#hp fluff

You were a compact tangle of limbs and warmth, knees drawn up, one socked foot hooked over his ankle like you’d staked territory. Your hair smelled of cedarwood soap and the vanilla ink you used for notes; every time you exhaled, the strands fluttered against his collarbone and his heartbeat tripped like a drunk on stairs. Theo’s palm had found the warm crescent of skin between your hoodie and joggers twenty minutes ago and hadn’t left. Slow, reverent circles—thumb tracing the faint dimple at the base of your spine, middle finger brushing the soft rise just above your hip. Each pass felt like signing his name in a language he’d sworn he’d never learn.

He was not in love. He’d said it out loud to Draco last week, voice bored, cigarette dangling: “Love’s a liability. I don’t do liabilities.” Draco had laughed so hard he’d nearly fallen off the astronomy tower railing. Theo had meant it then. He was ninety percent sure he’d meant it.

Then you’d sighed—a tiny, kittenish sound—and burrowed closer, nose nudging the hollow beneath his jaw. Ninety percent plummeted to seventy-five. Your fingers, slack in sleep, uncurled against his chest, pinky brushing the silver chain he wore under his shirt. Sixty percent. He was free-falling and the ground was made of your eyelashes.

The portrait hole scraped open with the subtlety of a troll in tap shoes. Blaise stumbled in first, tie askew, cheeks flushed from whatever fruity drink he'd decided to drink. Draco followed, hair artfully mussed, smirking like he always is with his pureblood arrogance. Mattheo brought up the rear, one shoe untied, humming an off-key Celestina Warbeck chorus.

They froze in a perfect comedic tableau.

Blaise’s mouth opened, closed. Draco’s eyebrow performed an Olympic vault. Mattheo actually dropped his cloak.

Theo didn’t move. Couldn’t. Your weight pinned him more thoroughly than any binding spell. He settled for a glare sharp enough to slice bread. “You’re drunk.” As if that would make the trio believe they were having hallucinations, unfortunately, he was not so lucky.

“Observant,” Draco drawled, but his eyes were laughing. “We texted you six times, Nott. Thought you’d been kidnapped by merpeople. Turns out you were kidnapped by—” he gestured vaguely at your sleeping form—“cozy domesticity.”

Mattheo flopped onto the rug, propping his chin in his hands like a gossip columnist, his cheeks flushed from alcohol and eyes red from something he probably shouldn't have had. “Look at him. The Ice Prince melteth. I give it three minutes before he starts braiding her hair.”

Theo’s fingers twitched toward his wand, then thought better of it. You’d hate the noise. Instead he tucked the blanket higher around your shoulders, the motion so tender it should’ve come with a warning label. “Shut up,” he said, but there was no venom in it. The words came out soft, almost fond. Fifty percent.

Blaise circled like a shark scenting blood. “Remember when you said—and I quote—‘I don’t do commitment, I have more important goals’?” He produced a crumpled receipt from the Three Broomsticks, waving it like evidence. “Goal tonight was butterbeer and that Ravenclaw with the long legs. Instead you’re here playing weighted blanket.”

Your next breath hitched, a sleepy whimper that arrowed straight through Theo’s ribs. You turned your face into his neck, lips brushing the pulse that was suddenly sprinting. Forty percent. Thirty. He was a house of cards in a windstorm.

Draco dropped into the opposite chair, stretching long legs toward the fire. “He’s counting her freckles,” he announced to the ceiling. “I can see it. Left cheek—three. Nose—two. There’s one shaped like a wonky star he’s mentally named after himself.”

“Fuck. Off.” Theo hissed, but his voice cracked on the second word because you’d just made that sound again—half sigh, half murmur—and your hand had slid under his sweater, palm flat over his heart like you were checking it still worked. It did. Barely.

Mattheo rolled onto his back, laughing silently, shoulders shaking. “Mate, you’re gone. Stick a fork in him.”

Theo looked down at you: lashes casting shadows on cheeks flushed from the fire, lower lip caught between your teeth in dreams. The blanket had slipped again from your movements; he fixed it without thinking, tucking it under your chin the way his mum used to do when he was small. The memory hit like a Bludger—he hadn’t thought of that in years. Twenty percent.

Blaise sighed, theatrical. “Fine. We’ll leave you to your not-girlfriend and your totally platonic cuddling. But tomorrow, Nott, you’re buying rounds. Emotional damage fee.”

They shuffled out, still snickering. Heads close together so they could whisper about this occurrence the whole way to their dorms, leaving Theo to wonder how bad it could really be to run away. Silence rushed back in, thick and velvet, your vanilla scent letting reason back into his brain. If he ran away, then what about you?

Fuck.

Theo exhaled shakily. His hand resumed its slow worship along your spine. You shifted again, knee sliding between his, fitting against him like you’d been carved for the space. Zero percent. He was in free fall now, no broom, no net.

He pressed his lips to your temple, lingering, breathing you in. “You’re ruining me,” he whispered to the sleeping girl who owned every shard of his carefully constructed indifference. “And I’m going to let you.”

-

"Wait."

His hand froze midair, clutching the knife about to slice through the flower heads. He raised an eyebrow and gave you a critical look.

"Don't cut that yet," you continued, undeterred. "Cut that a minute before we add it."

Your tone wasn't condescending, but it was assertive in a way that made his ego curdle. Just a bit.

"And why, pray tell, should I follow what you say?" He sneered.

You merely blinked.

"Well, these particular flower heads are most potent when it's freshly cut." You replied matter-of-factly. "Considering its integrative properties with this potion, we'd want its quality to be as potent as possible when we add it."

Malfoy gave you another skeptical look. He wasn't used to being interfered with in Potions. In fact, he was used to handling the brunt of the work to ensure his stellar marks were left unmarred by his partners' incompetence. So, yes, ego was poked. Just a bit.

"No," he replied as if he were talking to a five-year-old. "Doing that just exceeds the optimal potency level. You'll ruin the viscosity and increase the acidity of the potion." Admittedly, he did feel proud of shutting you down. Ego restored.

"For a freshly harvested flower head, yes, that's true, but..." Merlin, will this witch back down? You gently pinched the ends of the petals between your fingers. "These ones were put on a stasis charm. It's winter and its sensitive period after harvest is significantly shortened in the cold. Hence, the charm. The magical influence interferes with the properties of the plant. Feel the petals? They're not as soft as they should be; there's rigidity. That means the release of its sap will be explosive right after the cut."

Malfoy was silent. Reluctantly, he felt the petals between his fingers and, damn it, you were right. He opened his mouth as if to refute you but nothing came out. What you said made perfect sense. Again, damn it.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes but put away the flower heads. You gave him a small smile and continued your work.

-

"Wait."

Malfoy clicked his tongue irritably. He turned sharply to you.

"What now?" He snapped. To your credit, you did hold an apologetic expression.

"I'll do the stirring." You offered. He narrowed his eyes but begrudgingly passed you the stirring rod.

"For Merlin's sake, the stirring is elementary. Don't muck it up." He grumbled as he moved away from the cauldron.

A few minutes passed as he started tidying up the rest of the station when, at the corner of his eye, he saw what you did.

You stirred counter clockwise at the end. Once.

Malfoy was enraged.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He yelled-whispered, grabbing your wrist away from the cauldron. "The instructions were to stir clockwise continuously. Are you daft? Or are you perhaps mad-"

He stopped abruptly when the potion's color transformed from a muted blue to a vibrant turquoise. Perhaps the most vibrant turquoise he's seen on a potion like this, its color almost emitting a soft glow. Malfoy looked at the potion a few seconds more before shooting you a disbelieving look.

There was a glint of triumph in your eyes as your attention was completely fixated on the potion. He saw the slightest upturn of your lips before you schooled your expression back to neutrality. You turned back to him.

"The potion is similar to Moonseed Poison." You explained. "The procedure is almost identical and its properties are all derived from the same family of ingredients."

He scoffed. "And you thought it would be a good idea to apply the same principle to a potion that has completely different effects?"

You shrugged. "Same principle." You eyed the hand still holding your wrist, and he immediately withdrew his hand. He pinched the nose of his bridge, staving off an oncoming headache.

"Merlin, witch." He groaned. "And you didn't think to tell me?"

That gave you pause. You looked away almost sheepishly and added in a small voice. "...I thought you wouldn't be very cooperative."

You fiddled with your fingers and was adamant to look at anywhere but him. At least you had the decency to look a bit guilty.

He gave you a (barely) long-suffering look before moving past to scoop the potion for submission.

To his dismay, Slughorn praised your potion to the point Malfoy wondered if he would cream his pants. He sat back in his seat with a deep scowl in his face which you deemed not to comment on. You continued to work on your report silently even as Malfoy grumbled beside you.

After a while, he turned to you. "How did you know?"

You gave a questioning hum as you continued to work, refusing to look his way.

"How did you know the same principle would work?"

Your quill stuttered before you resumed.

"I didn't."

He raised a brow, giving you an expectant look. You pursed your lips slightly and glanced at him cautiously.

"Gut feeling."

Malfoy turned away from you, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to calm himself. "Bloody hell."

-

From then on, he began to notice you more. It was more so because he had now acknowledged your existence. You were promoted from the title or "irrelevant ghost" to "insufferable potions partner."

As you continued to be paired with him in Potions (to his dismay), he realized that, despite your penchant for having unconventional methods, perhaps there was a reason you were always close behind on the class rankings as the third or fourth top student. You had an intuitive sense for the interactions in each potion, making you an acceptable potions partner. He also realized that the only reason you lagged behind in rankings is because of your experimentations and your cursed gut feeling. With your potions, it was either a hit or miss.

Despite his initial annoyance with you, he couldn't deny that you were indeed competent. He began to develop a reluctant amicability with you and this was quite unfortunate because you began to do things he didn't understand.

-

One Charms class, he had run late and all seats had been taken up except for the one beside you. After receiving an admonishment from Flitwick, he sat beside you with a scowl, murmuring curses under his breath.

He had just set down his inkpot when you put a green apple in his desk space. Before he could say anything, you leaned close to him and whispered.

"I noticed you weren't at breakfast earlier. Figured I'd grab you your daily drugs." You flashed him a small smile before returning to your notes.

He was so surprised that he forgot all about his earlier frustrations. He managed to mumble a thanks before turning to his parchment.

-

"You have a Quidditch match later, right?"

That startled Malfoy. You two have never talked about anything besides academics. He nodded.

You rummaged through your pocket, and you pulled out a small charm shaped in a broom figurine.

He raised a brow at you inquisitively.

"It's a good luck charm." You rolled your eyes, a smile playing at your lips. "Not that you need it, of course. I know you're a good Seeker, but I figured I'd give you one anyway."

He continued to stare at you questioningly, and you grew conscious. Your fingers slowly closed around the charm.

"Well, you don't have to take it. I suppose I could just give it to another player–"

"Whatever." He scoffed and held out his hand. "Give it here. Merlin knows you'll accidentally set somebody on fire with your charms."

Your hand came up to your chest in affront as the other dropped the charm onto his open hand. "Excuse me? That was one time!"

-

Malfoy was met with cheers from the team as he descended from the broom, snitch in hand. He walked proudly, chest out and ego inflated, as absorbed all the praises.

Through it all, the small broomstick charm weighed heavily on his pocket.

-

The two of you were at the library working on a joint Potions project. It was raining hard outside and your table was right beside a window.

"Let me know when the rain gets any more interesting. I'm sure it can write the paper for us."

Malfoy drawled from across the table, interrupting your reverie of watching the rain. You didn't respond, and he paid you no mind as he kept writing down on his parchment.

He felt the prickle of your stare on him instead. He waited a few moments for your gaze to pass, but it didn't. He looked up from his parchment and raised a critical eyebrow at you.

You didn't deem his look with a response. You just kept looking at him as if examining a specimen from behind a glass, chin tucked in one hand and eyes lucid.

"Your eyes have a little blue in them."

That threw him off. What?

"What?" He managed, unable to school the look of shock and confusion from his face.

Again, you didn't respond and simply went back to your work.

-

One particularly boring History of Magic class, he felt a nudge at the side of his leg. He shot you a flat look–yes, he happened to sit next to you again because he can sit anywhere he pleases, thank you very much–and you held out your hand filled with candies from Honeydukes.

"Want one?" You whispered, smiling shyly at him.

He didn't say anything and just grabbed from the pile. As he popped the candy into his mouth, he noticed you struggling to open one. He wordlessly grabbed the candy, opened it, and gave it back to you.

There was a flash of surprise on your face before you shot him a smile. He watched you pop the candy into your mouth.

-

Apparently, your title has once again elevated from "annoying potions partner" to "tolerable person to be around."

Yes, he knew of your existence, your presence in the couch right by the fireplace. But when he sat by his friends close to your chair, he also began to notice other things.

He now knew that your expression wasn't as stoic when you're reading. The changes in your face were subtle but he noticed them. A raised brow. Pursed lips. Crinkled eyes. He also now knew that when the younger Slytherins would come up to you, you would also give them small charms or lean into them as if sharing a secret.

He also now has a collection of charms because of you. It could be for a match, an exam, a stressful day, or a random reason you would come up with. He kept telling himself to throw away those junk. He never did.

-

The weather outside was chilly. Which was really something to consider when having a class outside for Care of Magical Creatures. Most of the students were bundled up and huddled together to retain as much warmth as possible.

Malfoy stood beneath a tree, gaze fixed to the courtyard where a certain someone should be walking now that class was about to start.

Sure enough, there you were. All frantic, frazzled, and panting by the time you settled next to him.

He looked at you expectantly as if you owed him an explanation.

"I fell asleep."

"Wonderful."

"Did you miss me?"

"Witch, you must be mad."

You bit back a smile as you tried to tune into the lesson. That was, until you heard him click his tongue annoyedly. You turned to Malfoy questioningly before you felt fabric wrap around your neck.

"If you wanted to die of the cold, you could've just told me to push you into the Black Lake." He grumbled as he adjusted his scarf to be more comfortable on you.

You blinked at him, unsure how to react to such a gesture. By the time, he let go of the scarf, you were positively drowning in his scent. You sunk your head further into the scarf to hide the smile you were struggling to fight.

When you muttered your thanks, all the response you got was a grunt.

-

"Here."

He dropped a bag from Honeydukes beside you as you looked up from your book. You were sitting at one of the larger couches across the fireplace since you had the common room all to yourself. You looked up at him, and he made sure to school a look of nonchalance. Hands tucked inside his pockets and hair mussed just so. That probably didn't work as well because his face was frozen from the cold.

You raised a quizzical brow at him.

He scoffed and plopped down beside you unceremoniously, draping his arm across the couch behind you.

"It's sugar quills. You'd know if you had the decency to at least open the bag."

"Oh."

A pleasantly surprised expression passed your face and you checked that, indeed, there was an assortment of sugar quills in the bag. You still gave him a scrutinizing look as if asking Why?

He rolled his eyes. "You were complaining about running out. You wouldn't shut up about it." A quiet affronted gasp escaped you.

"It was one time..." You pouted, voice small in slight embarrassment. You opened the bag and grabbed a quill. "Thank you."

He only grunted and propped up his head with the arm resting behind you. This gave him the perfect view over your shoulder. And of your nape, apparently. A thought he quickly shook off. His eyes, however, kept drifting to the small hairs that tickled your nape and to the mole nestled at the bottom right.

He blinked his thoughts away. Ridiculous.

Thankfully, a sudden rush of warmth distracted him from his thoughts, realizing that you had cast a warming charm on him. There was a little twinge in his chest at the gesture, although he'd blame the charm for that.

You nudged the bad of sugars quills toward him and flashed him a small smile. "Share?"

He shrugged and grabbed one as you returned to your book. He didn't say anything else and just watched you from the corner of his eye, his head propped up far too closely next to you.

Malfoy didn't know what possessed him to buy those sugar quills. Or to sit down next to you when all he thought about after returning was to lie in his bed. And he certainly didn't know why he kept trying to lean closer to you.

Eager for a distraction, he tried to peek at what you were reading, eyes narrowing at the plethora of unfamiliar words. His curiosity won out.

"What are you reading?" He asked, leaning down to read better.

You startled, and turned to him to explain. This was, unfortunately, a mistake because both of you didn't realize how close he was leaning over your shoulder. This resulted in your faces being mere inches from each other, your breaths mingling. You shared a surprised look before immediately turning away from each other.

A moment passed.

Malfoy cleared his throat awkwardly, attempting to tamper his speeding heartbeat. Merlin, that warming charm must really be overheating him. He blamed your Charms proficiency.

"It's 1984 by George Orwell." You finally said, voice small, and eyes adamantly glued to the book. He turned back to you which, again, was a mistake because he now noticed how flushed your nape had become. Damn it. "It's a muggle book. Social commentary on totalitarianism told through a dystopian setting."

He swallowed, trying to focus on your words than your reddened cheeks.

"Right." He cleared his throat. "So what does doublethink mean?"

At that, the conversation turned for the better as you explained the details of the book to him. Malfoy, thankfully, was intrigued enough to override his earlier thoughts. You both eased into a comfortable atmosphere and, at some point, you had leaned your head against his arm behind.

Harry Potter, leaning against the bookshelf like he was auditioning for a wizarding cologne ad. His hair was a mess. His tie was loose. His expression was soft and annoyingly fond.

You didn’t even look up. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” he asked, voice all innocent.

You turned a page. “Don’t look at me like that.”

He blinked. “Like what?”

“Like I’m the answer to every riddle in the universe.”

Harry grinned. “You kind of are.”

You slammed the book shut. “I will throw this at your face.”

“You won’t.”

“I will. It’s enchanted. It bites.”

Harry stepped closer. “Then I’ll die doing what I love.”

You stared at him. “Being annoying?”

“Looking at you.”

You groaned so loudly Madam Pince twitched in her sleep three rooms away.

Harry was almost your boyfriend, you two had kissed (never publicly and if he tried you would throw him a stupefy) although you still didn’t get used to him being there all the time.

You narrowed your eyes. “Why are you even here?”

Harry shrugged. “I like books.”

“You once tried to use a spellbook as a plate for a tart.”

“It was a bad book.”

“It was Hogwarts: A History.” You smiled a little at the thought of what Hermione’s expression would be like if she had seen that.

Harry leaned on the table, chin resting on his hand. “You’re so pretty when you’re mad.”

You blinked. “Did you hit your head?”

“Probably. On the way down. Into love.”

You stared at him. “That was the worst line I’ve ever heard.”

“I’ve got more.”

“Please don’t.” You buried your face in your hands. “I’m going to scream.”

“Quietly, though. It’s the library.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you haven’t hexed me.”

“I’m saving it for a dramatic moment.”

Harry smiled. “Like when I kiss you?”

You choked on air. “Excuse me?”

“Just planning ahead.”

You pointed a quill at him. “I will stab you.”

“With love?”

“With ink. Permanent. On your forehead.”

Harry leaned closer. “Write your name. Make it official.”

You shoved your chair back so fast it squeaked. “I’m leaving.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

“You’re not.”

“I—why are you like this?”

Harry shrugged. “You make me stupid.”

“You were already stupid.”

“You just made it romantic.”

Just as you were about to storm off in a blaze of dignity, the book you’d been reading snapped open on its own. A puff of green smoke burst out, followed by a loud noise.

You froze. “Did that book just..?”

Harry blinked. “I think it cursed you.”

You looked down. Your hands were glowing. Your hair was floating.“Potter.”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to murder you.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

You stared at each other for a while, Harry tried to put on a serious expression while your hands shone.

He was trying not to laugh. “You look like a jellyfish.”

“I will end you.”

He pulled out his wand. “Let me fix it.”

“You’re not touching me with that thing.”

“Not even a little?”

You looked at him angrily, but he held back a laugh because your hair was still floating.

“Okay, okay.” He paused. “You’re still glowing.”

“I know.”

He tilted his head. “It’s kind of hot.”

You stared at him. “You have a problem.”

“I have many problems. You’re my favorite one.”

Eventually, after much flailing, the curse wore off. You were left with frizzy hair, glowing fingertips, and a deep desire to throw Harry into the lake.

He offered you a chocolate frog. “Truce?”

You took it. “Temporary.”

He smiled. “I’ll take it.”

You sighed. “Don’t look at me like that, Potter.”

He leaned in, eyes warm. “Like you’re the best part of my day?”

You groaned. “Exactly like that.”

He winked. “Then I can’t promise anything.”

tags: @mimisamisasa @callsigncrushx @lilians17 let me know if you wanna be tagged in this au!

You turned your head, facing a red-cheeked boy in the corner. Offering a small smile, he returned one as you walked over.

You both stood in silence, waiting for Professor Sprout to finish pairing up the students.

“Go to your pots and start planting! I will grade based on how good these cuties grow!”

Glancing at the brown-haired boy next to you, he awkwardly shuffled to the nearest pot. 

“I’m Y/N,” You said, putting on a pair of black gloves and trying to break the ice.

“I-I’m Neville. Longbottom. Neville Longbottom.” Neville stammered, clumsily putting on a pair of gloves as well. 

“Nice to meet you, Neville Longbottom,” You smiled. “Do you…have any idea what we’re doing?”

He nodded his head excitedly. “I can help. And explain…I guess.” 

“And I’ll watch and learn?”

“Yup,” Neville grinned. Pointing at the glass container, he explained, “Those are mucus leaves—they help clear congestion and loosen mucus.”

He poured fresh dirt into an empty pot, then patted it down. “They thrive in…flat dirt.”

“Right.” You watched his hands flatten the moist dirt.

“Can you take the roots?” Neville asked. Inside the container, there was a jiggly, partially translucent plant.

“...It doesn’t have roots.” You replied, poking the jelly-like plant.

“Oh.” Neville stopped patting down the dirt and walked to the glass container. “It doesn’t have any roots at all.”

“How’re we going to plant it?”

He looked from the plant to the pot, deep in thought. “...Just drop it in…there?”

“That would work.”

“Hopefully.”

You snorted, picked up the slippery plant, and plopped it on top of the neat dirt.

Stepping back and observing the pot, you mumbled, “This doesn’t look right.”

“Maybe I’ll dig a hole, then we cover it,” Neville suggested. 

You picked up the plant, and Neville dug a hole in the middle of the dirt with a rusted shovel. Dropping it inside the small hole, you scooped the dirt back on top of it.

Cleaning dirt off your apron, you glanced at Neville—he was skimming through the pages of a small leather notebook.

Peeking at the title, you read the lopsided words, ‘Herbology notes.’

“Herbology notes?” You asked. Neville looked at you, then crookedly smiled. 

“...Yeah. Everyone–well, they tease me about it, but I think these are extremely helpful.”

“Can I see?” 

He nodded, handing over the small book. The pages were thin and delicate, filled with small illustrations and sloppy notes.

The page with a bookmark was for the mucus leaves—professionally known as ‘Sanator Mucosi’—and there was basically no writing.

“Nothing?” You inquired, tracing your thumb on the ridges of the browned parchment. 

Neville scratched the back of his neck. “...This is a newer plant to me. Never read about it, but I’ll ask Professor Sprout about it later.”

You hummed in response. Then, you spotted something in smaller letters next to a picture of it. 

“‘Bottom of the pot works better than the top.’ You do know something about the Sanator Mucosi.” You closed the leather book and placed it on the table.

“I…had that written?”

You smiled, picking up the shovel and handing it to him. “Obviously. Now scoop out this dirt; I’ll hold the plant.”

–

Most of the students had struggled with the planting section.

Hermione Granger’s Sanator Mucosi ripped in half. 

Dean Thomas’s clung to his face after he dropped it.

Ron Weasley’s grew legs. 

The students gathered around your glowing pot and Neville's.

“Beautifully done! Five points to both Gryffindor and Hufflepuff!” Professor Sprout beamed, looking at the already-growing plant. “Now, let’s use Y/L/N’s and Longbottom’s Sanator Mucosi as an example for the essay due tomorrow.” 

A few people sighed; others grumbled, but you and Neville seemed to be the only ones who were thrilled to write about it.

“One full parchment on how to plant, and how we can benefit from a properly cared-for Sanator Mucosi.” Professor Sprout continued, ignoring the bitter students' blatant remarks. “Class dismissed! See you all tomorrow!”

As class was dismissed, you caught up to Neville. 

“That was probably the best I’ve done in Herbology.” You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “Thanks for…being helpful.”

He shrugged. “It’s no biggie…honestly, thanks to this book.”

“You should write some more in the notebook. About Sanator Mucosi.” 

“I should.” Neville fidgeted with the hem of his sweater. 

“So you just write about plants in there?” You questioned.

“Yeah…that and a few other things.” Neville looked away nervously.

“Like what?”

“Rocks.”

“Rocks?”

“…crystals.”

Your eyes went wide in excitement. “I love crystals! Crazy, I’ve never met anyone who liked them too—well, except for that Lavender Brown girl…she’s a bit rude.”

He looked slightly confused. “You like them…too?”

“Yes! Can I see what you’ve written about them?”

“Sure.” Neville flipped to a particular section of the book and gently gave it to you.

Taking it in your hands, you saw the filled page of amethyst crystals—their rarity, different names for all kinds of languages, and how they connect to mythology.

“Merlin…” you whispered, admiring the color-coded sections. “You sure know a lot about them, Longbottom.”

“Yeah…I-I know a thing or two.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve never really let anyone…see.”

“See?”

“My notebook.”

Your smile faltered. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” You frantically pushed the book back into his hands. “I didn’t mean to intrude–”

“No, It’s alright,” Neville reluctantly took his leather book back. “I just meant, y’know, no one cares enough to see it.”

You felt your face soften; what was once embarrassment turned into sympathy. “No one cares about it?” 

He nodded. 

“About—this notebook?”

He nodded again, looking at you with genuine eyes.

“Oh, Neville.” You breathed. “This is the greatest thing I think I’ve ever laid my hands on.”

His eyes widened—in hope, or adoration, you really didn’t know.

“...Really?”

“Yes, really.” You nudged his side as you both entered the warm castle. “I’ll see you around, yeah?” 

Neville smiled. “Y-yeah. Around.”

—

You had never felt more braindead in your life.

Sighing, you tightened your grip on the strap of your leather bookbag. Entering the dim Hufflepuff common room, you decided to take a break and relax on one of the tufty couches. 

As you plopped down on the beige cushion, you heard a shuffle of feet come from behind you. 

“Hey Y/N,” a voice said. Turning your head, Hannah Abbott stood nervously.

“Hi, Abbott,” You greeted tiredly, patting down your hair. “What’s up?”

“The… essay. Do you mind helping? I’m on the last part, but I’m a bit stuck—thought you might know.” She asked.

You wrinkled your nose in remembrance of the tedious assignment. “Right. I’ll need to finish it tonight.”

“Oh, alright. Good luck with it!” Hannah waved, retreating to the corner with the rest of her stressed friends, worrying about their overload of assignments.

You took a deep breath, recollecting yourself. Massaging your sore temples, you thought, get it done already, then you can sleep for eternity.

Heaving yourself upon your feet, you lazily left the warm common room and went into the empty hallways. 

You passed by laughing students, groups of dawdling boys, and a worried Professor McGonagall, clutching her witch hat and mumbling things under her breath.

“...foolish students, messing around near that tree…” You heard as you passed. 

You raised an eyebrow, hurrying to the library.

Inside the well-lit library, several students sat at desks, looked through shelves, and whispered in small groups. 

Turning a corner, you saw a familiar brunette boy sitting alone at one of the desks.

“Hi, Neville.” You grinned, standing in front of him. Neville looked up with wide eyes. 

“Oh, hey, Y/N.” He waved, smiling.

“Mind if I sit here?”

“Yeah!” Neville replied. You slowly raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh.”

“Wait- I meant, no, I don’t mind.” His cheeks burned a bright red. 

Pulling out the chair and sitting in it, you noticed the book in his hands.

Not a book, but something like it.

“Your notes again?” You questioned.

Neville looked up at you again. “Um- yeah. Adding a few more things.”

“What else could you add in there?” You smiled. “It’s like you have everything.”

“Well, notes for the Sanator Mucosi.”

“Oh, right. I forgot about that for a second.” Pulling out your parchment, Herbology book, and quill, you took a deep breath. 

I got this, you thought, dipping your quill in ink. Just an hour. It’ll be done.

As Professor Sprout’s prompt repeated over and over in your head, you began writing the essay.

Sanator Mucosi is a confusing plant…

…different texture than any plant…

The scratching of your quill was stopped when the boy across from you gently tapped your hand.

You looked at him with a tilted head. 

“Hm?”

“...Professor Sprout told us that there were a few other plants with a jelly-like texture.”

“Oh. Really?”

Neville nodded. “A hundred and fifteen others, I think.”

You frowned. “I can’t believe I didn’t remember that.”

“Well, now you know, yeah?” Neville gave a small smile. 

You felt your ears burn. Eyes diverting from his, you bit the inside of your cheek.

“Yup. Yeah. Thank you…for telling me.”

“No problem.”

You scratched out what you wrote with black ink.

You replaced it with:

The Sanator Mucosi has a different texture than most plants, except for 105 others.

“A hundred fifteen,” Neville said quietly.

Your eyes scanned the sentence again, then you frustratedly huffed.

“Merlin, did I mess it up again?” You groaned, noticing the mistake.

“Not too far off, though.” Neville teased, scribbling down something in his notebook, then flipping the page. “Sorry, am I being a know-it-all?”

“No. I’m just being an idiot.”

“A brilliant idiot.”

You rolled your eyes. Scratching off the number, you corrected your mistake. As you continued your writing, you felt a tap again.

“Yes, Mr. Know-it-all?” You sighed. Neville gave a lopsided smile.

“Seventeenth century, not sixteenth. That virus didn’t exist–” 

You eyed him, which told him: don't make me look like more of an idiot.

“Sorry. Never mind.” Neville scratched the back of his neck. You scratched out the numbers and replaced them with the right ones.

“Thank you for telling me. I forgot. Again.” You mumbled. 

“I don’t think I’ve met anyone more forgetful than me,” Neville huffed out a laugh.

You flipped a page in your Herbology book. “And that’s not a good thing.”

—

A bright red “O” was stamped on your piece of browned parchment filled with scribbles and ink splatters.

And so was Neville’s.

“I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done without you, Neville.” You beamed, nudging his side. He blushed, looking away.

“I-It’s no problem,” Neville replied, waving a dismissive hand. “You were nearly half-asleep when you finished that.”

“And you kept me up.”

“In a bad way…?”

“Good way.” You shrugged, walking up the steps of the castle. “Obviously a good way. I can't write if I’m asleep, Mr. Know-it-all.”

“Is that what you’re going to call me?” Neville laughed. “Mr. Know-it-all?”

“I mean…that’s what you are.” You both walked down the empty corridor. “Did you ever finish that Sanator Mucosi page in your notebook?”

“Yup. While you were struggling.”

You smacked his arm. “I was only struggling because you weren’t giving me direct answers.”

“Good friends don’t give direct answers,” Neville responded. “They teach.”

You snorted loudly.

“Are you laughing at that?”

“No.”

Looking at his confused face, you burst into laughter.

Neville couldn’t help but grin too. “Idiot.”

“That was–” You caught your breath, a hand on top of Neville’s shoulder. “–the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Oh, shut it,” Neville rolled his eyes. “I did finish some pages for crystals.”

“Crystals?” You straightened up, eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Do you mind if I look at them?”

“Sure, when we make it to the library.” Neville nodded. “With the giggling state you’re in, it might take a while.”

You hiccuped. “You’re funny.”

You followed Neville into the library. As you both sat down at the familiar desk, you spread out your assignments. 

“Potions and Arithmancy.” You sighed. “My worst classes.”

“You think I’d be able to help?” Neville asked, bringing out a small quill and his leather notebook.

“Your shrinking solution turned into lava, Neville.”

“...Right.”

The pages of your dusty potions book were charred around the edges. Turning it away from Neville, you cleared your throat. “I’m obviously a better potionmaker.”

“Don’t act like I didn’t see the state of your potions book right now.”

“Okay, fine. We’re on the same boat.” You sighed. Nodding towards Neville’s brown notebook, you asked, “So, how’re the crystals lookin’?” 

He opened to a page, then slipped the book towards you. “I finally finished the amethyst page.”

The rims of the parchment were tinted a dark maroon; the entire page was decorated with sketches of the crystal and…a green mythology figure.

“Dionysus?” You breathed, tracing a thumb over the ink-drawn image. You looked up at Neville’s blushing face. “You like Greek Mythology too?” 

“Um- yeah. I’ve only just gotten into it.”

You admired the detailed portrait of the Greek god. 

“Do you…?” Neville mumbled.

“Obviously! Crystals, Greek gods, tarot—I love all of it!”

“Tarot?”

“Yup.”

“You’re like…a witch.”

You laughed. “I can do magic, yes.”

“No- not like a witch—like a witch witch.”

You tilted your head with a raised eyebrow. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No. It’s really cool, actually. Gran loves witchcraft. Like, crystal balls and those cards.”

Staring at him with awe, he said quietly, “She gave me a deck of tarot before, but I don’t use them. Maybe you could find some use in them…”

“You’re giving me tarot cards?” You squealed.

“Yeah. I don’t have them on me, but–”

You leaped forward, hugging him awkwardly around his neck above the desk between you both.

Neville froze.

“You’re the sweetest, Neville Longbottom!” You said with delight. Letting go of him and slumping back in your chair, you sighed. “I’ve never met someone as…kind and interesting before.”

“I can…say the same about you.” His eyes diverted to the desk like it was the most interesting thing in the world. 

Eyes flickering back to the notebook, you flipped a few pages until your eyes landed on the aquamarine crystal.

A light-teal, smooth-edged rock, the crystal for tranquility, peace, and strength within relationships.

Your favorite.

The page was half-full of little information—the basic properties, which chemicals produce it, and some of the historical lore.

“Aquamarine is your favorite?” Neville asked. You broke out of your thoughts of the crystal.

“Yup. Always has been.” Closing the notebook, you sat up in your chair and picked up your quill. “I should start working on this.”

“You should,” Neville said. 

As you straightened the parchment, you glanced at Neville. He was just…sitting there.

“Are you just going to sit there?” You asked. 

Neville gave a small smile. “I’ll wait until you’re done.”

“...Are you sure?”

“I don’t mind waiting.” He assured. “Take your time.”

—

Neville was there, waiting for you outside the Potions’ dungeon, a brown package in his hand.

“Hi, Nev.” You greeted, slinging your bookbag over your shoulder.

“Hi, Marine.”

You looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Marine?”

“Like aquamarine.”

Giggling, you playfully smacked his arm. “Mr. Know-it-all.”

“Marine.” Neville grinned.

“What’s that in your hand?” You nodded towards the rectangular package.

“A gift to you.”

Your steps faltered. “A gift? For me?”

“Just for you.” Neville handed over the heavy gift. “Guess what it is.”

“Um…” You thought, feeling around the item. “Candy?”

“Nope.”

“A quill set?”

“Not quite.”

“Am I hot or cold?”

“Cold.”

You huffed. “What is it?”

“Guess, Y/N.” Neville grinned.

“Crystals.”

“Warm.”

“Herbs.”

“Warmer.”

Something clicked in your mind. “Tarot cards!”

Neville nodded; you excitedly opened up the package to see a thick velvet box with ‘Tarot Cards’ plastered in gold letters.

“Merlin, Neville, thank you so much!” You smiled, admiring the magenta box. “I’ll open it in my dorm…I don’t want Lavender Brown getting envious.”

Neville laughed. “Wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy either.” As you both walked down the corridor, Neville asked, “Want to go to the library?”

You nodded, hurrying off to the bustling place filled with books.

The normal desk you both sat at was available, per usual. It was in the corner, a more secluded, quiet area. Perfect for duos…or dates.

Taking a seat across from Neville, you set out two pieces of parchment. “Potions is going to be the death of me.”

“Got another assignment?” Neville inquired.

“Unfortunately.”

“How did the last one go?”

“We haven’t gotten it back yet. When Professor Snape skimmed through mine, his frown got surprisingly even more prominent.”

Neville snickered. “Nothing can compare to the face he makes when he sees me.”

“Poor Neville.” You teased. 

He rolled his eyes. “Go finish your work.”

You giggled, taking your quill and dipping it into rich, black ink. 

Beginning the essay on moonstones, your ink scratched quietly—matching the same pace as Neville’s black quill.

Glancing at him, you noticed him writing something down in his leather notebook. 

“What’re you writing about?” You asked, lifting the tip of your quill above the parchment. 

Neville’s face burned a cherry-red.

“N-nothing.”

“When you say nothing, you’re hiding something.” Knitting your brows, you observed his tense body. “Are you…okay?”

“Yes. I’m okay.”

You sniggered. “What’re you hiding, Mr. Know-it-all?”

“Nothing.”

“Neville.”

“Y/N.”

“Nev.” You crossed your arms.

“I was just writing down some notes.”

“What notes?”

“Just…notes.”

“Let me see them. I won't judge,” You prodded. “About crystals?”

“...sure.” He slowly slid the open book towards you.

It was the aquamarine page. 

This time, it was filled with notes.

But under the illustration of one, there was a small piece of writing:

Y/N’s favorite rock.

With a small heart next to it.

Your heart stopped beating for a second.

You felt your grip loosening on the notebook.

A…heart?

Remembering my favorite rock…?

From the corner of your eye, you could make out Neville rubbing the nape of his neck, a bright shade of pink.

“This is the note you were working on?” You softly laughed. Neville returned a small grin. 

“You could…say that.”

Your heart was warm, heavy with emotions. 

“This is cute. Thank you…for remembering.” You slid the notebook back to him. “No one’s ever really cared about my crazy hobbies.”

“...I care,” Neville mumbled reluctantly.

You felt your face burn; you started fidgeting with the hem of your clothes.

Your heart was in your throat—or was it pounding out of your chest?

You didn’t know; it was a lot to process.

Why couldn’t this just slow down?

Clearing his throat, Neville closed his notebook and brought out a thick textbook. “We should get to work, yeah?” He asked quietly.

“Right.” You snapped out of the daze you were in, tucking a strand of hair behind your hot ear. “What do you have due?” 

“History of Magic.”

“Ooh! Need help?”

“I would love it.” 

And for another two hours, you both helped each other—well, Neville tried to help you with potions, but kept getting certain elements mixed up.

Neville was your best friend. You were his as well.

But maybe he saw you more than that.

More than best friends.