Here's a lil Neville Longbottom oneshot. <3
It was early morning, far too early to be awake, but there Mikayla lay, whispering with her friend. It was the kind of morning that bred possibility and happiness. A rarity-- most mornings were for tired eyes and mugs of hot coffee.
Mikayla shifted slightly on the bed where she lay. It was narrow, which wasn't typically a problem for her, but she wasn't alone on the bed this time. She was keenly aware of a tall, skinny figure that lay next to her. He noted her movements and wiggled around so that she had more space. Their feet brushed and Mikayla felt her face heat. The action felt so intimate. Everything about her current situation felt intimate… His limbs were dangerously close to hers, her breath teased his neck, and the darkness around them was warm and soft. Kissing territory, as her friend Rue would call it.
“Sorry,” he chuckled slightly. Mikayla dismissed him with a soft smile.
This wasn't processing. Neville Longbottom, resident goof, was in her bed. He was in her bed frequently, just to talk, but this time Mikayla was particularly plagued by less platonic thoughts. Neville, who had been the laughing stock of their year when they were children. Neville, who had changed so drastically and now led her year. The lieutenant of Dumbledore's Army. He was in her bed, she wanted to take advantage of that in every way possible. She cleared her throat awkwardly.
The lieutenant of her noble cause yawned. “It's late.”
Mikayla nodded. “Early, technically, but I guess.”
Neville grinned. Her throat tightened at his action. It wasn't like he had perfect teeth, or godly features. Neville wasn't all that fit, but he was beautiful. His face bore childlike innocence, despite his hardships. As cliché as it sounded, Neville was real. She could prove it, too. If it wasn't for her self-control, Mikayla would have brushed her fingers across his face, lingering on freckles, moles, and puckered scars. She would kiss every fresh bruise and scar.
But she had self control. So she didn't.
“You alright?” he asked absentmindedly. “You zoned out for a bit there.”
Mikayla flushed darkly. “Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking of how dorky you are,” she fibbed.
Neville's eyes glinted in amusement. He shifted down on the bed so their noses were centimeters apart. “And just how dorky am I?”
“Oh, just the dorkiest. Dorkier than… dorkier than Justin Flinch-Fletchy and Colin Creevy and certainly dorkier than Hermione Granger.”
An uncomfortable silence settled after Hermione's name was mentioned. Hermione was gone, just as Ron and Harry were. The famous trio had left them to deal with the strict reign of Severus Snape on their own. Mikayla didn't know what they were doing-- nobody did-- but if Harry Potter was involved, the school had a pretty good guess.
“That's pretty dorky,” Neville allowed. “I can accept that.”
“Good. Because you don't have a choice.” Mikayla cleared her throat. “So, you sleeping here tonight? It's … crowded with two of us, but we could make it work.”
“I can't get caught again.”
Was that fear she heard in his voice?
“But, I can do this.” Neville pushed her onto her right side, facing away from him. He scooted around, situating himself, before pulling Mikayla's body against his. She could feel his heartbeat on her back, beating steadily. Her lower back touched his abdomen and her legs were tangled in his. The position wasn't new to the pair. Neville spent many-a-night in her dorm. He usually left around dawn, but he got caught last week and it hadn't ended well.
But with the Carrows, it never did.
Mikayla devoted her thoughts to calming her racing heart, and steadying her breath. It mystified her that Neville could to this to her. When she first noticed the tingling in her stomach, she was angry. How rude of Neville. She needed to be focusing on not dying, but instead she focused on his cupid's bow. She thought it was his fault, and that he was being inconsiderate. She soon grew accustomed to the offending emotions, and learned how to keep them at bay. Even in her most thrilling moments with him-- these moments-- she was alert.
She leaned into him, growing comfortable. Dawn was transitioning into her inevitable morning, and Mikayla needed sleep. Next to Neville, she felt comforted. It was easy for her to ignore her nightmares, ignore the memories of the screaming first years. She melted into him right before sleep was going to ensnare her, but was deterred from this act when she felt a change in his heartbeat. It sped up, bouncing around in his chest anxiously, excitedly.
She pretended not to notice, and went about her normal sleeping patterns. Neville exhaled. “Blimey, 'Kayla.”
He fiddled with her hair, moving it, twirling it. “You're so pretty when you sleep, you know that?” He chuckled to himself. “Why am I asking you questions, you're asleep. You can't hear me.”
He let his arm fall on her waist, cuddling her into him further. He inhaled deeply. “You always smell like cherry blossoms. Your hair, your skin, your clothes… I can't smell cherries without thinking of you.” Neville nuzzled into his usual place: his head slightly above hers, an arm over both of their heads and one across Mikayla's waist.
“I can't do much of anything without thinking of you. Which is dumb. I should be focused on DA and saving everyone, but you're always in the back of my mind. Like a parasite. But a good parasite. A pretty parasite. Oh, we don't have the covers on.” He carefully tucked me in, followed by himself.
“Oh, and I wrote my gran. She's well. She likes you a lot, you know. I remember you asked me if she didn't like you once. She loves you, really. Gran's just a bit awkward when it comes to emotions… Like me. Which I'm sure you've realized by now, because I act like an idiot around you.”
No you don't. Mikayla almost spoke aloud. He didn't act like an idiot around her. At all.
“I act like an idiot around you because I like you… A lot.” He was tracing patterns onto her arm with the pad of his finger. “A stupid amount.”
“Neville...,” Mikayla said. Her voice cracked when she spoke, an affect of the tiredness.
Neville automatically scooted away from her. “Y-you heard that? Oh, Merlin, that's-- that's embarrassing. Mortifying.”
“I should have said something,” she admitted quietly. She sat up quickly to face him. “But you were saying all those nice things, and I know you'd never say them to my face…”
There was an awkward pause. “I- I'm glad your gran likes me, Nev.”
He closed his eyes. He'd gone bright red. It seemed like even his blonde hair was turning strawberry.
“I am!” She insisted. “I mean it, I'm glad your gran likes me. I like your gran. Your gran is amazing.”
“Can we stop talking about Gran?”
“Yes, yes yes, sorry, of course.” She felt the heat in her face. Their voices were barely above a whisper, but they felt like cannonball in her ear. Every shearing consonant and elastic vowel was amplified like it was through a megaphone.
Silence.
Mikayla had so many words to say, but no voice to say them. Every sentence that she formulated got caught in her throat.
Silence.
The quietude between them wasn't static. It was ripe and full, just as the dawn had been. Possibility loomed between unsaid syllables. Neville soundlessly reached out a hand; palm open, fingers outwards but not erect. An opportunity.
She slid her hand into his. His hand wasn't calloused or tough, but it wasn't delicate either. His hands felt like the rest of his skin. Thick, but soft on the outside. He probably moisturized.
His hands didn't fit in hers perfectly, but nothing about the pair of them was perfect anyway. She loved the way that she felt dwarfed in comparison to him. She liked his stubbed nails and soft fingers and how they were delectably out of place in hers. Their hands met clumsily but truthfully. In real life, hands didn't mold together like two sets of a puzzle. She moved her thumb gently across the deepest crease in his palm.
“I also like you a stupid amount,” said Mikayla with finality. “A really, really, really stupid amount.”
Neville glanced up at her with a shy, loving smile, one that she couldn't help but return.
