Chapter Text
“I’m sorry if this isn’t what you wanted,” Neville stared at his plate, the tips of his ears red with embarrassment. “You must be disappointed that it’s me.”
Hermione took a big sip of her red wine. It was excellent and without doubt expensive, as was the food on the table and the dress robes Neville had put on for her sake. After they had received their respective letters in the morning, her friend had invited her to have dinner with him at Longbottom Manor.
Hermione had never been to the place before. For a moment, she'd been taken aback by the grandeur of the house. It looked like it belonged in one of those historic novels her mother was so fond of, not something she associated with the shy boy she'd gone to school with. Somehow, she realised that there were sides of Neville she didn’t know, even after all these years. Watching him eat, Hermione noted that he had impeccable manners. Gryffindor table had always been a little raucous, but Neville had always been more proper than most of her classmates. The menu he had chosen for their dinner was elegant and refined, too. So far, there had been three courses and dessert was still to come.
Yet, she could not enjoy any of it. The Ministry had made sure of that. “It’s not your fault,” she told him. “They’re forcing you as much as anyone else. A marriage law, really? Have they completely lost their minds? I mean… I understand the reasoning behind it. The magical population has dropped too much, because of the war but also because more and more Squibs are born, especially in Pureblood families.”
At that, Neville pulled a face. “Gran was afraid I was one,” he admitted with a rueful smile. “With me being the heir of the Longbottom family, it would have been a disaster. That’s why uncle Alfie tried to force my magic to make an appearance. It did… eventually. Not sure which one of us was more relieved. Probably me, because it meant I no longer needed to be afraid of him dangling me out of the window,” he pulled a grimace.
“He did not!” Hermione gasped, the fork falling from her hands. “That’s horrible!”
“It was. But then I suppose he was desperate. If I had been a Squib, he would have needed to provide a suitable heir. Considering his preference for men, this would have been quite a challenge.”
“I see. So the presence of Squibs isn’t a new problem,” Hermione concluded.
“Not at all. There have always been a few each generation, generally hidden quickly by the family and sent to live in the muggle world. Most Purebloods, unfortunately, see them as a failure and a shame on their family name. Some of them find employment in the wizarding world, Mr Filch for example, but they are the exception rather than the norm. But it got worse after the first war, probably because so many Muggleborns were killed. No matter how much Voldemort and his followers despised the idea, the wizarding society needs new blood,” he looked at her meaningfully.
It felt strange discussing these things with Neville. Yet, Hermione marvelled about his understanding of the whole problem and his willingness to discuss it with her.
“But do they need to force us to marry? I mean… There must be other ways…”
Neville shrugged. “There might have been. But someone felt like this was the most efficient way to handle things. Probably because it has worked well in the past.”
“They’ve done this before?” Hermione asked, scandalised.
“Several times, actually. After the dragon pox epidemic in the 12th century, the Black Death plague… And it’s not like traditionalists Purebloods haven’t learned their lessons and are not marrying each other these days.”
She couldn’t help but pull a face. “This all sounds so archaic, at least to me. But I know that muggles still have arranged marriages in other countries that way. I just never thought I’d have one myself.” Sighing, she took a bite of her steak. The meat was soft and juicy. It still tasted like rubber in her mouth. “You know, this feels like one of these nightmares one cannot wake up from. You have them too, right? Nightmares I mean.”
Making a sound in the back of his throat, Neville reached for his glass, gulping down the red liquid like it was water. Hermione couldn’t blame him. Getting pissed together might be the only sensible thing to do, given the circumstances.
“Of course. Though getting married usually doesn’t feature in any of them.” Sighing, he looked her in the eye. “Maybe because I never thought I would.”
Hermione blinked. “Get married? Why?”
He shrugged. “No one has ever shown an interest in even dating me.”
“That’s—” She wanted to tell him it wasn’t true. But now that she came to think of it, she’d never seen him with anyone. Or heard any of the girls they went to school with swooning over him. So all she could do was stare, her heart contracting with sympathy for her friend.
“It’s fine, I get it. I’ve always been awkward around people, always looking for something to say, not coming up with anything.” He gave her a rueful smile. “With you and the boys, things have been better and still I was always on the outside… I hardly know what to say to you, Hermione, except that I’m sorry.”
Following an impulse, she reached for his hand. He looked up when she squeezed it, his eyes wide with what she hoped was surprise.
“Don’t be. I’m glad it’s you,” she smiled reassuringly. “At least we are friends. We've known each other for years. Also, you’re kind and sweet.” And most of the time you’re away at Hogwarts anyway , she added in her mind. Apart from the nights the Ministry would force them to spend together, her life could continue as it had before. At least until he got her pregnant. Her stomach lurched.
“I’m also glad it’s you, Hermione.” He turned his hand in hers and linked their fingers. “And I promise, I’ll do my best to be a good husband to you. Not that I have any idea how to do that. My parents…” he broke off, pain flickering over his face. “I haven’t seen them being together much.”
Hermione swallowed against the lump in her throat. “We’ll make this work, Neville. You’ll see. Honestly. You’re one of the few people I can picture myself doing this with.”
“You’re picturing us…” he trailed off, his face flushing bright red. Only then she caught the meaning of his words.
“What? No!” Now her face was heating up as well. She’d never… But now she did. Neville shrugging off his white shirt, exposing a pale chest. Him kissing her, their teeth clicking together like it happened when she’d kissed Ron. Their bodies entangled between the sheets of an ancient looking four-poster-bed. Neville moaning her name, his big hands pinning her wrists onto the mattress. Hermione's stomach cart-wheeled at the thought. Would it be good? Awkward? Probably the latter considering…
"I haven't thought about this at all," she hastily confessed. "Between school and the war there never was time and… I've never… You know…"
Luckily, Neville got the message. "I haven't either. Obviously. I know the mechanics of course, but…"
She nodded and her friend quickly shut up.
Merlin. Could this get any more awkward? Who was she kidding? Of course it could. The Ministry had taken care of that as well, after all.