to give. 

Now, as he sat alone in the dim glow of the fire he found himself hoping, truly hoping, that she would join him at the Malfoys party.

Not just because it would be good for her to reconnect with old friends. Not just because it might offer her some closure, but because he wanted her there, because somehow Pansy Parkinson had become important to him.

While Neville sat lost in thought in front of his fireplace, Pansy sank into the warmth of her bubble bath. Letting the heat soothe the tension coiled in her muscles. The scent of lavender and bergamot curled into the air, but even as she tried to relax, her mind refused to quiet. 

Since she had left Neville at dinner, the weight of his invitation had settled heavily within her. The idea of seeing them (Blaise, Theo and Draco) even Luna after all these years sent her thoughts spiraling. She had pushed them aside; ignored their attempts to reach her; disappeared without explanation and now, after so long, she might have to face them again.

She exhaled sharply, sinking deeper into the water. 

Would they resent her for leaving?

Would they demand answers she wasn't ready to give?

The anxiety curled in her chest, tightening like a vice. 

A hot bath was necessary. 

She needed the warmth, the quiet, the illusion of control, because if she let herself think too much, she might convince herself to run again and for the first time in years... She wasn't sure if she wanted to.

Pansy let her head rest against the edge of the tub, her fingers trailing absently through the warm water as steam curled around her. She longed to see them Theo, Blaise and Draco, but the thought of facing them after all these years sent a sharp pang of fear through her chest. 

To much time had passed. 

She had missed their wedding, the births of their children, the milestones that had shaped their lives while she remained absent and yet, despite her silence, despite the unanswered letters and the distance she had forced between them... Theo and Draco had never stopped sending owls. 

The invitations had always come. 

A quiet reminder that despite everything, they still considered her family. That they still saw her as their sister, even when she had done nothing to deserve it, but now as she sat surrounded by warmth she couldn't shake the fear that when she finally saw them face to face, she would find that they had moved on. That she had missed too many celebrations, too many moments that mattered.

That she had waited too long and maybe, just maybe there would be nothing left for her to return to. Pansy exhaled, letting the warmth of the bath soak into her skin, willing it to chase away the lingering doubt curling in her chest. She had spent years running avoiding, ignoring, convincing herself that distance was easier than facing the people who had once been her family.

As she sat, surrounded by silence and fresh aromas, she made her decision. 

She would go. 

She would accept Nevilles invitation, meet the families she had never known and give the situation the benefit of the doubt.

Neville would be there. He was her friend too and she knew without question, that if Draco or Theo rejected her, he would have her back. He wouldn't let her face it alone. 

She hoped...truly hoped that rejection wouldn't come.

She hoped that one day she would be able to explain why she had left. Why she had disappeared without a goodbye. Why she had needed to escape alone and maybe, just maybe, they would understand. 

"Merlin... I miss them... Fuck I hope Theo understands!" She whispered to herself before summoning her robes as she exited her bath.

Chapter Text

Friday had arrived, marking the third day since Neville had nervously extended his invitation to Pansy. For days she had wavered, the decision lingering at the edge of her mind like a half spoken thought, but now at last she had decided to accept his invitation.

The late afternoon sun slanted through the high windows of the castle as she dismissed the last of her first year Transfiguration students, their eager chatter fading down the corridor. The final lesson of the day had passed, leaving behind only the quiet hum of anticipation. Determined, she set off to find Neville, recalling that he had taken on the responsibility of substituting for Snape in the seventh year Potions class.

She strode through the familiar corridors, her steps purposeful yet unhurried, the decision settling over her like an autumn breeze... Unexpected, but not unwelcome.

As Pansy made her way through the winding corridors in search of Neville, she came to a halt just before reaching the dungeon staircase. 

Ahead two figures stood, nearly identical in stature, Kai and Kian Weasley, the twin sons of Lavender Brown and Ronald Weasley. Their fiery red hair flickered in the dim torchlight as they engaged Ina lively debate with none other than Peeves, the castles resident menace.

Pansy lingered in the shadows, watching with quiet amusement as the twins squared off against the poltergeist, their words tumbling over one another in a rapid, synchronized rhythm. Kai, ever the strategist, pointed a finger accusingly as the specter, while Kian, his laughter bubbling beneath his argument, leaned in with mock seriousness. Peeves, delighted by the game, spun midair, tossing exaggerated jeers their way, his translucent form darting between the stone pillars as he cackled glee fully. 

For a moment, she allowed herself the indulgence of observation—their energy, their unspoken coordination, the way they challenged Peeves without a shred of hesitation. The scene was absurd, a clash of mischief and wit, yet strangely captivating.

Pansy lingered at the edge of the corridor, half-shielded by the flickering shadows cast from the dim torches lining the stone walls. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, not exactly, but as the debate between Kai and Kian Weasley and the ever-infuriating Peeves intensified, she found herself unable to walk away.

“…so you admit it, then!” Kia declared, arms crossed in triumph.

Peeves floated lazily overhead, somersaulting midair, his grin stretching impossibly wide.

“Admit? Admit? Peeves admits to nothing, my precious little ginger nuisances!” He swooped down, nearly knocking over Kian, who sidestepped with practiced ease.

“But you just said that Filch never actually caught you—meaning, you did flood the east wing staircase,” Kian countered, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Peeves clutched his ghostly belly and howled with laughter. “Flood? Oh, flood is such an ugly word, my dear Kian! I prefer—hmm—’strategic aquatic improvisation!’”

Pansy fought the urge to roll her eyes. The twins, for their part, seemed wholly unfazed, their synchronized expressions hovering between amusement and analytical precision... Weasley traits through and through.

She watched as Kia leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “You do realize that if Filch gets his hands on this information, he’ll make it his personal mission to banish you from the castle?”

Peeves gasped dramatically, clutching his translucent chest. “Oh, the horror! The devastation! The utter lack of appreciation for the arts!” 

Kian snorted, shaking his head. “You know, Peeves, for a menace, you’re alarmingly predictable.”

Kai and Kian exchanged a glance, their identical grins widening with conspiratorial delight. Peeves, still floating lazily above them, cocked his head in exaggerated curiosity.

“A challenge, you say?” the poltergeist purred, his translucent fingers wringing together in excitement. “Oh, I do love a proper challenge! What are the terms, my dear little Weasleys?” 

Kai stepped forward, arms crossed. “Simple. You execute your finest prank on the first years—one that has them talking for weeks.”

Kian mirrored his brother’s stance. “And we’ll do the same. Whoever pulls off the perfect prank wins bragging rights…and the loser has to publicly declare the victor as the ‘True Prank Master of Hogwarts.’”

Peeves let out a delighted shriek, somersaulting midair. “A duel of trickery! A battle of mischief! Oh, what a delicious little game!” He twisted, cackling wildly. “I accept—on the condition that I am allowed full creative freedom!”

“Of course,” Kai said smoothly, “but no permanent damage. We’d rather not have McGonagall breathing down our necks for the next month.”

Peeves pouted dramatically before bursting into laughter. “Very well, very well! You Weasleys are dreadfully particular.” He narrowed his spectral eyes. “But tell me... what will be your weapon of Choice?”

The twins exchanged another glance before Kian smirked. “That, dear Peeves, is for us to know and for you to suffer the consequences.”

Pansy, still hidden in the corridor’s shadows, let out a breath of amusement. The castle was about to descend into chaos, and frankly, she had no interest in preventing it.

Pansy took a step back, eager to return to her original mission, finding Neville. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

Her foot caught on the uneven edge of the stone floor, a rare misstep, and before she could steady herself, she staggered forward, the heel of her boot scraping loudly against the corridor’s ancient slabs.

The conversation ahead halted in an instant.

Three heads snapped in her direction... Kia and Kian wearing identical expressions of stunned realization, and Peeves hovering midair, his ghostly form practically vibrating with delight.

“Oh-ho!” Peeves cackled, twisting into a gleeful spiral above her. “A spy! A sneaky, lurking little snoop!” 

Kian lifted an eyebrow, arms folding across his chest. “How long have you been standing there?”

Pansy straightened, dusting off the front of her robes with forced indifference. “Long enough,” she said, voice crisp.

Kai exhaled dramatically, shaking his head. “And here we thought we were carrying out our master plan in secrecy.”

Peeves was positively radiating excitement now, swooping down in erratic, dizzying loops.

“Oh, what fun! Will she tell? Will she meddle? Will she... ”

“I don’t meddle,” Pansy interrupted sharply. Then, with an arch of her brow, she added, “But if you lot are going to prank the first years, at least make it interesting.”

The twins exchanged a glance before identical grins spread across their faces.  

“Oh, we intend to,” Kian assured her.

Kian’s grin faltered, just slightly. A flicker of realization crossed his features, as if the weight of their situation had only now registered. They weren’t merely conspiring mischief in the corridor. They were conspiring mischief in front of their professor. His eyes darted to Kai, then back to Pansy, puzzlement creeping into his expression. Professor Parkinson had overheard everything, their plot, their challenge, their blatant disregard for proper decorum... and yet, not once had she raised an eyebrow in disapproval. 

No reprimand. No sharp demand to put an end to their scheming.

No immediate threat that their father, Ron Weasley, notorious for both his temper and his exasperated tolerance for trouble, would hear of this by morning.

Instead, she stood there, arms crossed, chin slightly lifted, with a knowing smirk that unsettled him far more than outright anger ever could.

“You’re... ” Kian hesitated, brows furrowing. “You’re not going to stop us?”

Pansy exhaled, slow and deliberate, as if weighing the question before finally speaking. “Should I?” 

Kian opened his mouth, as if he had reached the conclusion far quicker than his twin. “I think what Professor Parkinson is saying,” Kai said lightly, “is that she’s intrigued.”

Pansy merely shrugged. “I’m saying I won’t interfere. As long as you don’t make me regret that decision.”

Kian’s puzzlement deepened before understanding settled in. Professor Parkinson wasn’t warning them. She was daring them.

Suddenly, their little contest had taken on an entirely different weight. Kian shot one last wary glance at Professor Parkinson, as if still trying to decipher whether this was some elaborate trap,but Kai, ever the more impulsive of the two, decided that pressing the matter any further might make her reconsider her stance altogether.

Best to leave well enough alone.

So instead of questioning her sudden leniency, he let out a thoughtful hum, absently adjusting the cuff of his sleeve as he muttered under his breath, “Maybe Scorpius’s little crush on her isn’t as dumb as I thought.”

Kian choked on a laugh, whipping his head toward his twin, eyes wide with startled amusement. Peeves, overhearing the comment, let out an ear-piercing shriek of delight, swooping down in manic spirals. 

“Oooooh, scandalous revelations!” the poltergeist howled, clutching his spectral belly.

“Forbidden admirations! Young Malfoy sets his sights on the ever-unattainable Parkinson—oh, what a delicious bit of gossip!”

Kai barely seemed fazed by the poltergeist’s theatrics, but Pansy fixed him with a sharp, unimpressed look.

"Oh, please,” she scoffed. “Scorpius is a child. He’ll get over whatever nonsense he’s imagining soon enough.”

Kian’s smirk lingered. “Does he know that?”

Pansy exhaled, long-suffering, and turned on her heel, choosing not to entertain the subject further.

Pansy let out a soft, amused breath, shaking her head. “Scorpius’s little crush is hardly worth the fuss. He’s eleven, it’s practically a rite of passage for first-years to develop fleeting infatuations with their professors.”

Kai tilted his head, as if dissecting her words carefully, while Kian simply grinned, seemingly enjoying the exchange far too much.

“But,” Pansy continued, her expression turning just slightly smug, “Draco Malfoy happens to be my best friend and if his son has good taste, well, let’s just say he learned that from his father.”

Kai hummed thoughtfully. “She’s not wrong, though. Draco Malfoy is objectively stylish. You can’t argue with genetics.”

Peeves, still spiraling overhead, shrieked in delight.

“Ooooh! Flattery! Legacy! The Malfoy bloodline... forever doomed to admiration and finely tailored robes!”

Pansy merely rolled her eyes, though the faintest smirk tugged at her lips. “Run along now, before I decide I actually care what nonsense you three are up to.”

With that, she turned on her heel, continuing down the corridor, leaving the twins to their mischief and Peeves to his chaotic ramblings and somewhere, in the depths of Hogwarts, Scorpius Malfoy was blissfully unaware of the fact that his admiration had just been officially acknowledged and mildly justified by the one person it concerned most.

Just as Pansy turned to leave, Kai paused, glancing over at her with a thoughtful expression.

“You know,” he said casually, “if you’re looking for Longbottom, you won’t find him in the Potions classroom.” 

Pansy halted, one brow arching in mild surprise.

Kian leaned against the corridor wall, arms crossing lazily. “He left a while ago,” he added. “Greenhouse Seven. That’s where you’ll find him.”

Pansy studied the twins for a brief moment, then exhaled, shaking her head. “And here I thought you two were only useful for causing mayhem.”

Kai smirked. “Oh, we are, but occasionally, we provide helpful information... just to keep things interesting.”

Kian grinned. “Besides, we like seeing how things play out.”

Pansy rolled her eyes, though there was a flicker of amusement beneath the gesture. With a nod of acknowledgement, she pivoted, heading toward the greenhouses without another word.

Behind her, she could hear Kia muttering,

“I give it ten minutes before something unexpected happens,” to which Kian replied, “Five minutes. She’s unpredictable.”

Peeves cackled loudly, his laughter echoing down the corridor as Pansy disappeared from sight.

As Pansy disappeared down the corridor, her robes swishing behind her, Kia turned to Kian with a smirk that practically spelled trouble.

“Alright,” Kai said, arms folding across his chest, “I’ll make it interesting. Ten Galleons says Professor Parkinson and Professor Longbottom end up dating.” Kian blinked at him, then let out a laugh—sharp, incredulous.

“You’re joking.”

“I am very much not joking,” Kai replied.

“You saw how she went looking for him, the way she didn’t even deny it when you questioned her”

Kian shook his head, still looking utterly perplexed. “Right, but that’s Neville Longbottom. And that’s Pansy Parkinson. They're... friends.”

Kai’s smirk deepened. “Friends. Right.”

Kian gave his twin a pointed look. “No, really. You honestly think—”

“Listen,” Kai interrupted, leaning in slightly as if imparting some grand revelation, “this is a classic setup. Unexpected pairing, mutual understanding, tension neither of them realizes they have... ”

“Oh, Merlin,” Kian muttered, rubbing his temples. “You’re writing fiction now.”

“I’m predicting the future,” Kai corrected smugly. “and when I win this bet, I expect my ten Galleons in full.”

Kian scoffed, still looking as though his brother had entirely lost the plot, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he muttered something under his breath... something about how Hogwarts was already chaotic enough without adding romance speculation into the mix and yet, even as they resumed their mischief-making, the bet lingered, unspoken yet sealed.

The Great Hall hummed with the familiar energy of supper the clatter of goblets, the murmur of conversations, the occasional burst of laughter from the tables scattered beneath the enchanted ceiling.Kai and Kian wove through the crowd, bypassing their usual spot at the Gryffindor table and heading straight for Slytherin, where Scorpius Malfoy sat with his usual air of practiced ease, flipping absentmindedly through a book between bites of dinner.

Without ceremony, the twins slid onto the bench across from him, identical smirks already plastered on their faces. Scorpius barely glanced up.

“You’re in the wrong territory.”

“Oh, are we?” Kai mused, reaching for a goblet as if he belonged there all along.

Kian leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“We figured we’d keep you company. After all, it must be exhausting pining after your professor all day.”

Scorpius froze mid-page turn.

There was a beat of silence... tense, horrified, unspoken. Slowly, carefully, he lifted his gaze, eyes flickering between the twins, searching for a trace of sarcasm, a hint that this was nothing more than a cruel joke.

“Pardon?” Scorpius said, voice measured but laced with a dangerous edge.

Kai, oblivious, or perhaps just thoroughly enjoying himself, shrugged.

“Nothing to pardon. Just mentioning, in passing, that Professor Parkinson is aware of your little... ” he paused, grinning, “... adoration.”

Scorpius felt his soul leave his body.

“She knows,” he repeated blankly.

Kian nodded, utterly pleased with himself.

“Knows, acknowledges, and finds it fairly normal for a first-year to have such feelings, apparently.”

Scorpius inhaled sharply, setting his book down with slow precision.

“She... she said that?”

Kai gestured vaguely.

“Something about how it’s expected at your age.”

Kian hummed.

“Oh, and that your father has good taste, which is apparently hereditary.”

Scorpius stared at them, utterly at a loss.

“I am never speaking to her again.”

Kai snorted. “Oh, no, Scorpius, I think that ship sailed the second you started acting like an overdramatic poet in class.”

Kian smirked. “Honestly, we’re impressed she didn’t bring it up herself.”

Scorpius closed his book with a definitive thud, exhaled sharply, and, with great suffering, returned to his meal, ignoring the twins entirely, as if sheer willpower alone could erase the conversation from existence.

The twins were still howling with laughter, thoroughly entertained by Scorpius’s misery, completely oblivious to the approaching figure until... Lilly Nott-Potter slid onto the bench beside Scorpius, setting down her plate with practiced ease.

“What in Merlin’s name happened to you?” she asked, fixing him with a curious stare.

Scorpius, who had been desperately attempting to recover some semblance of dignity, stiffened at the question.

Lilly’s gaze flickered over his face, then lower, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“Your cheeks—your neck—Why do you look like you’ve just been sentenced to Azkaban?”

Kai choked back another laugh, while Kian, unable to contain his amusement, simply muttered,

“Oh, this is priceless.”

Scorpius shot them both a withering glare before dragging a hand down his face. “It’s nothing.”

Lilly narrowed her eyes. “That is obviously not true.”

Kian leaned in, absolutely delighted. “It’s just that Professor Parkinson knows about his little... ”

“Shut up,” Scorpius hissed, slamming his goblet down with more force than necessary.

Lilly’s eyes widened slightly, amusement flickering beneath her curiosity. “Professor Parkinson? Knows what?”

Kai was grinning again, far too pleased with himself. “Knows that dear Scorpius here has been nursing a quiet little crush on her since the first week of term.”

Lilly stared at Scorpius for a long beat, then exhaled sharply, the kind of breath one lets out when trying very hard not to burst into laughter.

“Oh,” she said simply, setting her fork down with deliberate ease. “Oh, that’s just... ”

Scorpius groaned, slumping back against the bench, willing himself to disappear entirely.

Lilly exhaled, shaking her head at the twins as she cast them a disapproving glare. “Really? Do you two always have to make things worse?”

Kai and Kian, entirely unbothered, simply exchanged amused glances.

Lilly ignored them, turning her attention back to Scorpius, who still looked as if he was contemplating running away from the conversation entirely.

“Relax,” she said, nudging his arm lightly. “This isn’t the end of the world. Professor Parkinson is your dad’s best friend, practically his baby sister, if we’re being honest. You really think she hasn’t dealt with a first-year admiring her before?”

Scorpius sighed heavily, rubbing his temple. “That is not the reassurance you think it is.”

Lilly smirked but kept going. “Anyway, you might want to brace yourself, because apparently, Professor Longbottom has invited her to your parents’ Halloween party.”

Scorpius blinked. Once. Twice. Then frowned.

“What?” he asked slowly, his mind catching up to the information with cautious disbelief.

Kian snorted. “Well, that’s an unexpected development.”

Scorpius ignored him, eyes narrowing slightly as he turned back to Lilly. “How do you know this?”

Lilly took a bite of her food, thoroughly unconcerned. “Because I listen when adults speak. You live with your parents, but I live with mine and did you forget my mum, your dad and the twins dad are practically triplets… They tell each other everything. I hear things.”

Scorpius let out a long, suffering groan, burying his face in his hands. “Unbelievable.”

Kai grinned. “Oh, I don’t know, Scorpius. I think this is getting rather interesting.”

Scorpius merely glared at them all and went back to his dinner, willing himself to forget the entire conversation altogether.

Kai and Kian could barely contain themselves, their energy shifting from smug amusement to outright delight.

“We forgot to mention,” Kai began, leaning forward, his eyes glinting with mischief. “We’ve got a bet.”

Lilly, mid-bite, raised a skeptical brow. “That can’t be good.”

Scorpius, still recovering from the previous conversation, groaned. “Please, no.” but Kian was already grinning. “Ten Galleons,” he declared. “We’re betting on whether Professor Parkinson and Professor Longbottom end up dating.”

Lilly nearly choked on her pumpkin juice. Scorpius stared at them as if they had lost their minds entirely.

“I... ” Scorpius rubbed his temple, looking utterly exhausted. “How did you even come to that conclusion?”

Kai shrugged. “It just makes sense.”

Lilly scoffed. “It really doesn’t.”

Kian leaned back, smirking. “Oh, come on. The tension, the understanding, the way she went looking for him without hesitation... ”

“That’s called friendship,” Scorpius interrupted sharply.

Kai waved him off. “And possibly more.”

Lilly shook her head, utterly unconvinced. “You two have read far too many romance novels.”

Kian grinned. “Hey, don’t knock it mum’s mills and boons have been very insightfulI. If we win, we’ll be Gryffindor’s most successful matchmakers.”

Scorpius groaned again, burying his face in his hands. “I need new friends.”

Lilly laughed, shaking her head at the absurdity. “unfortunately these two idiots we are stuck with indefinitely.” The twins simply smirked, already far too invested in their bet to care about anyone else’s skepticism.

Lilly took a thoughtful sip of her pumpkin juice, then set the goblet down with a decisive clink.

“Alright, I’m in.”

Kai grinned, delighted.

“Oh, this just keeps getting better.”

Kian smirked. “Interesting choice, Nott-Potter. Any reason you suddenly care about our little wager?”

Lilly shrugged, entirely unbothered. “As a Ravenclaw, I’m clearly the most logical one here, which means I’m guaranteed to win over both of you.”

Kian scoffed. “That’s a bold statement.”

Kai nodded in agreement. “If anything, Ravenclaws overanalyze. You’ll talk yourself out of a victory before it even happens.”

Lilly gave them both a unimpressed look. “You Gryffindors gamble on instinct. I gamble on probability. I like my odds.”

Scorpius, who had been attempting to silently disassociate from the entire situation, groaned audibly. “Fine,” he muttered, rubbing his temple. “I’ll join too, but only because if my crush is going to fall for someone else, I at least deserve some compensation for my suffering.”

Kian smirked. “See? Now you’re thinking like a true Slytherin.”

Kai snickered. “Just don’t let Parkinson find out about this bet, or she’ll hex us all for making assumptions.”

Lilly rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. She’d probably just smirk and tell us we’re all ridiculous.”

Scorpius sighed, resigning himself to his fate. “I regret everything.”

The twins grinned, entirely too pleased with themselves, and the bet, now fully sealed, was officially underway.

As the group stood to leave the Great Hall, Scorpius exhaled slowly, convinced, if only fleeting ly, that the worst of the evening had finally passed.

He was wrong. Horribly, tragically wrong.

A high-pitched shriek shattered the air, ricocheting off the enchanted ceiling like a Howler gone rogue.

“SCORPIUS MALFOY HAS A CRUSH ON PROFESSOR PARKINSON!”

The Great Hall fell into absolute silence. Then, chaos.

Peeves burst into view, flipping midair with excessive enthusiasm, arms outstretched like a herald of scandal. Students twisted in their seats, heads whipping toward the Slytherin table with gleeful anticipation.

Kai and Kian nearly collapsed from laughter, grasping at each other for support.

Lilly looked genuinely torn between sympathy and pure entertainment.

Scorpius? Scorpius was reconsidering his entire existence.

Peeves twirled overhead, positively vibrating with delight. “Scorpius looooves his professor! Oh, what devotion! What longing! What terribly tragic unrequited admiration!” He swooped dramatically over Scorpius’s head. “What will dear Daddy say when he hears about THIS?”

Scorpius’s soul disintegrated.

Around them, gasps turned to giggles, giggles turned to outright cackling. A few fourth-years scrambled for parchment, because clearly, this was the sort of Hogwarts gossip worth preserving.

“Peeves,” Scorpius gritted out, every word dripping with barely contained horror, “I will personally exorcise you from this castle.”

Peeves ignored him entirely. “Ah, but alas! Young Malfoy, smitten with the brilliant, fearsome Parkinson, his fate sealed by admiration and unrelenting despair!”

Kian slapped the table, wheezing. “I can’t—this is too good.”

“I will NEVER recover from this,” Scorpius muttered, burying his face in his hands.

Kai, wiping away a tear of laughter, leaned over with a grin. “Oh, don’t worry, mate. The whole school will remember this for at least a decade.”

Lilly patted Scorpius’s arm, biting back her smirk. “Try to breathe.”

Scorpius refused. He was already spiritually deceased.

And Peeves? Peeves was still singing.

Chapter Text

Pansy paused at the threshold of Greenhouse Seven, the scent of damp earth and budding magic thick in the air. She stepped inside, careful and deliberate, her gaze sweeping over the tangled labyrinth of vines and shimmering petals that pulsed with quiet enchantment. At the center of it all stood Neville, his back turned, engrossed in tending to a cluster of rare blossoms.

She approached with measured steps, mindful not to disturb the delicate ecosystem around them. Sneaking up on him would be reckless—this greenhouse harbored flora known to react unpredictably to sudden movement. No, she would let him sense her presence, let the weight of unspoken words settle between them before she spoke.

Pansy lingered just beyond the tangled web of vines, her gaze settling on Neville with a quiet intensity. He moved with effortless precision, his hands deftly navigating the fragile stems of rare blossoms, his focus unwavering.

It was only then... an unguarded moment slipping through her thoughts... that she noticed the quiet strength in him, the way his frame had filled out over the years. No longer the hesitant boy in wrinkled robes, but a man shaped by resilience and care, his presence grounded like the roots he so meticulously nurtured.

She hadn’t expected this realization, nor the way it stirred something unspoken within her.

A warmth she hadn’t anticipated crept up her neck, blooming across her cheeks before she could will it away. Pansy stood frozen, staring but not quite understanding the sudden shift in her own perception. Neville, her colleague, her friend, was just Neville. Or at least, he had been and yet, something in the quiet confidence with which he moved, the ease in his posture, unsettled her in a way she wasn’t prepared for. Attraction was not supposed to be part of this equation. It was absurd... laughable, even,but the traitorous flush across her skin said otherwise.

Lost in the labyrinth of her own thoughts, Pansy barely registered her own movements until the sharp, unforgiving jolt of pain shot through her foot. The collision was unceremonious, a careless stomp against a stray stone or perhaps the unforgiving edge of a wooden planter, either way, the result was immediate.

A startled yelp tore from her lips before she could bite it back, shattering the quiet hum of the greenhouse. Heat surged through her not just from the pain, but the acute embarrassment of being so thoroughly distracted that she’d managed to injure herself standing still.

The sharp sound of her own yelp still echoed in the greenhouse when Neville straightened abruptly, his hands hesitating over the delicate petals he had been tending. He turned, brows furrowing in concern before his gaze landed on her.

“Pansy?” His voice carried an easy familiarity, tinged with surprise. His eyes flicked downward, taking in the way she gingerly shifted her foot, as If testing the damage. “You alright?” 

The moment stretched, her embarrassment settling thick in the air between them. She resisted the urge to groan, willing away the lingering heat in her cheeks. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, her presence should have been a quiet, deliberate thing, not an accidental spectacle.

Neville was at her side in an instant, his movements steady and instinctive. Without hesitation, he guided her toward a nearby stool, his touch firm yet careful, as though mindful of both her physical misstep and whatever had flustered her moments before.

She let him help her, perhaps too easily. The warmth of his presence did little to steady the quiet chaos in her mind, and when she finally met his gaze, the words tangled on her tongue before spilling out in a rushed, uneven breath.

“I.. uh... I was looking for you,” she stammered, fumbling slightly with the edge of her sleeve. “I wanted to—well, to let you know that I’ve decided to join you. At Halloween. Draco and Hermione’s party.”

It wasn’t supposed to sound like an admission, but somehow, it did.

Pansy exhaled sharply as she reached for the straps of her heels, her fingers clumsy as she fought against the residual ache pulsing through her toe. The sting had dulled, but it was still there, a persistent reminder of her earlier distraction.

Before she could wrestle with the stubborn clasp, Neville knelt beside her, wand already in hand. He was methodical, unhurried, as though accustomed to tending to injuries far more severe than a bruised toe.

"Hold still,” he murmured, his voice carrying quiet reassurance. With a practiced flick, the soft glow of Episky spread across her skin, warmth replacing the dull ache as the spell took effect.

The relief was immediate, but it was the unexpected tenderness in his gesture, the ease with which he helped without question, that unsettled her more than the injury itself.

Neville straightened, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched her flex her newly healed foot.

“I’m glad you’ll be coming,” he said, his voice carrying a quiet sincerity.

He hesitated only a moment before continuing, as if debating whether to share the next part.

“I actually already let the Malfoys know. Floo-called them earlier.” His gaze flickered with something unreadable, perhaps anticipation, perhaps uncertainty over how she’d react.

“Hermione didn’t even blink. She said you’re always welcome in their home.”

The words settled between them, effortless in their honesty, but heavy in their meaning. Pansy hadn’t been expecting that. To be considered welcome... without question, without hesitation... That was not something she had often encountered, especially since she had not seen her best friend in 5 years, Draco she knew wouldn’t turn her away, but she was still riddled with guilt for having left without letting any of them know that she was leaving.

She didn’t know what to say to that.

Pansy exhaled slowly, fingers smoothing over the fabric of her sleeve as she gathered the courage to voice the thought pressing against her ribs.

“Are you aware,” she began, hesitating just enough for the words to feel fragile, “that I haven’t seen them in five years?” She swallowed, forcing herself to meet Neville’s gaze. “I practically disappeared after the war. No goodbyes. No explanations.”

The admission lingered between them, raw and unguarded.

“I don’t know how Draco’s going to react,” she murmured, quieter now, as if speaking the fear aloud made it heavier.

“Five years is a long time. And I left without a word.”

Her fingers curled instinctively, betraying the anxious energy humming beneath her skin. She was bracing herself, for judgment, for dismissal, but Neville remained steady watching her with an understanding that, somehow, made it all the more difficult to bear.

Neville’s expression softened, his voice carrying the kind of certainty that made doubt feel smaller.

“They’ve missed you, Pansy,” he said plainly, as though it was the simplest truth in the world.

“Draco, Theo, Blaise... they’ll welcome you, no question.”

She opened her mouth, perhaps to argue, perhaps to remind him that five years was a long time, but he was already ahead of her.

“Whatever your reasons for leaving, they won’t hold it against you,” he continued, his words steady, deliberate. “You’re one of them. And you always will be.”

There was something quietly unshakable in his reassurance, something that chipped away at the anxiety curling in her chest. Maybe, just maybe, he was right.

Eager to steer the moment away from lingering uncertainties, Pansy let her gaze drift across the greenhouse, taking in the carefully arranged beds of blooms.

Roses in soft blush hues, lilies stretching elegantly toward the filtered sunlight, clusters of sunflowers standing proud and golden, and delicate peonies unfurling like whispers of silk.

“You’ve been busy in here,” she remarked, folding her arms as she turned back to Neville. There was no mistaking the precision with which the plants had been cultivated, their vibrance spoke of care, intention, and time spent among them.

“What exactly have you been up to?”

Neville smiled, his fingers absently brushing against the petal of a nearby rose.

“Mostly tending to new hybrids,” he said, his tone carrying a quiet enthusiasm. “Crossbreeding charms, seeing what flourishes under different enchantments. Some of these have magical properties woven into their roots, subtle, but useful.”

Pansy arched a brow, intrigue sparking beneath her steady demeanor. “You’re crafting spell-infused flowers now?”

Neville’s gaze drifted across the greenhouse, his fingers absently brushing against a delicate peony, as though the touch itself might tether his thoughts.

“These flowers... ” he started, his voice quieter now, as if speaking them into existence carried something heavier than simple explanation.

“They all have meanings. Roses for devotion, lilies for renewal, sunflowers for loyalty… peonies for remembrance.”

Pansy watched him, saying nothing, sensing there was more, something that wasn’t just about botany.

“Hannah,” he murmured, almost to himself. “She was an Unspeakable. She was fascinated by them, not just their symbolism, but the deeper properties. How some carried magic beyond what we understood. She used to say that language alone wasn’t enough, that there were secrets woven into the roots of certain plants, waiting to be unraveled.”

He exhaled, his shoulders straightening slightly, as if re-grounding himself in the present.

“I don’t know why, but after she died, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About the things she might have discovered, the things she never got to tell me.”

His lips pressed together for a fraction of a second, before he gave a quiet shrug.

“So I started researching them. Kept going. And now… well, here we are.”

The words lingered between them, steeped in quiet grief but absent of self-pity. A truth laid bare, one he hadn’t needed to explain, but had chosen to anyway.

For a moment, Pansy simply watched him, the weight of his words settling into the space between them. She had never spoken of it, never found the right moment to acknowledge the loss that had once filled the pages of the Daily Prophet, the one she had read from across the Channel in the quiet solitude of a life she had chosen far away, but now, standing here amidst the blooms Hannah had once studied, she felt the impulse to say it aloud.

“I never told you,” she said, voice softer than she intended, “but I heard. I was in France when I read about her death.”

Neville’s gaze flicked to her, steady but unreadable.

“I—” Pansy hesitated, adjusting the way her fingers curled around her sleeve, then exhaled. “I’m sorry, Neville. For her. For what that must have been like for you.”

It wasn’t much, not compared to the depth of grief, to years of silence, but it was real, and it was hers to give.

Neville offered her a small nod, his expression unreadable but filled with something Pansy recognized... something raw, yet composed.

“Thank you,” he said simply, and somehow, that was enough. There was no need for elaborate words, no need for him to qualify his grief or his memories.

Pansy let her gaze linger on him for a moment longer, absorbing the quiet truth woven into his posture, into the way his fingers absently traced the edge of a nearby leaf.

“She meant a lot to you,” she murmured, not a question, but an acknowledgment.

Neville didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away.

“Yeah,” he said, a faint, thoughtful breath beneath his voice. “She did.”

And just like that, the weight of his loss became something she could understand, not through the words themselves, but through the way he carried them.

Neville’s gaze drifted toward the lilies, as if searching for something unseen within their soft white blooms. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of memory... quiet, steady, but not untouched by emotion.

“We fell in love after the war,” he said, a small, almost wistful breath beneath his words.

“When we both decided to return to Hogwarts. It wasn’t something either of us planned… but it was welcomed. Needed, even.”

Pansy watched him, saying nothing.

“There were parts of us, parts that had been broken, things the war left behind that no spell could mend,” he continued. “But somehow, we helped each other heal. It wasn’t instant, and it wasn’t perfect, but it was ours.”

His fingers brushed absently against a sunflower’s golden petals, as if grounding himself in something tangible.

“She made the weight lighter and for a while… we had something good.”

The simplicity of the words made them all the more profound.

“A week before she died,” he murmured, voice quiet but certain, “I took her to see my parents at St. Mungo’s.”

Pansy held her breath, sensing the weight in those words, the importance beyond the simple act of visiting.

“She’d been with me before,” Neville continued, his lips pressing together for a brief, fleeting moment. “But that time… that time was different.”

His chest rose and fell with a slow breath, measured as if steadying himself against the tide of what came next. “I was going to propose.”

The confession settled into the quiet between them, heavy with the unspoken.

“They wouldn’t have understood, of course,” he said, his voice softer now, laced with something fragile but unwavering. “They never do, but I needed to tell them anyway, to let them see her, to let them know, even if they couldn’t comprehend it.”

His fingers curled slightly, as though grasping onto something that had once been there.

“It felt like something I had to do.”

Pansy didn’t move, didn’t speak, there was nothing to say that wouldn’t lessen the weight of what he had just shared. So she simply stayed, letting the moment remain unbroken.

Pansy swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle into a quiet kind of trust, one that she hadn’t realized they had built. That he would share this with her, something so deeply personal, meant more than she could fully articulate.

She shifted slightly, studying him in the soft light filtering through the greenhouse.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her voice carrying the quiet sincerity of someone who truly meant it.

“Sorry that you never got to have that moment with her. That you never got to tell her, to ask her.”

Neville exhaled slowly, his lips pressing together in something like thought, but there was no bitterness in the way he held himself, only remembrance, only the echoes of something lost but never forgotten.

“She would’ve said yes,” he said, the faintest trace of a smile touching his lips, and somehow, that made the moment feel even heavier.

Neville let out a small breath, shaking his head as if suddenly aware of just how deeply the conversation had turned.

“Sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck in a familiar, self-conscious gesture.

“Didn’t mean to get so personal.”

Pansy, however, simply tilted her head, watching him with something close to quiet amusement.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she countered, voice steady and sincere.

“I’m honored, Neville. That you’d trust me with this, with your feelings, with Hannah’s story.”

The earnestness in her tone surprised even herself, but it was true, whatever had built between them over time, this friendship, this strange Gryffindor-Slytherin dynamic, it had become something real.

Neville chuckled, shaking his head with a kind of fond disbelief.

“Who would’ve thought,” he mused, the humor evident in his voice, “that a Gryffindor and a Slytherin would end up like this?”

Pansy smirked, crossing her arms.

“Not me,” she admitted, arching a brow. “But then again, life’s full of surprises.”

Neville glanced toward the greenhouse’s enchanted hourglass, his brows lifting slightly in surprise. “Merlin, we’ve completely lost track of time,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Pansy smirked, folding her arms.

“Is this the part where you scold me for distracting you from your precious plants?”

Neville chuckled, shaking his head. “Not at all,” he said, still grinning. Then, as if the thought had just occurred to him, he added, “If you don’t mind waiting a bit, I just need to tend to the sunflowers. After that, we can head to dinner together.”

Pansy considered it, then shrugged.

“I suppose I can spare a few minutes for your beloved blooms,” she teased, but there was no hesitation in her words.

Neville simply laughed, rolling his eyes before turning back to his work.

Pansy leaned against the edge of the planter, watching as Neville carefully inspected the sunflowers, his fingers brushing over their golden petals with practiced familiarity. She hadn’t been thinking, hadn’t planned to say it aloud, but the words slipped past her lips with quiet ease.

“These are my favorites,” she murmured absently, eyes tracing the way the sunlight caught on the edges of their blooms, setting them aglow like captured warmth.

Neville paused mid-motion, glancing at her with mild surprise.

“Sunflowers?”

She blinked, as if realizing her own confession, then shrugged as though it hardly mattered.

“They’re resilient,” she said simply, as if that explained everything.

Neville considered that for a moment before offering a small, knowing smile.

“They are.”

Pansy pushed off from where she had been leaning, casting Neville a teasing glance as she made her way toward the greenhouse doors.

“I’ll be waiting outside,” she announced, already pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders.

Then, with a smirk, she added, “And do hurry. I didn’t realize just how famished I was until now. If you take too long, I might just leave you behind.”

Neville laughed, shaking his head as he returned to the sunflowers.

“Somehow, I don’t think you will.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, stepping out into the fading light of early evening, the warmth of the greenhouse lingering on her skin.

As the greenhouse door swung shut behind her, Neville found himself lingering, watching the space she had occupied just moments ago. Then, with a slow exhale, he turned back to the sunflowers, their golden faces tilted ever so slightly toward the light.

Resilient.

That was the word he had used earlier... the reason Pansy favored them and now, as he brushed his fingers over the edge of a petal, he realized how fitting that was.

Sunflowers endured. They flourished in unexpected places, bending toward the sun no matter how harsh the conditions that surrounded them. They stood tall, unshaken, even when battered by wind or storm.

Pansy had done the same.

Perhaps she hadn’t realized it, but he did.

With quiet purpose, he continued tending to them, the greenhouse bathed in the soft hues of dusk, the presence of Pansy lingering in the space between thought and truth.

Neville straightened, glancing at the bundle of sunflowers resting on the worktable, their golden petals still reaching instinctively toward the light. With a steady breath, he called out, “Trickel

? ”

The house-elf popped into existence with a delighted bounce, its ears twitching in eager anticipation.

“Trickel,” Neville said kindly, gesturing to the flowers, “Could you place these in a vase under a stasis charm and discreetly deliver them to Professor Parkinson’s quarters?”

The elf’s wide eyes shimmered with uncontainable joy, its tiny hands clasping together in earnest.

“Oh, yes, yes, Master Longbottom, Trickle will do it right away!”

Neville smiled, watching as the elf carefully gathered the sunflowers, cradling them as though they carried a quiet magic of their own. Within moments, Trickle vanished with a soft pop, leaving Neville standing amidst the greenhouse’s golden glow, a silent satisfaction settling in his chest.

As Neville returned to tending the sunflowers, the quiet hum of the greenhouse settled around him, yet his thoughts remained restless. He replayed the conversation, the pieces of himself he had given so freely, memories, grief, moments he hadn’t shared with anyone in quite the same way.

Had he said too much?

The worry prickled at the edges of his mind, the instinctive caution that came with exposing too much of one’s heart. Yet, beneath that unease, another truth sat just as firmly: He cared for Pansy. For their unexpected friendship.

Whatever barriers had once existed between Gryffindor and Slytherin, between past and present, had slowly unraveled in the space between stolen conversations and quiet understanding and maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t afraid of that.

With a measured breath, Neville turned his attention back to the blooms, letting the steady rhythm of care ground him once more.

Neville stepped through the greenhouse doors, the lingering warmth of the enchanted space fading as the cool evening air brushed against his skin.

Pansy stood just beyond the threshold, her arms wrapped loosely around herself, her gaze lifted toward the expanse of night above. The stars stretched endlessly, pinpricks of silver scattered across the darkened sky, and in their glow, she seemed, almost, untouched by time.

He paused, just for a moment, watching her in silence.

There was something striking about her, something beyond the sharp wit and cool composure she so carefully wielded. Something softer in the way the light caught in her hair, in the way she stood so still beneath the vastness of the universe, as if it belonged to her in some quiet, unspoken way.

Beautiful.

The thought came unexpectedly, settling in his mind with a quiet certainty.

He cleared his throat, stepping forward. “You’ll catch cold standing like that,” he murmured.

She smirked, but didn’t look away from the sky. “I’ll manage.”

Neville chuckled, shaking his head as he fell into step beside her.

“ I’m starving Longbottom” said Pansy

Neville chuckled, shaking his head.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were exaggerating.”

Pansy shot him a sideways glance, arching a brow.

“I never exaggerate about food.”

With an amused huff, he tugged his cloak tighter and picked up the pace.

“Alright, alright, let’s get you fed before you start eyeing the hippogriffs in Hagrid’s paddock.”

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as they made their way toward the castle, the warmth of their conversation carrying them through the crisp evening air.

Chapter Text

The soft glow of candlelight flickered against the stone walls of his quarters as Neville sank into the armchair by the fireplace, his body weary but his mind restless.

He replayed the evening in quiet recollection, the conversation, the laughter, the unexpected weight of shared truths. Pansy. He hadn't anticipated opening himself up so much, hadn’t planned to let her see pieces of himself that he had carefully guarded for years. And yet, the words had come easily.

He thought of the sunflowers, the silent message he had sent with Trickle. Would she recognize the gesture for what it was? Understand why he had chosen them?

A tired sigh escaped him as he ran a hand through his hair. There was no denying it now... he cared for Pansy Parkinson. More than he had ever expected to.

The realization settled in his chest, quiet but firm.

Neville’s gaze settled on the photograph atop the shelf, the edges slightly worn. Hannah’s laughter, frozen in time, seemed to echo through the quiet of his quarters, a reminder of love that had once filled the spaces between sorrow and healing.

He would alwayss love her. That truth was unwavering, nestled in the parts of himself she had helped mend, the wounds that had found solace in her presence, just as she had found comfort in his.

The flickering candlelight danced across the frame, casting soft shadows along the edges, and as Neville exhaled, his thoughts drifted to what lay ahead.

One year... It had been nearly one year since she was taken from him and on November 1st, after the Malfoys’ Halloween gathering, he would go to Godric’s Hollow.

To her grave.

To sit with the memories that remained, to speak into the silence where she once stood.

It wasn’t about closure. He knew there was no such thing, but remembrance, remembrance was something he could hold onto.

Moving on, it wasn’t about forgetting. It was about finding a way to live again, to step forward without losing the part of himself that Hannah had once helped him rebuild and he knew, deep down, that she would have wanted that for him, but first, he needed answers.

Everyone assumed his research was about mourning, about holding onto the fragments of her memory in the only way he knew how. They weren’t wrong, not entirely, but they didn’t know the real reason.

The notes, The pages he had found in Hannah’s study after she was gone... meticulous, scrawled in her careful script, detailing observations on the properties of roses, lilies, peonies, and sunflowers. He hadn’t understood them then, and he still didn’t, but there was something there, something unfinished, something linked to the day she died in Knockturn Alley and Neville needed to know why.

Whatever secrets those flowers held, whatever truth Hannah had been searching for, it was time he uncovered it.

Closure, it wasn’t just about moving forward. It was about understanding. About knowing the truth, even if it wouldn’t change the past.

Neville leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze locked onto the flickering candlelight. The notes Hannah left behind had haunted him for nearly a year, their meaning elusive yet undeniably significant. Roses, lilies, peonies, sunflowers, why those? What had she uncovered? and more importantly… had it cost her her life?

Only once he knew, once he pieced together the threads she left behind, would he be able to find peace and whatever secrets lay buried within those flowers, within her research, he was determined to uncover them.

Pansy moved through her suite with practiced ease, fingers undoing the clasp of her earrings as she prepared for the familiar ritual of her nightly bath. The day had been long, unexpectedly so, but pleasant in ways she hadn’t quite anticipated. 

She reached for the silk robe draped over the chair, but paused mid-motion, her gaze catching on something out of place. 

The sunflowers. 

Arranged carefully in a vase, their golden petals frozen in time beneath a stasis charm, they stood bright and unyielding on her table. 

For a heartbeat, she simply stared, the warmth of the gesture settling into something unspoken, something unexpected. She didn’t need to wonder who had placed them there.

A slow, thoughtful smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

Neville.

Pansy reached out, fingers grazing the delicate petals, her touch careful, almost reverent. The stasis charm kept them frozen in perfect bloom, golden and unyielding, untouched by time.

She had learned the language of flowers as a child, an expectation of her upbringing, woven between etiquette lessons and pureblood tradition. Every bloom held meaning, every arrangement whispered intentions left unsaid.

Sunflowers.

They spoke of loyalty, of unwavering devotion. Of strength in adversity, of seeking light even when the world threatened to dim.

Her fingers curled slightly, thoughtful now. Neville had chosen them, not roses, not lilies, not peonies, but sunflowers and somehow, that meant something.

For the first time in a long time, Pansy felt warmth settle deep in her chest.

Her fingers lingered against the petals, the warmth of the moment dimming slightly under the weight of her thoughts.

Neville had shared so much, his grief, his love, his quiet resilience. He had let her see parts of himself that few ever did, trusted her with memories that still carried the ache of loss and yet, she couldn’t shake the thought gnawing at the edges of her mind.

Would he still stand beside her if he knew the truth?

If he knew why she fled, why she had vanished without a word, why she had chosen distance over explanations, would he still call her a friend?

A quiet exhale slipped past her lips, her fingers curling slightly as she pulled her hand away from the flowers.

Some truths were heavier than others and this one... this one, she wasn’t sure she was ready to share.

The memory came unbidden, creeping in like unwelcome frost, sharp and invasive.

She was standing in her father’s study, the scent of expensive cigars and aged parchment filling the air, though neither masked the tension crackling between them.

“You failed,” his voice had been cold, clipped, devoid of anything resembling disappointment, because disappointment required expectation, and he had stopped expecting greatness from her long ago.

“You should have secured the Malfoy heir. Instead, you let a mudblood... ” the word was spat, acrid and cruel,

“... take what should have been yours.”

Pansy had stood stiff, chin lifted in defiance she didn’t truly feel. She had known the game, known it since she was old enough to wear silk and smile at the right people. Marriage was a transaction, nothing more. She had understood that, but she had never wanted him. Not Draco, not the cold calculation of duty.

Apparently, that didn’t matter.

“You will marry Dolohov’s son,” her father had declared, not a suggestion, not a possibility... an order.

“Antonin is powerful. His family is loyal and you? You will do as you are told.”

She had felt the walls closing in, suffocating beneath the weight of expectations she had never asked for, but even then, even as she had nodded in careful submission, her mind had already been building an escape.

Pansy had known the Dolohovs all her life, or rather, she had known of them. A family entrenched in the old ways, bound by ruthlessness and unwavering loyalty to a darkness that had shaped their very legacy.

Antonin had been a force in the war, brutal and merciless, his name whispered in fear, but his son, Marcus... Marcus was worse.

She had seen it firsthand.

The way he treated women during the war, as though they were objects, prizes to be claimed at his discretion. The way he chastised his mother, Rosemary, reducing her to silence beneath his sharp words and colder actions. He never asked for anything... he took. Whatever he desired, whoever he desired. There had been no consequences then, no one to stand against him, no one willing to defy the heir of a family built on terror and now, she was the price. The next piece in their unbroken cycle of dominance and control.

A chill crept into her bones as the memory tightened around her, suffocating despite the years that had passed.

She had done the only thing she could.

She had escaped.

April 2000

Pansy sat stiff-backed, her hands folded neatly in her lap, as though perfect posture alone could shield her from the fate being sealed in this very room.

Her father stood beside the fireplace, arms crossed, voice cold and absolute.

“You’ll marry Marcus Dolohov,” he declared, as if it were law, as if she had no choice.

Across the room, Marcus leaned against the desk, watching her like one might observe livestock at auction... calculating, assessing, deciding what use she would serve.

“You’ll be well-kept,” he murmured, the amusement in his tone setting her teeth on edge.

“A proper wife. A proper mother.”

Her mind raced, searching for an escape, and for a fleeting moment, she thought of Draco.

Draco, who had spent years suffocating under expectations not unlike hers. Draco, who had clawed his way toward happiness, grasping onto Hermione like a lifeline.

She could go to him. He would help her. He always had, but at what cost?

If she tethered her fate to his, if she pulled him into this mess, what would happen? She saw it too clearly... her father’s wrath, the Dolohovs’ vengeance, the way it could unravel everything he had fought for.

Draco deserved his happy ending and she wouldn’t take that away from him.

The memory lurked in the darkest corners of her mind, uninvited, unrelenting. No matter how many years passed, how much distance she had put between herself and that night, it never truly faded.

She had been alone. That much she remembered with stark clarity. The Parkinson manor had been quiet, the halls devoid of life, save for the ghost of her father’s decree lingering in the air.

Then, Marcus had come.

He hadn’t knocked. He hadn’t announced himself. He had simply been there, waiting in the shadows, knowing she had nowhere to run.

The way he looked at her... calculating, possessive, as though she belonged to him now, as though the arrangement had already bound her to him in ways she could not escape. His words had been low, mocking, laced with the certainty that no matter what she wanted, it didn’t matter, because he owned her.

What followed had shattered something deep within her, a wound no spell could heal, no time could erase and when it was over, when Marcus had left without a second thought, she had stood in the empty chamber, gripping the edges of her vanity table so tightly her knuckles had gone white, staring at the reflection of a girl she barely recognized.

“such a pretty little whore, your mine now, the binding is just a formality but your mine.” Marcus declared, while he strode towards her.

Pansy felt fear consume her, she tried to run but he was faster and more calculated and she felt that he had anticipated her next move.

With a Expelliarmus, she lost her wand…..

“ incarcirus”.. He hissed, and she was struck with a body bind curse, tumbling to the floor.

Marcus strode towards her, a smug smile on his face he pulled her up and threw her on her four poster bed ripping her skirt and underwear from her body.

Pansy fought against the bind fought against him, but he was stronger, he caged her in forcing his pelvis between her legs with such force that she winced at the manner in which her legs were shoved in opposite directions.

Tears streaming down her face unable to scream as he had taken her voice she had struggled to get away even though she knew her fight was futile and then he plunged into her, his full length shoved with brutal force into he entrance, licking his fingers to moisten her entry, he plunged into her again.

The pain she felt was worse than being under the cruciatus, with each thrust she felt as though she was being ripped apart. She couldn’t scream, she couldn’t get away and out of sheer will to survive, Pansy gave in she receded in to the furthest corners of her mind as Marcus rutted into her taking what he could with such brutal force that she knew she would be covered in blood and bruised when he was done with her.

As he finished inside of her, she mentally thanked merlin and Morgana that she had been taking a muggle contraceptive since the war.

Marcus lifted himself out of her, scorgified himself and with a smug smile looked her way.

“Such a delicious cunt, I guess I should be glad Malfoy broke you in for me, I’m sure going to enjoy making that pussy mine”

Pansy flinched as tears continued to stream down her face, she could feel the pain of what he had done between her thighs but she would not break, so she watched as he strode towards the fire place and was consumed by the emerald glow of the Floo.

That night had changed everything.

She had sworn, right then and there, that she would never let them dictate her future.

That she would flee, no matter the consequences... and so she had.

Pansy wrenched herself from the clutches of memory, her breath unsteady as the specters of the past faded into the dim candlelight of her chamber.

Would Neville still call her his friend if he knew?

If the truth of Marcus Dolohov, his name like a whispered curse, ever reached his ears, would his kindness falter, would his steady warmth recoil in disgust?

The question tightened around her like ivy, its thorns sinking deep, weaving doubts into the fragile tapestry of her resolve.

Pansy closed her eyes, letting the night fold around her like a protective cloak. The weight of memory pressed against her, but she was no longer fragile beneath its touch. She had survived.

More than that, she had remade herself, shaping the broken pieces into something whole, something stronger.

Marcus Dolohov had tried to shatter her, but he had failed.

She was not defined by his actions. She was her own story, a tale of defiance written in quiet victories, in the steady reconstruction of her soul. She had built herself anew from the wreckage, carving out a future that was hers alone and tonight, she would rest, because she had earned it.

Chapter Text

The restless night had left Pansy drained, her dreams tangled in fragmented memories and uneasy thoughts. When morning finally nudged her awake, she found herself lying amidst crumpled sheets, the weight of exhaustion pressing into her limbs. As the Transfigurations professor, her chambers bore an air of calculated elegance, but it was the unexpected softness of the sunflowers, standing bright and unwavering in the soft light, that caught her attention first, their golden faces turned towards the sun, defiant against the shadows of her unrest. 

Pansy stretched, her limbs heavy and let her gaze drift upward. The intricate design on her canopy, woven patterns of silver and deep blue, felt like a quiet, familiar presence, unchanged despite everything else shifting around her. As she traced the delicate shapes with tired eyes, her thoughts wandered to him.

To Neville. 

It had been gradual, this change. Subtle moments, quiet gestures, an unspoken understanding that had crept in between them. There was no clear before and after... only this slow unraveling of old animosities and the tentative weaving of something new. She wasn’t certain what it meant yet, but for the first time she didn’t mind not knowing.

Her thoughts drifted to him, drawn in by something quiet and unspoken. How he made her feel when he was near... steady, unassuming, like she wasn’t someone to brace against, but someone worth knowing. Neville Longbottom didn’t look at her the way others did, didn’t cast her in the shadow of old house rivalries or let history dictate his kindness.He didn’t see a Slytherin bitch.

He saw her and it was startling, disarming, the way he was with her, kind without hesitation, gentle without expectation. He treated her as though she wasn’t something to be endured, but something to be cherished, and she wasn’t sure what to do with that.

Wasn’t sure what to do with him.

She told herself it was just who he was. Neville Longbottom was kind, unwaveringly, effortlessly so. He extended his warmth to everyone, never measuring out his compassion like something that could run dry and she would be his friend. She would be there for him when he needed her, because that was what friends did, but even as she settled into the thought, a quiet, unyielding part of her resisted. She had spent years building her defenses, fortifying herself against disappointments, against the kind of hurt that left fractures too deep to mend. She wasn’t ready to take them down.

Not yet.

So she would guard herself. Tread carefully, let the friendship be enough, because the thought of being hurt again... of trusting, only to lose... was a weight she wasn’t sure she could carry.

The morning light filtered through her curtains, casting soft golden streaks across the room. As Pansy stretched beneath the covers, the realization struck

Saturday

No classes, no obligations, just time she could claim for herself.

With a sigh, she sat up, pushing the lingering weariness from her limbs. The thought of a warm bath felt indulgent, necessary. A moment of quiet before she ventured out. As she stepped onto the cool floor and padded toward the bathroom, another thought stirred... Diagon Alley.

It had been a while since she’d wandered through its winding streets, since she let herself get lost in the hum of bustling shops and familiar magic. Perhaps today, she would.

Pansy considered reaching for the Floo powder, the thought of calling Luna weaving itself into her morning. A shopping trip. Lunch. Something light, something ordinary, something that wouldn’t press against the edges of memory, but before she could act, the past stirred.

Five years ago

The apothecary was dim, lined with rows of bottled remedies and dusty tomes, its air thick with the scent of crushed herbs and aged parchment. Pansy moved with quiet precision, fingers ghosting over vials of healing draughts, searching... urgently, desperately, without making it obvious.

She barely registered Luna’s approach until it was too late.

“Hello, Pansy,” came the familiar, lilting voice... gentle, as always.

Pansy stiffened, her grip tightening around a small jar of dittany. She didn’t turn, didn’t lift her gaze, didn’t allow even a flicker of vulnerability to surface.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people,” she muttered, forcing her tone into something sharp, distant, biting.

Luna merely tilted her head, unruffled as ever.

“I wasn’t sneaking,” she said simply. “You just seemed lost in thought.”

Pansy scoffed, rolling her shoulders to feign nonchalance, careful, so careful, not to shift too much. Not enough for Luna to notice the bruises beneath her sleeves, the faint marks that had stubbornly refused to fade, even with a glamor charm.

She turned, ready to dismiss her, ready to wield cruelty like a shield.

“I’m fine. Just picking up a few things. Not that it’s any of your concern.”

Luna didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she studied her... really studied her and something in Pansy’s chest tightened beneath the weight of it.

“You always say that,” Luna murmured, quiet but firm.

Pansy felt the walls around her pulse, threatening to crack. She forced herself to scoff, to roll her eyes, to act as though none of it mattered.

“You’re reading too much into things, Lovegood. Not everything is some grand revelation.”

Luna didn’t argue. She simply remained... unmoving, unyielding, waiting and for reasons Pansy couldn’t explain, that was worse than any confrontation.

Pansy slid the coins across the counter, watching as the apothecary’s clerk swept them up with practiced ease. The vials ofndittany and calming draughts were neatly wrapped and handed to her, their weight solid in her grasp.

She turned, ready to leave, ready to slip back into the familiar solitude she had carved out for herself, but Luna’s voice halted her.

“Would you like to grab some lunch with me?”

The question was simple. Unassuming. Yet somehow, it managed to unravel something in her chest.

Pansy blinked, caught off guard.

“What?”

Luna didn’t repeat herself, only smiled a small, knowing thing, as if she could sense the hesitation before it fully formed.

“You don’t have to,” she added, her tone light. “But I’d like it.”

Pansy opened her mouth, instinct pressing her toward dismissal, toward a sharp retort that would keep the boundaries intact, but the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, she found herself staring at Luna, at the quiet patience in her posture, at the ease with which she asked, like it wasn’t an obligation, like It wasn’t pity.

Like it was simply… an invitation.

And against all reason, Pansy found herself considering it.

Pansy scoffed, slipping the vials into her bag with practiced ease.

“Lunch with a Gryffindor,” she muttered, shaking her head.

"How very tragic for me.”

Luna, unbothered, merely tilted her head, a knowing glint in her eyes.

“Yes, I imagine it must be dreadful,” she mused, lips curving in amusement.

“Spending time with someone who isn’t terrified of you.”

Pansy narrowed her eyes.

“I like people being terrified of me.”

Luna hummed thoughtfully.

“No, you like them pretending to be.”

For a fraction of a second, Pansy faltered, caught between irritation and the uncomfortable weight of truth. Then, she huffed, rolling her eyes.

“Fine, but if we’re doing this, you’re paying.”

Luna’s smile widened.

“Oh, Pansy,” she said, airily leading the way.

“We both know you like expensive wine far too much for that to be possible.”

The apothecary door swung shut behind them, sealing away the heavy scent of herbs and potions as they stepped into the bustling street. Pansy kept her pace steady, hands tucked into her cloak pockets, resisting the urge to glance at Luna to gauge whether this... this strange, unexpected companionship felt as surreal to her as it did to Pansy.

The Leaky Cauldron welcomed them with the familiar hum of conversation, the clatter of plates and laughter winding through the air like something tangible. They ordered food and wine, neither debating the choice nor filling the space with unnecessary words and as they sat, the silence wasn’t strained.

Pansy let herself breathe, let the warmth of the meal settle, let the presence beside her be what it was... nothing forced, nothing dissected, nothing demanded.

Luna didn’t press. Didn’t pry and for the first time in longer than Pansy could remember, she realized that maybe she didn’t need the right words or explanations.

Maybe, just for today, she only needed someone to be with her.

Even if it was Luna.

They continued their meal, Luna sipping on her Orange Juice and Pansy sipping her wine. That’s all they did, that’s all that was needed, until it was time to leave.

As they rose from the table, Pansy let out a slow breath, the warmth of the meal lingering but the weight of the day pressing at the edges of her thoughts. She didn’t reach for more words, there was nothing else that needed saying.

“Thank you,” she said simply, her voice measured, restrained.

Luna, ever perceptive, didn’t offer anything in return. No fuss, no unnecessary sentiment. She only reached out, fingers wrapping briefly around Pansy’s hand, a quiet touch that spoke louder than any reassurance could.

I’m here, it said. If you need. If you want.

Pansy didn’t pull away.

Not immediately.

Instead, she let the moment rest between them, let herself feel what it meant... just this once.

As they stepped beyond the threshold of the Leaky Cauldron, the heavy wooden door groaning on its hinges, a spectral mist clung to the cobblestone streets, curling around their ankles like whispering phantoms. Pansy halted beneath the flickering gaslight, its glow casting wavering shadows against the gloom. She turned to Luna, eyes sharp yet uncertain, her voice barely more than a murmur against the encroaching silence.

“How did you know?” Pansy asked, her breath curling in the cold night air.

“That all I needed was company?”

Luna tilted her head, her gaze distant, as though peering into something beyond sight.

“Some loneliness lingers like an unsettled spirit,” she answered softly.

“And I’ve always been good at sensing ghosts.”

Luna’s gaze drifted downward, her expression unreadable in the wavering gaslight. Pansy followed it instinctively, stiffening as she realized what Luna saw... faint bruises blooming like ink spills beneath the dim glow, she must have missed some when glammoring the dreadful blemishes that reminded her of what she had endure a few hours prior, remnants of a quiet battle she had concealed beneath layers of fabric and carefully measured smiles. She shifted slightly, as if the darkness itself might swallow the evidence, but Luna’s voice was steady, unshaken.

“Bruises tell stories,” Luna murmured, her fingers barely brushing the edge of Pansy’s sleeve, not to uncover, only to acknowledge.

“And sometimes, the loudest pain is the one never spoken. That’s why I knew you needed a silent companion tonight.”

A shiver ran through Pansy, not from the cold but from the certainty in Luna’s words, the eerie accuracy of her understanding. For a moment, the swirling mist around them seemed to hush, the streetlamp’s glow dimming as if the night itself was listening.

Pansy swallowed, staring at Luna, searching for mockery, pity, anything unbearable, but there was none, only quiet knowing, as steady as the stars beyond the twisting fog.

Perhaps, just this once, she wouldn’t pull away.

Five years.

That long since Luna had found her at the apothecary, pale and trembling, a shadow of herself trying to piece together something that felt remotely whole. She hadn’t expected kindness then, hadn’t expected anyone to see past the wreckage, but Luna had.

With that quiet, steady way of hers, like she’d known all along that Pansy wasn’t beyond saving.

She had been the first to reach for her when Pansy couldn’t reach for herself and now, now the thought of calling her felt different. Not as an obligation, not as someone grasping for steady ground, but as a friend.

A real one.

Pansy tightened her fingers around the smooth glass of the Floo jar, breathed in deep, and let the present settle back into place.

Today, she would choose lightness.

Pansy let out a slow, measured breath, dragging herself back from the depths of recollection. The phantom sensations of that night still lingered, bruises that had long faded, but never truly vanished, the echo of Luna’s words threading through the silence. She shook her head slightly, clearing the haze of nostalgia.

The emerald flames roared to life as she cast the Floo powder into the hearth, their glow unnatural, licking at the shadows that curled at the room’s edges.

“Luna Zabini” she murmured, firm but quiet, sending the call into the ether.

For a moment, the flames flickered without response. Then, as though drawn forth from some ethereal plane, Luna’s face appeared, serene despite the wavering distortion.

“You’ve been thinking about it again.” Luna’s voice was soft, the kind of statement that held no judgment, only knowing.

Pansy swallowed, resisting the urge to pull back like she once had. The night had been cold, yet the warmth in Luna’s presence had been undeniable. Some things, even the ones that hurt, weren’t meant to be buried.

She forced a smirk, though it lacked conviction.

“You always did have a talent for spotting ghosts.”

Luna merely smiled, tilting her head.

“And you always tried to outrun them.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy but not suffocating. Pansy had once thought such quiet unbearable, but now, it felt like an anchor, the kind that stopped her from drifting too far into the past.

Pansy let out a breath, as if exhaling the weight of lingering memories and leaned slightly closer to the emerald flames that flickered between them.

“I wasn’t calling to dwell on ghosts,” she said, her voice steadier now, lighter, though the embers of past thoughts still smoldered beneath.

“I was calling to invite you to lunch and shopping in Diagon Alley. No brooding, no heavy talks. Just a good day, being girly.”

Luna’s gaze remained unwavering, a quiet understanding nestled in her dreamy expression. Then, after a beat, she smiled, not her usual knowing smile, but something softer, something warmer.

“I’d like that,” she murmured.

“Some days, you need more than ghosts for company.”

Pansy huffed out something resembling a laugh, the edges of her lips twitching into a smirk.

“I thought you liked ghosts.”

Luna shrugged.

“I like what lingers, but I also like new things.”

The flickering light of the Floo fire danced against the darkened walls, casting erratic shadows that seemed to shift as the mood lightened and for the first time in a long while, Pansy allowed herself to sink into something simpler, companionship without question, warmth without hesitation.

“Meet me at noon,” she said, before Luna could vanish into the ether.

Luna tilted her head.

“And wear something that makes you feel light.”

Pansy rolled her eyes, but didn’t argue. Perhaps, just this once, she would.

Pansy let a rare smile tug at the corner of her lips, the weight in her chest loosening just enough to breathe a little easier.

“I can’t wait to see you,” she murmured, watching as Luna’s ethereal image flickered within the emerald flames.

Luna, ever unshaken, simply nodded, an understanding passing between them that needed no further words.

Then, with a graceful flick of her fingers, Pansy ended the Floo call.

The fire hissed, swallowing the connection, and the room settled into quiet once more,but this silence was different, it wasn’t heavy, nor was it suffocating. It was the kind that held space for something good.

She leaned back, stretching as if shaking off the remnants of solitude. Her Saturday morning had already begun on a note of reflection, but now, it would be something lighter. Something filled with the vibrant chaos of Diagon Alley, the indulgence of shopping, laughter, and most importantly the company of her unlikely best friend, Luna Zabini née Lovegood.

It was strange how life twisted in unexpected ways. Strange, but not unwelcome.

For the first time in a long while, Pansy was looking forward to what the day might bring.

The mirror reflected Pansy’s delicate movements as she fastened the last clasp of her cloak, the silver buckle gleaming dully in the low morning light.

Outside, Diagon Alley bustled with distant voices and the rhythmic clatter of footsteps, but within her room, all was still. Yet, silence had never meant peace. It had never meant safety.

As she traced the embroidered hem of her sleeve with careful fingers, the ghosts of her past rose unbidden, the ones that had not come in wisps of mist or spectral whispers, but had left real wounds, deep and undeniable.

Marcus Dolohov.

Her father’s heavy gaze.

The cold inevitability of a marriage contract inked in blood and expectation.

She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly.

Five years. Five years since she had fled, since Luna had orchestrated her escape, slipping Pansy through hidden passageways and unspoken routes to France. Five years since she had breathed without the weight of chains tightening around her ribs and yet, some bindings remained, lingering in ways that had nothing to do with contracts.

She had been cautious then. She had begged Luna to hide their growing friendship, to shield their plans even from Blaise. Pansy had known better than to trust fully. A single misplaced word, a moment of weakness, and everything could have crumbled.

She had survived because of secrecy, because Luna had understood, had not questioned, had not demanded more than Pansy could give.

And now, on this ordinary Saturday, as she prepared to meet the woman who had once been her escape, she realized how much had changed and how much had not.

She stared at herself in the mirror, tilting her chin up slightly, forcing away the vulnerability clinging to the edges of her reflection. Today was for light things... laughter, shopping, the illusion of normalcy.

She stepped away, fastening the last button of her coat.

Perhaps today, just for a little while, she could pretend the ghosts had finally let her go.