SEVEN YEARS BAD LUCK

Epilogue ~ The Magic of Seven Years Bad Luck~

Neville Longbottom plus one.

The curly gold letters mocked him for days. Not because he didn't know who to take; he knew exactly who he would love to have on his arm. And he wasn't even terrified of asking her. He knew for a fact that she would love to nose in on everyone's business (apparently wedding receptions were great for that sort of thing).

But there were going to be Muggles.

A bunch of the boys from Auror Program had been enlisted for preparation of Ron and Hermione's big day, and they'd gone through clearance, combing through the venue with figurative fine tooth combs, making sure the proper spells could hold in place for the big day.

They'd cast a smorgasbord of charms to make it safe and meet the guidelines of the ministry's very long legislation on the matter. There were to be modified memory charms woven together with a stretched out Fidelius. Hermione, of course, had given out detailed instructions.

Neville rubbed his wrist. It still smarted from all the extra swishing and flicking.

The place was set all right. It was going to a brilliant wedding and the perfect way for his school friends to start their new life together.

It just happened to be the same place where his peculiar relationship with Pansy Parkinson was going to bite the dust.

Ron and Hermione's wedding was going to be a disaster.

Neville tapped his wand nervously against his knee. The boutique chair he sat upon was too small and too pink. He kept having to shift his weight on its tiny filigreed wood legs and at each movement the cushion let out a dainty puff of pink scented. In fact, the delicate shop smelled like old witches covered up with too much perfume.

Lace and sheer fabrics decorated the racks of pricey pastel coloured robes and baby's breath blossoms danced around the ceiling, sometimes dipping down to smack him on the head for not being cheerful enough. Neville had to swat at one particularly determined bushel to keep the tiny white sprouts at bay.

"Neville, stop dilly dallying and help me choose."

Neville groaned and the flowers attacked him anew.

Pansy crossed her arms, chin pointed up as she eyed him. Her dark bob of nearly black hair and red lips stood out in stark contrast what she wore. The bodice was made of delicate pale pink spider web-print lace that fit her torso like a glove which exploded into a skirt full of handsome large frills that dissolved from pale pink into deep fuchsia barely covering her knees.

"You look gorgeous." Neville said, a bit flummoxed and tongue-tied and blushing. "It's like a smaller, see-through version of your Yule Ball robes."

He could see her undergarments peaking through the sheer un-patterned bits of the lace. Didn't Pansy know people could see things?

"I don't trust you." Pansy replied, not missing a chance to continue shopping around with her hands combing through the racks. "But seeing as how I don't have a reflection I suppose it will have to do…"

"I worked on the mirror last night," Neville got up, knocking into three more bushels of baby's breath. The cushion coughed more perfume. "We can get takeaway. Work on it again tonight."

Pansy looked away. "Can't. Busy."

Neville's smile slumped. More and more often Pansy had been leaving the mirror in his possession not ever bothering to work on it with him. He wasn't sure if she had given up hope, but it was obvious she didn't want to talk about.

There was only one thing Neville knew was cert. Pansy Parkinson still had irrefutable bad luck the refusal to work on the mirror together meant she was slowly weeding Neville Longbottom out of her life.

"Here." Pansy thrust something into his chest that suspiciously looked like a purse made completely of frills. "Hold that."

"Er…"

"This selection is ghastly." Pansy made a point to speak loudly and the store's matron, a very blond very smiley witch dressed in a pink and yellow pinstripe suit blinked wildly in outrage from the front of the store.

"But I'm not walking out of here without something frilly. Not enough people were frills. They are noble pieces of clothing architecture."

Neville privately disagreed as she flounced back into the change rooms to take off the dress she'd found for the wedding.

Still, didn't stop him from surreptitiously buying a matching jabot for himself with the rest of the things. It was a wedding anyway. Everyone wore ridiculous stuff. She'd love it. It seemed fitting to make her have as much fun as possible, because it was inevitable. Things were going to end soon.

He could feel it.

The stripey matron looked like she'd bitten into a lemon and was trying very hard to be happy about it as she rang up his purchase.

Pansy's voice echoed to the front.

"And Longbottom! Pick up some dandruff potion while you're at it. I don't know why you walk around like that."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake."

The big day came, and as predicted, seeing him choked in a lacy jabot sent Pansy into thrilled cackling.

"Neville," Pansy came up to him with wide eyes and she immediately grabbed his arm after milling about in the reception tent. Or he thought she'd grabbed him, the sleeves on his formal cloak were perhaps a bit too voluminous.

"There are Muggles everywhere." She whispered dramatically. "I think that old one there has a crush on me."

She pointed out a chipper man who looked to be a century old, sitting in a very odd chair with wheels.

"Really." Neville said, bemused. "Hermione's family is all Muggle. I know you'd never forget that."

"Yes, but are you sure they're all pureblood Muggles? That one looks part-automobile." The way her tongue twisted around the foreign word charmed him to the core.

But Neville was determined to dig out her prejudices right away so they could get the inevitable falling out over with. The more he thought about it, the more he figured it was the perfect place for it too. Here he was surrounded by scores of his friends, and she was clinging to his arm like that time her hair got burnt and she was worried everyone would stare. Like she needed him.

If they parted ways now it wouldn't be as bad for him, right?

After a year of juggling Pansy, the Auror program, the mirror, and life, he couldn't really picture what would become of him without it all.

A sharp pain in his gut reminded him that he didn't want things to go badly for her either. But it was going to happen, he was sure of it.

"Yes, but how did they cut through all the red tape! I mean, just look!" Pansy gestured at the centrepieces which were charmed to spark and glow the happier the people sitting near them got. One old man had lit his beard on fire after laughing too hard.

"This doesn't seem legal…"

Prudence coming from her was actually a little bit charming, but she'd missed the bait. Or ignored it. She was amazing at feigning ignorance and yet pointing out people's flaws with amazing accuracy; it was why being his plus one was going to blow up in their faces.

He rubbed his nose with a thumb and pulled her along past the refreshments and a group of Muggles investigating the butterbeer taps.

"There was some Auror string pulling involved." He explained and left it at that wanting her to stew, to start voicing her distaste.

But when he chanced a glance at her again, Pansy seemed to have washed her hands of it, spotting something that made her grin in delight.

Oh boy.

Harry and Ginny were having a fight.

In plain sight.

"Why did you invite him?"

"He helped with the charms, Gin, come on. You would have—"

"I'm supposed to be your plus one!" She hissed, face getting progressively redder underneath the freckles.

Harry made a frustrated gesture of rubbing hands in his hair, destroying any semblance of style. "You're a bridesmaid. You don't need to be a plus one!"

"That's not the point, Harry, you—"

Neville watched Draco Malfoy walk up to the pair, with drinks in each hand. These days Malfoy was one of the best wizards in their program. It paid to have a Slytherin in the ranks. He was cautious and cunning to such a point that no one paired with him ever came back with a scratch.

Sometimes a little fear worked wonders.

"Looks like this party finally picked up." Pansy batted thick eyelashes lavishly at Neville, upturned nose scrunching when her smile couldn't get any bigger.

Neville took a deep drink of his champagne, trying to drown his galloping heart as she weaved her way towards the other Slytherin, expecting Neville to catch up or wallow in her dust.

He should have brought Gran.

He waded through the happy crowds endlessly. Pansy and Malfoy had ensconced themselves in a corner or something, because he hadn't caught sight of the sneaky duo for a while. So many people he hadn't spoken to ages were in attendance though, so Neville found himself being pulled in all directions, chatting until his voice started to get tired.

"Neville, oh!" Hermione was radiant, all smiles and large hair weaved with blossoms. She threw her arms around him. He hadn't seen her look so happy in ages.

She grinned. "I'm glad I caught you! I have to introduce you to someone."

"Thank you." He smiled warmly. "It was the most beautiful wedding I've ever seen. Who am I meeting, family?"

"Hah!" Ron wheedled, sidling up to them with Harry in tow and champagne flutes in hand. "Don't listen to her mate, she has an evil plan."

"It's sweet." Hermione frowned.

"It's absolutely wrong." Ron, of course, disagreed.

Hermione gave him a warning look. "And pray tell, Ron Weasley?"

"Of course, Mrs. Weasley." Ron replied and Hermione looked momentarily chagrined and… besotted.

Harry began to cringe. Neville cringed inside. Outside, he merely gave a nervous little laugh and began drinking his new champagne flute a bit too fast.

Hermione waved to someone in the crowd and Hannah Abbot came up, shy smile curling her features.

"Hi Nev!" She said happily.

"Hannah," Neville greeted, patting her on the shoulder awkwardly as she came in for a one-armed hug. "Okay. Hey—er, hi!"

"You two dance!" Hermione announced looking smug and bright.

"Uh," Neville felt horrid. "I'm sorry. I'm here with Pansy." His voice went high pitched. "Pansy Parkinson? She's my plus one."

"Oh." Hannah replied awkwardly disappointed. "I saw her with Draco Malfoy for ages, so I, um…"

Hermione looked equally put out and Harry just rolled his eyes.

"Let's go then, Hannah, because this is my favourite song and these two've got to freshen up those hiding the house elves charms."

He grabbed her by the elbow and they made quick work of the dance floor. It was nice to see some things never changed. The Chosen One still couldn't dance.

Hermione had a contrite grateful expression as she watched Harry. Ron gave Neville a pathetically unhelpful look over her head.

"Sorry." She whispered to Neville. I thought she would be great for you." She confessed. "Hannah's sweet and down to earth and has always looked up to you."

Neville felt annoyed. Not because of Hannah and all her good traits, but because it was Hermione who'd discovered them and felt it prudent to share. He stubbornly had a private thought that most girls he knew looked up to him because they didn't wear unreasonably high heels.

"And I couldn't help but notice... that you and Pansy haven't so much as looked at each other all evening."

She looked so disheartened about it but Neville couldn't help but think she was pressing her luck. Just because Pansy humoured him by attending weddings with Muggles didn't mean Neville wanted someone to fill the gaps.

"What's this about?" He made sure to ask softly, so she didn't know he had already disagreed with whatever was coming.

"It's just…" She bit her lip and looked around suspiciously before saying.

"We told you it was a bad idea." Ron put in.

Hermione grimaced. "Look, I heard she doesn't have a job yet and she's been pretty much living off you. You know in school she always thought she was going to be the wife of some rich pureblood by now, living off his Gringotts account? But she's not and now she's trampling all over you—"

Neville jumped, eyes squinted and flinty. "I am pureblood, and do all right by myself, I'd like think."

Hermione's mouth pursed. "Do you think that before she broke that mirror, it was you in her plan?"

"Not everyone has a plan!" He exclaimed.

Not everyone went around planning to give up Harry Potter to the Dark Lord, just as how he didn't plan on giving her his heart.

"Oh come on Hermione," Ron was aggrieved, "You're just making a fuss because it's your great uncle who's been drooling over her lacy bits all night—"

One sharp cut of the eyes from Hermione had her husband quickly downing the rest of his champagne to keep further damning words from flowing out.

"Oi, Nev!" Seamus waved coming up to them. He'd already downed a couple flutes of champagne from the looks of it and was all bright smiles next to Dean. "You'll like this one. It's about the hag, the healer, and the Mimbulus Mimbletonia—"

Familiar notes trickled through the air and the Weird Sister's single from last year started playing through the Sonorus charms. Neville was poignantly reminded of bright early-spring sky, dangerously high heels and falling glitter. It was late, most party-goers slumped over their drinks at the various dinner tables. Only the foolishly determined and drunk still danced on.

"There you are!" Pansy said with flourish, flapping her hand in his face as she rushed to him from the cocktail bar. "I've been looking for you!"

"No you haven't," Neville replied, sort of amused. "You've been having a liaison with Draco Malfoy."

"Define liaison." Pansy smirked, leaning on him and wrapping her arms around his middle. It was partly due to the fact she'd been dancing all night and her heels were atrociously tall. Something inside Neville melted.

"To be honest," He began stilted, feeling boorish for bringing it up but in needed to be said, "I figured you've just been hiding out, you know. Ridiculing anyone unfortunately dressed. Catching up on gossip… escaping the Muggles." He muttered the last bit.

Pansy raised one eyebrow. The fairylights that floated above created a kaleidoscope of colours on her new lace dress. "Are you expecting to have some kind of row?"

Neville swallowed, anxiety flooding his mouth with idiotic words. "People already think we are. Hermione even tried to set me up. At her own wedding!"

The side of Pansy's mouth curled and she sniffed, looking him up and down. "You're a sad excuse for a plus one."

His insides crumpled but Pansy didn't pause.

"Lucky for you I don't feel like fighting when I'm having so much fun. Also, my feet hurt and I'm slightly drunk."

"Really?" Neville felt a deep chasm of darkness open in his chest just thinking about how wrong he'd been about her. "I expected you to absolutely hate this night and never speak to me again."

To his utter horror Pansy didn't bother to ask him 'why' only started laughing at the top of her lungs.

"You're so stupid." She said between cackles. "I owe you a dance."

"What?" Neville grit out, stumped.

"Come!" She waved an imperious arm and dragged him back to their table. The tableskirts were a pale blue with matching covers on the cushy chairs. She grabbed someone's glass of red wine and downed it in one go.

"All right Longbottom." She rubbed her mouth with the back of her hand in one brutish swipe, smearing the shimmering lipstick that Neville remembered buying her in Hogsmeade. Had it really been a year?

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be. Let's do this."

"Er…" He backed away nervously, but Pansy advanced, teetering dangerously on heels as high as the Eiffel tower. "Pansy, I think you've—"

"Nev-ville!" She cried and caught him by the frills. "Be quiet. Don't talk, you ruin the atmosphere."

"Uuhh…"

She gave him that look. "It's slim pickings, though not surprising considering this is a tent full of gingers. If I don't do it with you then I'm going to have to do it with Mr. Toffee teeth over there."

She swung short black tresses with a gesture of her head and Neville caught sight of the old half muggle with wheels seated at the tables, smiling lavishly towards Pansy across the dance floor. He grinned and raised his glass, teeth all brown and stubby, and a scarily merry twinkle in his eye.

"Pansy," Neville gasped. "You didn't hex him, did you?"

"Of course not." She scoffed, rubbing her nose into his collarbone, "Those are all natural."

Neville barely stopped before making a face. And then laughed because he'd almost made the face Pansy was making. Didn't she know that it was just plain rude?

Pansy grinned into the frilly folds of his dress shirt, laughs sprinkling across his chest like the fizzyness of a warm butterbeer on a really frosty night in Hogwarts greenhouse three.

He smiled at her fondly. "You are a bit sloshed, aren't you?"

"So are you." She succeeded in pulling him onto the dance floor, long nails clawing deep into his sides to hold him in place.

"I know you can dance." She said into his ear and Neville gulped.

"Yea-yes, but—"

She clamped a hand on his arse and he yelped. "Butt indeed." And she began snickering with madness. Neville felt about ready to croak.

"I want to dance!" Pansy announced loudly, throwing her free arm up in an imperious gesture as if to strike up the band.

Someone with an age-ripened voice from the tables crowed in delight, "Here, here, Posy! Save one for me!"

If anything, that spurred Neville to just get things over with. It had nothing to do with the number of flutes he'd drunk, or anything having to do with the hand on his bottom. After thirteen songs and three more champagne flutes, the inevitable occurred. Her shoe heels broke off and she forced him to hand over his so she could keep dancing.

Neville watched from his seat at the table, her broken shoes sitting in his lap and his throbbing socked feet propped up on the draped cushion of the chair he was saving. It felt rather nice actually, being able to save a lady while sitting down.

His head began to swim a bit and then it felt a lot like he wasn't sitting down at all.

"Longbottom," Shacklebolt said, or a man he rather hoped wasn't Shacklebolt because damn, his eyes were blurry. The stranger's voice was coloured rich with amusement. "You're smashed."

"Nah," Neville sighed happily, head lolled back and swimming with wild ideas. "Just completely mad about posies. I think I want a whole pocket full."

"Oh?" There was an audible laugh. "And what about pansies?"

Neville didn't really remember anything after that.

Lucky that Pansy had keys to the flat.

He'd given them to her one day and somehow never gotten them back. He rather thought they were lost to her, sort of like his heart.

"Ginger bastard… I can't believe I'm feeling this pain because of him." Malfoy groaned.

"I need a honeymoon too." Harry whined, clutching at his eyes, glasses askew. "Think if I tell them I'm a werewolf I can leave early?"

Neville buried his own head with as much of his robes as possible. "Please… Quiet…" He felt like death.

Auror Instructor Pease was not a forgiving woman and clapped brightly to signify the start of class (which was really much earlier than should have been legal on the morning after their best friend's wedding.)

"Hung over, troops?"

That was the understatement of the year.

That day, Neville wasn't sure how they made it out of training alive.

He was only two steps away from the floo when Shacklebolt's voice rent the air.

"Ah, Longbottom!"

Neville cringed, his head splitting and throbbing at the loud words echoing down the hallway. He struggled to compose himself, turning swiftly on his heel and standing at parade rest as the older wizard came to a halt in front of him.

"Enjoying the after effects today, I presume. Pease informed me her class was quite sluggish today."

"Yes, sir." Neville grimaced, ready to spew apologies or maybe just spew. The lights were much too bright.

Shacklebolt just chuckled. "Relax, you're not on duty at the moment or in the classroom, are you?"

Neville sighed and wilted minutely.

"About your lady friend…"

Neville froze and fought not to stare at his superior in complete terror.

"She's very lovely." Shacklebolt continued. "Why, reminded me of my own wife we were younger…"

Neville's gut turned to a hard lump of anxiety and embarrassment.

"Can't say I've ever seen her around before."

"Uh, her name's Pansy. Pansy Parkinson." Neville swallowed thickly. "And she doesn't work at the Ministry, sir."

"No? Then where?" If Shacklebolt was affected by her last name, since her family had been linked to dark activity during the war, he didn't show it and seemed genuinely curious.

Neville swallowed again, unsuccessful in dislodging the lump in his throat.

"Well, she's in between jobs… I think."

"The Parkinson family is under the keen watch of the ministry, just the same as many other pureblood families that supported or benefitted from the exploits of You-Know-Who." The older man said, but there was no suspicious undercurrent to his words.

"A lot of younger witches and wizards are afraid to approach the Ministry for positions, because of the increased vigilance. But I'll let you in on something. We're hurting for wands here."

Neville balked.

"I'm going over resumes as we speak." Shacklebolt hefted a suitcase that he hadn't noticed. "Tell her to send one in, or if that doesn't work, sneak it out and bring it to my office."

"Uh, yes, sir." Neville could barely believe his ears and blinked rapidly to stay focussed. "Thank you."

Shacklebolt turned to go, but paused and looked over his shoulder as though he had something important yet difficult to say.

"I knew your parents, Mr. Longbottom. Merlin help them for what happened…" He started out in a quiet tone and at the sudden gloss of pity that traced through those words, Neville found his voice.

"Not to be blunt sir, but not even Merlin could. They're gone." He shook his head. "I still visit, but..."

"Maybe so, but our parentage reflects us, even if we don't want it to. What I meant to say was… You'll be a fine Auror, Longbottom." Shacklebolt tipped his head and Neville's heart swelled.

"Ta."

The next time Pansy Parkinson was in his home, Neville sat her down at the desk and pushed the chair straight in so she couldn't get out.

"What's this about?" She questioned suspiciously, already vexed by his actions.

She'd come with takeaway and a smile and Neville felt immediately guilty for having to ignore her bizarre ill-timed thoughtfulness. He swallowed and made a mental note to leave the room before she noticed he'd glued her skirt to the seat cushion. It was his Uncle Algie's favourite chair. He hoped she appreciated the things he did for her sake sometimes.

"Today we're working on your list of credentials!" He made a show of waving around her favourite stationary, the scented ones that reminded him of Hogwarts and the mirror – which, come to think of it, he hadn't looked at in a long time.

"My what?" She asked and then comprehension behind hazel eyes flared. "You can't be serious. What brought this on?"

"We're going to get you that Ministry job, like you wanted."

"How did you know I…" She trailed off, eyes falling down to the parchment. "There must be some sort of opening in your section—No! Absolutely not! When couples work together they eventually tear each other's heads off! Being around you for all hours of the day would likely drive me insane."

Neville's mind reeled from the loud onslaught.

"First, Harry and Ron are the best of friends and have been working together well." He smartly left out the mentions of their numerous spats, quarrels, and that case which had involved a drinking well, a mule, and a one-eyed witch.

"I'm eternally waiting for Weasley and Potter to maul each other."

"And two," He continued, trying to keep the disbelief out of his voice, "What do you mean by maul—"

"Neville!" She slapped a palm against the solid desk surface. "If you finish that out loud, I will do something awful. And I refuse to be your coffee wench!"

"What?" Neville gaped. "No. No! I don't even drink coffee— Look, I was just… thinking about ou-" He caught himself, and instead said:

"Your— future, that's all."

Pansy was silent for a time, tap-tap-tapping her nails against the parchments before her.

"Oh, I get it." She said just as Neville's grip on the back of the chair had relaxed. She crossed her ankles and leaning back to look straight up at his face. He felt vaguely horrified that she could probably see up his nose and pointedly looked away.

She smirked. "I hate subtlety, Longbottom."

Neville wasn't sure how she could have figured out the nuances of his actions based on a conversation she'd never even heard, but he feared her knowing powers all the same.

Pansy squinted and pursed her lips. "But I suppose it could be worse, if I'm stuck with you and the curse. It seems you came as a set."

"Do you… I don't know," He almost let the question fade away entirely, but was brave. "Do you mind getting stuck with me?"

Pansy shook her head, grinning and already scratching at the parchments with an outrageously fuchsia quill. She didn't answer him, and Neville looked up at the ceiling, hands stuffed in his pockets as he nodded and head out to the kitchen.

"The real question," Pansy called out as soon as he was in the other room, "Is if you want to get stuck to me."

Neville's lips pressed together into a twisted, wonderfully embarrassed smile. He spoke quietly to himself:

"I already am."

She actually sat until it was complete, all seven pages of it, as per the custom of Wizarding applications. A page more or less was a sign of bad conduct. Of course she screamed down the flat when there was an ominous ripping sound.

Neville nearly spit out his drink. He'd forgotten that bit.

And then Pansy stood there in the doorway of the kitchen, not a hair out of place until one realized she was standing there in just her knickers, tapping her wand against her chin.

Neville spat out his drink.

"Touché." Pansy said sardonically, not bothering to acknowledge his choking and sputtering, or the fact that she'd just been sprayed by a fine mist of pumpkin juice. "Part of your master plan no doubt."

Neville fumbled, trying to cover his eyes without being a complete dolt about it.

"No! Of course not—"

She shrugged and padded into the kitchen to take the nearly empty juice glass from the countertop. Every step caused heart palpitations in Neville's chest.

"You're buying me a new skirt." She carelessly flung the glass in the sink, obviously unaware that wearing only tiny pink frills of lace under her skirts was completely reprehensible.

"Maybe." He compromised. "Or maybe I'll—ahhhhh…" He backed up into the icebox. He definitely hadn't noticed her wand pointed at him.

There was a ripping sound and Neville's hands flew to cover his suddenly very breezy stomach. The bottom flaps of severed fabric fell onto his feet.

He yelped, looking down to see she'd turned his plaid shirt into a crop top.

Pansy laughed up a storm.

"Don't worry," Pansy turned and made sure to sashay around the counter even though he most certainly wasn't looking. "I'll pay you back when I'm hired."

There wasn't a shred of sincerity in her voice often and he knew they were still okay.

"What about this shirt?" He asked hopefully, breathlessly looking through his eyelashes at her and wondering if his cheeks weren't quite as red as he imagined.

"I hate all your shirts."

He dropped his arms and watched her lips failing awfully to stay in a straight line.

"You do?" Neville asked and put fists upon his hips. Her eyes were glued to the line of his stomach and pasty white skin.

"And I hate you too."

Her mouth twitched, and he loved how Pansy never bothered to hide her mirth, because there wasn't much worse things that he could think of, than not sharing these laughing carefree moments with her.

"You'll do great, Pansy." Neville said softer this time, and felt that indescribable bubbling feeling of bliss burst inside his chest, like a champagne bottle shaken up. He couldn't help it, and surged forward to hug her tightly.

Pansy elbowed him but he twirled them in a half-dozen tight circles, making her dark hair fan out and a girlish shriek to echo through the kitchen.

"You're mental!" Snickers sprinkled through the air like confetti as she swung her legs around his hips to better hold on.

Neville grinned at her, thudding to a stop to lean against the wall tapestry, feeling dizzy but not caring. He inexplicably knew from the smirk on her face that really, truly and honestly, it didn't matter if she would never say what she truly thought.

He felt so profoundly proud. So proud because, in all the bizarreness of the world, she liked him. Even prouder, because no one would have believed how far they'd come. How close they'd become. Actually, this was the closest they'd ever been.

Neville felt acute embarrassment.

"I've been deliberately rearranging the mirror." Pansy said, a sudden hot breath in his ear. Neville pulled back just enough to look her in the face. Her arms looped around his neck.

They stared at each other, Pansy hard-faced and determined and her knees pinched his hips as though she was waiting for him to drop her. She should have known by now he'd never.

"That would explain some things." Neville chose to say carefully.

"It's not that I don't hate being cursed." Pansy's nose scrunched up in distaste. "Only that I feel lucky when I'm with you. Just don't tell anyone I said that."

"You do?" Neville whispered back, heart racing.

"Idiot." She said. "I can't stop thinking about your hideous hippogriffic lunges."

"Lunges." Neville parroted, gobsmacked.

He stared at her, pressing his lips together to stop the jumbled mess of idiocy that wanted to spill forth.

Pansy scowled, touching her nose to his. "Don't think I'll be your sodding girlfriend now that you've moved up from Remedial."

"All right." He acquiesced, quietly. "Except that you're already my girlfriend."

Pansy paused and scowled. "I'm not going to be your live-in wench either."

"All right." He said again, trying to keep a straight face but couldn't help the way his mouth twisted up at the sides. "You'd kill me in my sleep. Because I snore."

"Gryffindors!" Pansy rolled her eyes and then stopped, licking her bottom lip before biting it softly. "I know you're always so bloody late, but after saying… that…" She bit her lip again. "Don't you think it's about time I get lucky?"

It took a moment before that made any sense in his brain.

"Uhhh…"

Neville nodded once but it felt like his neck was bolted into place. Panic and excitement bubbled up in his chest like a cauldron of Veritaserum boiling over.

"Bedroom. Now!" She grabbed him by the collar and squeezed her thighs. Neville's whole body jumped.

He marched them down the busy wallpapered hallway and Pansy forced him to stop and lay against the door to his bedroom as she kissed him with a fierceness he'd never known. Neville's hand covered the knob, holding it fast, not wanting to let it fall open. Because that would also be like letting her in on everything he'd wanted for so long. Her fingers digging into the flesh of his midsection were like fingernails clawing through the Devil's Snare of his mind.

"Neville. Open the bloody door."

Pansy kissed low into his chest, fingers so carefully looped around his ears, finally too fed up with thinking of insults. And Neville must have stopped thinking too, because he twisted the handle and they stumbled backwards into the darkness, and he fell back onto his bed with Pansy Parkinson on top of him.

After she moved herself into a desk at the Ministry, Pansy moved in with him.

The shoe tree by the doorway loved to untie his laces when he wasn't watching and tie them to the opposite shoe when he was running late. It had also made an awful habit of eating the heels off Pansy's pumps every chance it got. Well, Neville hoped it was the tree's appetite to blame. He hated to think Pansy was walking around out there, breaking heels on random cracks in the road and letting her displeasure unravel onto whoever was closest.

He would bite his lip to squelch the grin that threatened to form.

The mirror became like a chore, and sometimes they would go weeks without opening up the packet.

Sometimes he'd come home to find her sitting at the table, shifting pieces around with one finger, chin rested snugly against her palm and then his shoes would clatter onto the mat and the shoe tree would grab them up and she'd push it aside to conjure takeaway boxes from the kitchen.

She worked in the Department of Mysteries as a shelving steward, slowly working her way up.

Neville privately thought it was a rather difficult position and deserved all the trashing Pansy could throw at it. Turned out her bosses, whom she had many and all contradicting in their orders, never told her what or where anything was. Hard to file in that situation, Neville was sure.

"I'm getting so sick of it." Pansy complained one day, kicking at the grabby branches of the shoe tree. He walked in behind her and hung up both their robes.

"They could invest on some decent cleansing charms. The north ward always reeks of fertilizer and rain."

"That's not a bad sort of smell." Neville replied, thinking of many damp afternoons spent in the Hogwarts Greenhouses.

"Do you think if I brought in some of the muggle tree talismans they'd argue?"

"Who could argue with you trying to spruce up the place?"

And Neville knew she was incomprehensibly the one when she actually laughed, long and hard. The cupid's arrow through his heart was surely the fact that she was almost always laughing at him and he didn't mind at all.

"Spruce. Neville, don't quit your day job you adorable berk, because I'm about ready to quit mine."

"You can do whatever you like." Neville had said, honest and heart in his voice. "I'll never leaf you."

"You're barking mad." Pansy replied. "And full of sap."

"And you're unlucky."

Pansy just smiled serenely before the shoe tree whapped him in the shin.

"Maybe."

In his final year of training, Neville and the rest of the Aurors found themselves in a guided tour of the Department of Mysteries.

The trainees trailed after Auror Dawlish like red ducklings, gawking from side to side at the towering shelves of secrets. It was an enjoyable experience to get a look at the better-kept secrets of the Ministry they were sworn to serve and protect. Though there were one or two department workers who stalked them with hawk-eyes, probably remembering the great prophecy smashing debacle way back from fifth year.

As they passed by a door Neville was ensnared by the scent of plum blossoms and freesia so suddenly he stood stock still forcing Malfoy to slam straight into his back.

"Where's the fire?" Malfoy sniped, rubbing at his flattened nose.

"I just…" Neville's eyebrows furrowed together as he thought. "What's in that section?"

Auror Dawlish straightened his robes primly, overhearing an opportunity for a teaching moment.

"That? The fountain of Amortentia's in there. It's huge – and dangerous. Very dangerous. Best to stay clear actually. Can anyone tell me why that particular substance is so restricted?" Dawlish chattered on to the class arms gesturing wildly, his large pipe creating swirls of smoke to curl under Neville's nose.

He waved it away and stared at the ward for a while, and stared over his shoulder even longer even as they walked, Dawlish leading the group away to the next point of interest.

And that's how he knew Pansy Parkinson loved him too.

"We'll miss you 'round here, you know." Harry said solemnly.

"Aye, won't be the same." Ron said in a thick accent. He'd just returned from stealth surveillance and his disguise hadn't worn off yet. "'N all the plants in th'office will right die w'out you! Just you watch."

"I'd be more worried about you than the plants." Neville smiled, touched. It had been a close call on an easy job turned dangerous one night.

Harry started thumping Ron on the back to help shake off some of the glamour charm. On one particularly hard thump the ginger came back to his hair and his large handlebar moustache popped back into place.

"Can you believe we've been doing this for so long?" Harry asked.

"All of eighth year, three years of training and three years into the service." Malfoy announced as he entered the office, primly smoothing his hair, which had begun to recede in the most amusing way. "Seems about just the right amount of time for him to leave in my opinion."

Harry rolled his eyes but Neville laughed.

"My curse of seven years with the pleasure of your acquaintance has been finally lifted!"

Malfoy snickered sharply. "Please. You'll never be rid of my acquaintance."

"I'll miss you too, Draco."

There was a chorus of sarcastic awwws which made the blond go red in the face with anger and embarrassment.

"Mr. Longbottom, sir!" An reedy voice split through the friendly chitchat and well-wishing.

"Ackerly." Neville smiled, putting the rest of his personal affects into his briefcase with a well-thought Pack!

Stewart Ackerly was an eager new graduate of the Auror program whom Neville had been training to be his replacement. Apparently seeing Neville's successful graduation of the remedial classes at Hogwarts is what made the skinny wizard decide to go into the service – witches like that sort of thing, he'd supposed.

"I just wanted to say again, congratulations on your service." Stewart intoned with great thoughtfulness as they made their way to the practice room to continue his Patronus training. Malfoy would have to take over if the younger wizard didn't succeed this time. It was Neville's last day at Auror Headquarters after all.

"Though I must say, I'm surprised you're going back to Hogwarts." Stewart murmured.

"Oh?" Neville replied, letting loose the training boggart.

"I mean, if the remedial class – no offence— could all become such amazing Aurors, I get chills of excitement thinking of what I can contribute!"

So many years later, Neville still didn't have the heart to tell him he hadn't actually been dunce.

They practiced for a while, Neville correcting and feeding suggestions as the younger man tried his best.

"I can't get it right at all, am I thinking the wrong thing?" Stewart asked unhappily, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Try not to think too much. It's got to fill you up, Ackerly. You've got to let the feeling cover you, like a blanket."

Stewart made a constipated face for about a minute before letting out a breath of defeat. "Please, tell me, what's your happiest memory?"

Neville thought of many things, so many things, but only smiled, amused. "That's not going to work. You've got to think of one yourself."

"Well let me see it. Show me again."

"All right, but you've got to try again after."

It was prudent to note that Neville's Patronus was a Mimbulus Mimbletonia.

It hummed and spit some silvery Stinksap and was an overall unpleasant looking thing, scuttling around on its exposed root system in ghostly form. Most of the other Aurors thought his happy thought was a twisted sordid thing to bring about the boiled cactus, and some were flabbergasted that a dodgy plant could even make a good messenger. But plants were life forms too and who said he couldn't have a plant as his? Besides, all of the team, and now even his replacement, could see the contentment that filled Neville's features when he called it forth by the powerful charm.

Ackerly twitched and raised his wand again and Neville helped him adjust his motions. He could feel the younger man eyeing the ring on his left hand as usual. Quickly though, Stewart frowned in concentration, incanted the charm, and managed a bouncing ball of cheerful silver mist.

"I thought I saw a tail on that one!" Neville grinned in triumph.

"NEV!" Ron burst into the practice room, rapidly annoyed by the looks of it.

He flew into familiar alert mode. "What happened?"

"Pansy's at the floo, screaming the bloody coals off the fire— I thought her bad luck was supposed to wear off any day now? She's somehow sprouted antlers!"

Weedy little Ackerly smiled, scratching at the side of his twitchy nose. "Longbottom, I hope you know you're one lucky man."

And Neville Longbottom, who had everything he could have ever wanted, decided that yes, he knew.

THE END