perpetual_motion | Fic: Sick and Tired of What to Say (No One Listens Anyway) Harry Potter [Neville/Snape] 4/4

Title: Sick and Tired of What to Say (No One Listens Anyway) [4/4]
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Neville/Snape
Rating: R [dark themes and sex; mostly the dark themes]
Summary: Wherein I take a giant leap from set-ups in book 7 to create a post-war wizarding world that isn't quite the bright shiny penny we get in the epilogue. Neville gets whumped a bit; Severus acts a touch more well-rounded; Hermione is confident and caring; a bunch of new teachers get vaguely silly names, and there are quotes from Monty Python.

Disclaimer: Lies! Oh, so many lies!

Author's Notes: This came out of nowhere and grew up fast, save the last five thousand words or so, which slowly unfolded while I waited with a measure of impatience. There are quotes from various Monty Python projects scattered throughout (and used with a purpose). Trust me on that. Title comes from the Flogging Molly song "Float", which played on repeat with a few other tunes while I pieced this thing together. Much love to

distaff_exile who betaed the crap out of this, kept me from repeating myself, and kept me from repeating myself. You're fab, my dear.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three

Sick and Tired of What to Say (No One Listens Anyway) 4/4
By Perpetual Motion

When Neville wakes again, the clock is pointed at, "Morning, Almost Running Late", and there's a fresh set of robes on the trunk at the end of the bed. "Severus?" He calls as he pushes aside the covers.

"I sent up a House Elf," Severus replies from the sitting room. "Your books and scrolls are in here."

Neville stands up from the bed, stretches, and washes his face in the bathroom before joining Severus by the fireplace. "Thank you," he says when Severus hands him a cup of tea.

"I gave you that potion for a reason," Severus says flatly.

Neville stares into his tea. "I can't."

"You can. Easily. You refuse to out of some misguided idea of heroism."

"Do you take it?" Neville asks, looking up from his cup. He smiles a little when Severus doesn't answer right away. "Or don't you get nightmares?"

"I have plenty." Severus scowls when Neville's smile widens. "I am so glad to see it's amusing."

"It's not," Neville explains. "It's just nice to hear someone else admit it."

"To have nightmares after horror is natural. To lie about them for fear of being seen as weak is moreso." Severus stands from his chair and puts his empty cup on the mantle. He gives Neville a long, measured look. "Wanting them to disappear for a while is perhaps the most natural reaction of all."

"I didn't have any more once I came here," Neville says quietly. It's an effort to look Severus in the eyes when he says it.

Severus snorts. "Foolishness." But he paues behind Neville's chair and smoothes a hand over his hair. "I am going up for breakfast."

"Shouldn't be far behind you," Neville replies and listens to him leave. He finishes his tea in three gulps after he looks at the clock--Morning, You Should Be Running--and then it's a mad dash to brush his teeth, and get into his clean robes before gathering all his scrolls and quill into his satchel and running up the stairs from the dungeons.

Hermione is crossing the front hall when Neville tops the stairs, and she pauses at the sight of him. "You all right, Nev?" She asks, walking over and straightening the collar of his robe.

"It's--" Neville starts and then presses his lips together. How much to tell, he wonders, and glances into the Great Hall, where Severus is already seated. "Ran late," he finally says. "Had a nightmare," he continues before he can stop himself.

"Was it bad?" Hermione has concern practically written across her face.

"I don't remember it. It was just...dark."

"I have those, too. I hate them. I hate not knowing."

Neville feels himself smile. "Yeah," he agrees.

"But it's daylight now," Hermione continues, "and that means we've got time before we have to worry about it again." Her smile, Neville notices, is slightly off-kilter. He wonders how long its been that way.

"Breakfast?" He says rather than ask. There's a time and a place, probably, he thinks, and directly before breakfast never fits for either.

*

"We need to discuss finals," Minerva says at the staff meeting on Tuesday. She gives a long-suffering sigh when the everyone at the table--save Hermione--groans loudly. "None of that," she admonishes. "It is part of our duty as educators--"

"To terrify all the poor things one last time," Hilbert interrupts.

"To test them and make sure we've not left them with gaps in their knowledge," Minerva corrects. She gives a sharp nod when everyone settles down immediately. "Thank you. As we are into a new phase in the life of Hogwarts as well as the wizarding community, I have been considering making our final exams less about base comprehension and more about practical use."

"I requested such an idea to Albus years ago," Severus murmurs to Neville.

"Maybe that's where Minerva got it," Neville responds.

"Severus," Minerva says, "didn't you and Albus have an ongoing discussion about a similar idea?"

"It was hardly a discussion," Severus answers instantly, but Neville catches the twitch of knee that says he's been caught by surprise. "I would mention it; Albus would toddle on about lemon drops, and then the subject would not be renewed until the next term."

"I want it renewed," Minerva says firmly. "And I'd like the professors to pair up."

"Pair up?" Grace's eyebrows go up. "How?"

"Magic is incredibly complimentary," Minerva explains. "We tell this to the students regularly, but it is rare that their coursework requires them to prove it. I think the final exam time would be an excellent venue for students to make first-hand connections."

"How would we pair up?" Hermione asks.

"What works well with Muggle Studies?" Minerva responds.

Hermione thinks for a moment. "Transfiguration." She states. "Being able to turn magical objects into mundane objects or vice versa would help with disguises and blending in."

"There you are," Minerva waves her hand at the table in general. "Now, the rest of you."

"Arthimacy works well with Astronomy," Nomos says after a pause. He looks at Hilbert. "It's all angles; they just point at different things."

"Sure," Hilbert agrees. "I'm going to need a review on the star charts, but I think that could work."

"Potions and Herbology, of course," Severus says, a bit of boredom sliding into his tone. "That is a given, even if Mr. Longbottom has never shown an aptitude for my branch of magic."

"That Pepper-Up didn't kill you," Neville responds without thinking. He finds himself at the end of half a dozen amazed stares. Minerva and Severus are the only ones who look unimpressed.

"It had an aftertaste of musty socks," Severus counters, and the way he hisses the 's' makes the rest of the table pretend to lose interest in the conversation.

Under the table, once everyone looks away from him, Neville touches Severus's hand in apology. Severus lifts his middle finger and wraps it over the tip of Neville's index finger.

*

"We what?" The Hufflepuff student looks like Neville's just kicked his dog.

"With him?" Another student asks from halfway down the table.

"He is your professor," Neville says calmly. "And it's not that bad. I've been telling you all semester that Herbology and Potions work together."

"He's scary," a third student chimes in. "Professor Snape is really, really scary."

Neville takes a deep breath and runs a hand over his hair. He looks around the room and suddenly knows what to do. "Line up," he orders. "We're going to greenhouse seven."

"What's in greenhouse seven?"

"An explanation." Neville puts his hands on his hips when they all stare at him. "Now, please."

The students line up, two abreast, and Neville leaves them down the path to greenhouse seven. Neville unlocks the door and waves the students in. "Hands in your pockets at all times," he tells them as they file past. "And try not to step on any vines."

The plants in greenhouse seven are nearly overflowing their pots. Neville cringes as a Gryffindor nearly knocks over a sleeping Venus Fly Trap. He arranges the students in a semi-circle and watches them look around. "Does anyone here know what this greenhouse is?"

"It's a greenhouse," a student near the back says, and everyone laughs. Neville gives him a stern look, and the boy looks properly embarrassed. "This," Neville continues, "is the greenhouse for Professor Snape's potions' ingredients." It's very hard not to laugh at the way half the students immediately stand up straighter. "There are a dozen micro-climates in here to allow Professor Snape to grow many different types of plants all at once." Neville points at a Jack Frost, encased in a quarter-inch of ice, to help make his point. "Professor Snape is very good at making potions. You'll learn a lot from him, even if you're scared half the time. But I'm the one who keeps the Jack Frost cold. And I'm the one who knows how much dragon dung to put on the Screechsnap."

Neville looks at each of the students and steps around them to adjust the Venus Fly Trap on its shelf. "And I was absolutely rubbish at potions." He scratches the Venus Fly Trap under its leaves to put it back to sleep. "But now I can make a pretty good Pepper-Up."

"He's still scary."

"When you're an adult," Neville crouches down to be eye-to-eye with his class, "Professor Snape isn't nearly as scary."

"Really?"

"I was rubbish at potions," Neville tells them in the most serious tone he can muster, "and I was terrified of Professor Snape."

"But you're not now. You sit next to him at meals."

"Some people teach very well without being scary." Neville makes a point to smooth his robes and smiles when everyone chuckles. "And some people are just scary because they are. Just remember this: He is not out to get you. He can be mean and scary, but he doesn't actually want you to explode."

There are still some skeptical faces in the crowd, but most of the students look relieved. "Can we at least have the final in the greenhouse?"

"We'll see."

*

"I would not frighten them if they were not mostly useless," Severus says that night as Neville settles into the couch with his grading. "Half of your third period Herbology class managed to turn their Pickling Potion bright orange."

"It's supposed to be bright orange."

Severus lowers his book. "It's supposed to be green."

Neville grimaces. "Ah," is all he says.

"But having the final in that drafty greenhouse--"

"Because your classroom was always so wonderfully warm in the winter."

"Will be acceptable." Severus trails a finger along the page of his book to find his place. "It's about time someone else got to fear that they would die in a student-induced explosion."

Neville chuckles and tucks his feet under Severus to finish his grading.

*

Neville wakes up panting. He hears Severus shift and sit up. “The nightmare,” he says quietly. “I remember it.”

Severus places a hand on Neville’s chest. “Breathe,” he instructs.

Neville forces in a deep breath. It makes his chest burn. “I’m standing in front of the castle, and Voldemort is there. But when I reach into the Sorting Hat, there’s nothing there. And Nagini…” Neville turns his head and looks at Severus’s profile. “She killed you.”

“She always tried,” Severus says quietly.

“And it was B-Bellatrix who cut open my arm.” Neville closes his eyes, and he can see it again. “I couldn’t move fast enough to stop the snake.” He turns his head when Severus pushes his damp hair off of his forehead. “I just want to forget.”

“You do not.”

“Why would I want to remember?”

“Because you’re you,” Severus says as he lays down again. “Because the man you are now is due to the man you were then.”

“I’m worth ten Draco Malfoys,” Neville whispers, and he feels himself smile.

“And twenty of anyone named Potter.”

Neville chuckles drily. “Thank you.”

Severus doesn’t answer for a moment. “You were always more scared than Potter,” he says intently. “He does not share your appreciation for common sense.”

Neville rolls towards Severus and curls against his side. “I wonder if he has nightmares.”

“We all have nightmares.”

*

Neville woke up in the middle of the night and sat up in bed wondering why. A few seconds passed, and he heard a shout. He was out of bed and opening Severus’s door before he thought to move. Severus was asleep, but swearing, and Neville watched as he flailed his arms.

“Severus,” he said quietly. Severus flailed and cursed again. Neville took a deep breath. “SEVERUS!” he yelled as loud as he could.

Severus jerked up in bed, fully awake, sweat lining his temples and his hair in complete disarray. “Yes?” He asked calmly.

“You were…” Neville considered how to phrase it. “Talking in your sleep,” he finished. “Shouting, actually.”

“My apologies.”

Neville pocketed his wand and ran a hand over his hair. “My Gran always made cocoa when I woke up in the middle of the night. Would you like a cup?”

For a brief moment, Severus looked surprised at the invitation. Then it was gone, and Neville wondered if he’d just imagined it. “Cocoa would be fine, Neville.”

“Marshmallows?”

“That will suffice.”

Neville nodded and stepped out of the room. “I’ll go put on the kettle.”

*

A week before finals, as the procrastinators in all his classes start to look wild-eyed, Neville finds himself pulled into an alcove by the front door. Severus kisses him hard, hands curling into his robe. Neville moans, very softly, and Severus presses him against the wall. "What's— " is as far as Neville gets before Hermione passes by the alcove and gives a gasp.

"Students!" She hisses and swats at both of them. "For Merlin's sake, Neville, lunch starts in five minutes!"

"I wasn't—" Neville nearly bites his tongue to stop himself. "He started it," he says and points to Severus.

Hermione rolls her eyes. "I don't care. Just don't." She swats at both of them again and walks away.

Neville wipes at his mouth and glares at Severus. "You could have just asked me to talk to her."

Severus smirks. "Perhaps."

“You—” Neville shakes out his robe and gives Severus a look. “Do you ever get embarrassed?” He rolls his eyes when Severus merely raises an eyebrow. “Never mind.”

“I spent a great deal of time as a child being embarrassed,” Severus reaches out and smoothes a crease in Neville’s sleeve. “It ceased to be a concern after a certain amount of time.”

Neville thinks about his student days at Hogwarts. “Yeah.” He tugs at the edges of Severus’s vest and re-fastens the bottom button. “You trip up the stairs enough times, and you don’t hear people laughing after awhile.”

“Something like that,” Severus replies and steps away from Neville. “Lunch?”

*

There are seven explosions during the combined Herbology-Potions final. Two are from Gryffindors, one is from a Hufflepuff, two are from Ravenclaws, and two are Slytherins.

“Exploding is a perfectly normal medical phenomenon,” Neville mutters to Severus when the first Slytherin cauldron sends the half-made Pepper-Up six feet in the air. “In many fields of medicine nowadays, a dose of dynamite can do a world of good.”

“I don't want to talk to you no more,” Severus replies. “You empty-headed, animal food trough wiper.”

Neville grins. It turns into a wince when the dripping Pepper-Up lands on his face. “Touché,” he says before Severus can do more than raise an eyebrow.

“It is in your ear,” Severus hands him a towel.

*

The staff room stays crowded until two in the morning. Neville falls asleep at one point, head on his hand, and when he wakes up, the candles have dimmed. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and blinks a few times before he realizes the shadow on the couch is actually Severus. “Hey,” he says quietly.

“You were mumbling,” Severus stands up and walks over to Neville. He presses a bottle into Neville’s hand. “Drink it.” Severus’s tone is somewhere between a command and a request.

Neville stares at the bottle. “They’re not getting worse.”

“You look like death.”

“You’re one to talk,” Neville replies. He closes his eyes when Severus runs a hand through his hair.

“Please,” Severus says just loud enough for Neville to hear.

Neville breathes deep and uncorks the bottle. He drinks it down in a gulp and stands up from the table. “What do you take?”

“I don’t,” Severus slides a hand under Neville’s elbow as he slumps. “I got used to it.”

“I could…” Neville trails off and leans his head on Severus’s shoulder. “I could…”

“But you don’t have to,” Severus says quietly.

*

Harry and Ron arrive the day before Christmas Holiday. Hermione yelps when they walk into the Great Hall and nearly knocks Ron over with the hug she gives him. The students stare, mostly, Neville thinks, because none of them have ever seen “Professor Granger” act so spontaneously.

“Damn,” Hilbert mutters.

“Sorry, mate,” Neville says with a pat on the shoulder.

There are two more chairs at the staff table by the time Harry, Ron, and Hermione stop hugging and laughing. The three of them sit together at the end of the table, and Neville thinks they look just as conspiratorial and tightly-knit as they always have.

“Nev!” Harry yells and waves an arm. “Get over here!”

It’s tempting for the briefest second, but Severus is to his left, and Grace is trying to goad him into a response by intentionally listing improper potion ingredients.

“And Flutterby is great for calming the shakes, I’ve heard.”

“Miss Wickersham, an intentional idiot is the worst kind.”

“Yes!” Grace throws her arms in the air. “I win!”

“Win?” Neville asks Hilbert.

“The Snape Game,” Hilbert explains. “She gets a point every time he calls her an idiot. First to ten wins.”

Neville looks at Severus, who is cutting into his pork chop and smirking, just barely, at the edges of his mouth. “Can I count all the instances from when I was a student?”

Nomos, on the other side of Grace, scoffs. “Unfair advantage.”

“All right,” Neville says. “Put me at zero.” He puts his hand on top of Severus’s hand and gives Severus a smile. “Has anyone ever told you—”

“I disqualify you,” Severus interrupts. “It is too simple a task to call you an idiot.”

“Ouch,” Nomos says with a grimace. “Scorekeeper?” He offers Neville.

Neville grins. “All right.”

Severus shakes his head. “You’re all juvenile idiots.” He states.

“One point each,” Neville says and slides his fingers under Severus’s hand.

*

Neville gasps when Severus bites his shoulder. “Does—” He moans when Severus wraps a hand around his dick. “Harder,” he whispers and twists a hand in Severus’s hair. He slides his other hand down Severus’s chest and drags his nails along his hip. “Please,” he murmurs, and Severus quickens his pace.

“Yes?” Severus breathes into Neville’s ear.

“Yes.” Neville grinds out and reaches for Severus’s dick. He palms the head and grips the shaft loosely. “How—”

“Tease me,” Severus instructs, and his breath stutters when Neville reaches further and strokes his sac.

“There?”

“There.”

Neville presses his face into Severus’s neck and breathes in hard when Severus quickens his hand again. “I can’t—”

“Then don’t.” Severus kisses Neville and licks the roof of his mouth.

Neville groans, grips Severus’s dick more tightly, and hisses Severus’s name as he comes. He sags into the sheets and chuckles tiredly when Severus rubs against his hips. “Sorry,” he murmurs and strokes Severus again.

“Your other—yes,” Severus groans when Neville uses his other hand to rub his sac. “More.”

Neville adjusts his grip and works Severus harder. “I had a dream about you, when I was a student,” he says against Severus’s shoulder. “You’d yell at me, and then we’d be naked, and then you’d kiss me.”

“Mmm?” Severus hums.

“Scared the hell out of me,” Neville continues. “And I’d wake up and have to change my underwear before anyone else woke up.”

“Is this—” Severus snaps his hips and presses a kiss to Neville’s mouth. “You’ve got a kink?”

“I don’t—” Neville twitches when Severus pinches his nipple. “A little,” he admits.

“Tell.” Severus orders.

Neville kisses Severus on the side of his mouth and squeezes Severus’s sac. “I don’t want you to yell. I want you to…” Neville trails off deliberately and slows his hands. Severus growls and digs his nails into Neville’s side. “That.” Neville whispers. “There.”

Severus presses against him; Neville quickens his hand again, and Severus bites the same place on his shoulder when he comes.

*

Three of his students stop by the main greenhouse to tell him goodbye before they leave. One gives him a gift—a carefully folded, slightly uneven, origami flower—Neville places a non-crumpling charm on it and places it in his satchel. When he looks up, Harry is standing in the doorway. “Hullo, Harry,” Neville greets him with a grin.

“Hey, Nev.” Harry replies and steps inside. He closes the door behind him and looks around. “Always figured you’d end up here.”

“Yeah?”

“You ran circles around the rest of us in Herbology.” Harry shoves his hands in his pockets and leans over to inspect a seedling. “What’s this?”

“Honking Daffodyl.”

“I don’t remember using it.” Harry carefully touches a leaf.

“It’s a personal project,” Neville tells him. “So, how’s travelling been?”

“Kind of a blur. Ron’s got tons of pictures, but I don’t really remember most of it clearly.”

Sounds familiar, Neville thinks. “You think you’re gonna settle for a while, or do you and Ron have some place you haven’t been?”

“We’re done,” Harry strokes a vine of Flitterbloom. The vine lifts and laps at his finger like a cat. “Ron wants to spend time with Hermione and I…” He looks out of a dirt-smeared window, and Neville watches the way his jaw clenches. “I got your note,” Harry finally says.

“Note?”

Harry digs into his pocket and pulls out a bit of crumpled parchment.

Why us?

Neville stares at the parchment and curls his left hand into a fist. “I’d nearly forgotten.”

“That’s probably good, because I don’t know,” Harry says with a sigh. “I think that’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.”

“I spent four years as a Muggle,” Neville says before he can stop himself. “I didn’t have to, but I thought…I don’t know. I guess I hoped it would be easier. If there wasn’t magic, the worst things couldn’t get me.”

Harry doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “How’d you end up here?”

“Minerva asked,” Neville says with a shrug. “And Hermione begged.”

Harry grins. “Are you really dating Snape, or is Hermione just getting back at me for not coming home sooner?”

“We’re together,” Neville confirms.

“Weird,” Harry says with a shake of his head. “But if it works.”

“It works.”

*

“I can help,” Neville said one day, just after the six month mark, as Severus eyed the seven soup pots he had sitting on four burners and three magical fires. “Just point and shout.”

Severus shook his head and ran a hand down his face. “I think I may be too exhausted to shout.”

“I could drop something,” Neville offered. He smiled when Severus offers him a tired glare.

“Those three,” Severus waved his hand to encompass the three soup pots on the magical fires, “stir the left one counterclockwise; add a teaspoon of pickled tortoise shell to the middle one, and rig an alarm so that we’ll know when the one on the right has settled.”

“All right.” Neville eyed the third pot as he stirred the first and added tortoise shell to the second. He needed something that would alert them that the potion was complete but wouldn’t be affected by the potion itself. He walked to the living room and picked up an empty plant pot. Neville filled it with soil and rummaged in his seed drawer.

“What are you doing?” Severus practically growled from the kitchen.

“Honking Daffodyls don’t react to the magical vapors from potion ingredients,” Neville explained as he planted a seed and applied a quick-grow spell. The plant pot shimmered light green, and a vine pushed through the dirt. “And, if you know how to speak to them, you can give them instructions.” Neville waited for the bud of the plant to bloom out. He straightened the leaves, leaned in close, and honked softly three times. The bloom turned towards him and honked once in return.

“You can’t brew a basic healing salve, but you’ve learned to talk to Honking Daffodyls?”

“I don’t have much to do when you’re not around,” Neville explained as he positioned the Daffodyl next to the soup pot. He honked instructions, the bloom nodded, and Neville stroked it on the underside of its petals. “I can’t brew, but I know plants.”

“You do,” Severus watched the Daffodyl lean over to look into the soup pot. “Can you grow more of those?”

“Easily.”

“Then get to it.” Severus rolled his eyes when Neville raised his eyebrows. “I will not be more polite because you’ve proven yourself skilled at something.”

“You’re welcome,” Neville said as he walked back into the living room to get more plant pots.

*

It rains on Christmas Day, but Minerva charms the ceiling in the Great Hall to look like snow.

“Snow is simply frozen rain, Minerva,” Severus points out as Hermione pours cups of hot cider, and Nomos spells a series of bells to play carols.

“And that makes all the difference,” Minerva replies tartly. She raises her glass and looks around the table at the staff, Harry, and Ron. “To new friends, and a successful term. And to those who can’t be with us, and to those who can.”

Everyone toasts and drinks, and the bells start to play. Ron offers a hand to Hermione, and they take a slightly clumsy waltz around the room, Hermione beaming the whole way.

“Do you dance?” Grace asks Harry, and before Harry can say anything, Grace has him on his feet.

“Poor sod,” Nomos says to Neville. “He’s not going to know what hit him.”

“He’ll be all right,” Neville says with a grin. “Harry’s got some practice at not dancing.”

Nomos grins, then starts when Hilbert throws himself down in the chair next to him. “Whiskey?” Hilbert offers, holding up a full bottle.

“A drop,” Severus says, holding out his cup. He raises his eyebrows when Nomos and Hilbert look shocked. “It’s not quite the potency I can brew on my own, but it will suffice.”

“You have a still?” Hilbert asks, eyes getting wider.

“No, he doesn’t,” Neville says with a laugh. “Like it doesn’t smell bad enough in your rooms as is.”

“I’m not the one tracking in dragon dung,” Severus replies.

“I can wash off my boots. You have to keep Valerian root,” Neville counters.

“I’m going to get a snack,” Nomos says and hurries away.

Neville gives Hilbert a confused look. “Did I say something?”

“He didn’t think you two were actually…you two,” Hilbert explains. “And now he owes me ten quid.”

“He was at the table during dinner a few nights ago,” Neville says indignantly. “I thought—”

“I believe Mr. Nomos still sees me as something of an ogre,” Severus interrupts. He meets Neville frown with a blank stare. “Until a few years ago, you thought the same.”

“I thought you were scary. That’s different.”

“People will think what they think.”

Neville sighs. “It’s not fair.” He rolls his eyes when Severus smirks at him. “Shut up.”

Severus sips his cider and watches Hilbert walk over to Minerva and strike up a conversation. “Life—”

“Quiet,” Neville says and doesn’t fight his smile. “You’re just trying to get a reaction.”

“Perhaps.”

Hermione walks over, hand-in-hand with Ron and hands both of them book-shaped packages. “We’re off to The Burrow,” she says as she hugs Neville goodbye. “You’re welcome to drop in.”

“We’re staying here,” Neville returns her hug and watches her shake Severus’s hand. “But thanks for the offer.”

“You’re always welcome, mate,” Ron say. “Mum’s been asking after you for years.”

Neville blushes a little, feeling guilty. “Tell her thank you.”

“Sure,” Ron agrees and glances across the room where Grace is still making Harry dance. “Any idea how to rescue him?”

“Grace!” Hermione calls to her, “Harry’s with us!”

“Sure!” Grace replies and immediately steps away from Harry. “Nice to meet you,” she says and walks across the room to sit next to Neville as Harry gapes. “So very easy,” she tells Neville with a grin.

“Terrible,” Hermione says, shaking her head.

Grace simply shrugs and takes a drink of her cider. She waves goodbye to Harry, who hastily shakes hands with Neville and Severus and follows Hermione and Ron out the door.

“He flusters easily,” Grace grins. “It’s hilarious.”

“I would have thought he’d outgrown it,” Neville muses.

“He’s been running around hiding,” Severus says. “He’s not had time to learn how to talk to women.”

Grace raises her eyebrows. “That’s rather harsh.”

“He’s never been a fan,” Neville explains.

Grace shrugs. “Well, he’s run off now. Did I see Nomos with a bottle of whiskey?”

“My personal brew is better,” Severus reaches into his robe and pulls out a small flask. He unscrews the cap and holds it out to Grace. She takes a whiff, and her eyes water.

“Good god,” she practically wheezes and cautiously pours a quarter-inch into an empty cup. She sips. Her face twists, then relaxes. “Wow,” she murmurs. “That’s really quite good.”

“Thank you,” Severus says and accepts back his flask. “But if Nomos asks, I don’t make my own.”

“Of course not,” Grace says with a wink. “What if Minerva is standing behind you?”

Severus immediately holds up the flask. “She helped me perfect it.”

“Thank you, Severus,” Minerva says and pours some into her cider. “Fire Whiskey has always given me a headache. Severus’s blend is much more subtle.”

“The things I didn’t know,” Neville says with a shake of his head. “I never thought the teachers drank at their parties.”

“What did you think?” Minerva asks, sitting down.

“I thought you talked about students and complained about the weather,” Neville admits. “Which is what my Gran and her bridge club always talked about.”

Minerva smiles. “I think most students believe we talk like their grandparents.”

“We should keep that myth alive,” Grace says. “The more boring we seem, the more they’ll listen to us, I think.”

“Be scary,” Neville suggest, smiling at Severus. “It works quite well.”

“’Authoritative’ is the word you meant, Neville,” Minerva corrects lightly.

“Sure,” Neville agrees and laughs when Severus nudges his foot.

*

“Do you want your gift?” Neville asks late that night. He blinks slowly and chuckles at the head rush from the whiskey in his system. “Part of it’s in the greenhouse.”

“It is much too cold and wet to wander outside for a gift,” Severus says as he takes off his robe.

“It’s Honking Daffodyls,” Neville smiles at the way he slurs the ‘s’. “They’re not fully grown, yet, but they’ll be ready in a couple of days.”

“Hmmm,” Severus murmurs and undoes Neville’s robe. “Just in time to start my between-term brewing.”

“That was the plan, yes.” Neville closes his eyes when Severus kisses him softly.

“You taste like whiskey,” Severus says against his mouth.

“Kiss me again,” Neville replies.

Severus complies.

*

“You’ve had a strong first semester,” Minerva tells Neville during his mid-year review two days later. “The students gave you high marks all-around, and I’ve seen nothing that counteracts what they’ve written.”

“That’s good,” Neville clasps his hands on his knees so he doesn’t fidget.

“However,” Minerva says and looks up from her papers. “Oh, Neville,” she says with a shake of her head, “you can relax. This is customary, and you’re not being fired.”

“Oh.” Neville flexes his fingers, and they pop loudly.

“My only concern is your apparent lack of sleep. You’ve worked through it amazingly well, but it is noticeable.”

“Nightmares,” Neville explains. “They’re getting better.”

“Are they?” Minerva asks, skepticism carrying in her tone.

“Really. I just didn’t…” Neville isn’t sure how to phrase it. I never dealt with it all, he thinks, but he doesn’t want to say it aloud. “I have Severus,” he says. “He helps.”

“And you’re helping him.” Minerva holds up a rolled parchment. “His students appear much less terrified than usual.”

“That’s not—” Neville shakes his head. “No, that probably is my influence.”

“And it’s a welcome one.” Minerva stands and gestures Neville towards the door. “You’ve been through more than your fair share, and you’ve come out the other side. You’re a credit to everyone, Neville. Your parents would be more than proud.”

Neville looks down at his feet. “Thank you,” he whispers so his voice doesn’t break.

“You’re very welcome.”

*

Streamers and confetti fall from the ceiling of the Great Hall at midnight on New Year’s Eve. Grace kisses everyone on both cheeks and gleefully pours champagne. Minerva accepts a noise maker from Hilbert and spins it as Nomos says something that makes her laugh. Neville gives Severus a questioning look. Severus reaches for his hand and strokes Neville’s scar with his thumb.

“Another year gone,” Severus says.

“And now for something completely different,” Neville replies.