Are you even aware of your presence?
He had no clue of the effect he had on his surroundings, catching the eyes of witches and wizards alike with his natural warmth and near-effortless ingenuity. Following Voldemort’s defeat and his own role in Nagini’s demise, Neville went on to take the magic world by storm. He started with his herbology mastery, publishing subsequent studies and discoveries of new and existing plant life.
Together with Draco and Hermione Granger-Malfoy, he founded a potions company that far outstripped any previous and present competitors. They were media darlings, with Neville Longbottom taking the front and center spot as a still eligible and desirable bachelor.
His singlehood certainly wasn’t a result of anyone’s lack of trying. He seemed impervious to hints and blatant proposals alike, brushing them off with a cock of his head and an endearing smile.
Pansy wondered how he did it. How did he turn down romance without hurting anyone’s feelings? She’d seen the encounters firsthand countless times by now, having worked as head of public relations for M.G.L. (Malfoy Granger Longbottom) since its inception. The denied party walked away often happier than they’d arrived, as if all the weight on their shoulders had lifted.
Just like now.
She watched as a witch, passingly pretty despite her atrocious yellow dress that did absolutely nothing for her complexion, approached Neville Longbottom the moment he stood alone. As with all the others, he gave her his full attention, hazel eyes crinkling at the corners as his lips widened into a genuine smile.
The two exchanged words before he bowed, pressing lips to the swooning woman’s hand, and turned to make his way towards Pansy.
“What have you done now?” she asked in exasperation once he came to a standstill before her.
He might have grown up to become one of the most admirable wizards of their generation with the good looks to match, but he constantly caused Pansy distress. Some days it was missing accessories and others it was a forgotten appointment. He frequently requested her fashion help for public appearances—by now, she knew his home as intimately as her own and was keyed in to his Floo and wards.
“I was hoping you’d go over my acceptance speech one more time, especially because…” his voice trailed off as he tugged at his coffee-colored hair and grimaced.
“You what ?”
His eyes widened at her rising tone and he backed up a single step. “I, uh, might have replaced my notes.”
Pinching the bridge of her nose and taking a deep breath, Pansy fought to maintain control. When she reopened her eyes, she nearly relented at his puppy-dog eyes.
Circe help her.
“Alright, follow me. I have a backup copy.” She nearly laughed at the immediate way he perked up, recovering his energy as readily as one of her mother’s corgis.
She led the way in her 4-inch heels and midnight green dress robes, legs flashing through the slit running all the way to mid-thigh. Even with her added height and straight-backed stride, she still only came up to Neville’s chin.
“Parkinson. I just need my purse,” she said to the man at the coat check. She tapped her foot impatiently while she waited.
“I’m really sorry about this, Pansy.” He once again looked contrite, face nearly level to her own with his slouch.
“Don’t be; this is part of my job.” She couldn’t help softening her tone in the face of his embarrassment. Pansy stepped close to press a firm hand to his back, robes brushing against his legs and perfume surrounding him in a distinct, but light, scent. “Stand up straight.”
He snapped to attention, catching her off guard with the sudden movement. In her haste to back up, a heel caught the trailing end of her robe and she started to fall backwards. With the reflexes that first earned him his post-war reputation, he darted forward to catch her, arms circling and pulling her back against his body.
They stood just like that for what seemed like a moment of forever, his arms pressing them close, her hands flat against his chest and soaking in his warmth. They breathed each other in, hearts beating in sync.
Until a cough broke the spell.
“Miss Parkinson? I have your purse here.”
The voice startled them into motion, his arms dropping, her feet stepping away. She accepted her bag with her back to him fully prepared to place Neville at an appropriate distance, but as Pansy turned around she face planted straight back into his stupidly firm chest. Large hands caught her again, this time removing themselves the instant she rebalanced. He didn’t step away.
“Are you even aware of your presence?!” she sputtered, blinking tears away to rub at her tender nose.
“Are you?”
The tilt in his uncharacteristic comment caught her attention and she looked up sharply to see a very un-Neville-like smirk on his face. Bloody Malfoy. First Hermione, and now Neville. The prat was going to have the entire company smirking like him and giving Pansy never-ending trouble.
“I am more aware than most, thank you very much.” Reaching inside her bag, she located the correct sheet and pressed it into his stomach. “Here you go.”
“Aren’t you going to listen to me rehearse?”
The eyes were back and gazing down at her. From their intimate proximity, Pansy felt like they were drawing her up and into their orbit. She couldn’t look away. Didn’t want to look away. “If that’s what you still want.”
Perfect white teeth nearly blinded her from his tanned face, and it was as she was still recovering that he pulled her hand into his, leading her into the nearest unlocked door.
“Do you mean it?” His tone had returned to the strange one from before, expression intent on examining her own.
“Of course I’ll listen to your speech. It’s literally my job.”
This was getting ridiculous. Pansy felt like they were unsuspecting actors on a stage for everyone’s amusement. Look at how they clash!
“No, did you mean it when you said that you’re aware of me? More aware than others?”
Pansy took in the hand that still held her own, looking more carefully at his present countenance and thinking back on past interactions.
Oh.
“You like me.” The sentence sounded preposterous. It couldn’t possibly be true despite all evidence to the contrary.
“I more than like you.”
“…It’s mutual.”
“I know.”
She swallowed hard at the words. Neville Longbottom liked her, Pansy Parkinson.
“You don’t need help with your speech, do you?”
“Not really.”
His smile and the glint in his eye compelled Pansy to close the distance between them. They still had half an hour until he walked on stage. “Whatever shall we do with ourselves?”
Did she refer to it as the Malfoy smirk earlier? Correction: the sly grin that grew across his features was very much its own trademark, one Pansy endeavored to claim as her own.