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What do you buy a parent who doesn’t remember who you are?
That was the question that plagued Neville every Monday morning. It was his day off at the little plant shop he ran in Diagon Alley, and every week, without fault, Neville would walk down the streets of London in search of something he could get his mum that would make her smile.
Neville loved his mother’s smile more than anything in this world. And not just because it was the only aspect of her physical appearance he’d apparently inherited, though he had indeed often been told that was the case.
He loved it because it was proof that her existence for the past twenty-five years had meant something. That she wasn’t just alive out of idleness or pity; that she could still find meaning, and happiness, and joy in her everyday life, in her own way.
It was also proof that she found joy in Neville. She had never been able to recognise her own son when she laid eyes on him. Neville had long made peace with that fact. But, now that he was out of Hogwarts and could visit her weekly, she did recognise the young man who would bring her a little something every Monday morning, and who would stay for a few hours just to spend time with her. Neville loved that he could be that for her. He loved it more than anything in the world.
After some consideration, he opted for a small bouquet of carnations, the flowers that symbolised motherhood. It wasn’t the first time he had brought her those, but it had been a while, and she always loved them, even if she didn’t fully understand the meaning behind them. He did, and that was enough.
With that out of the way, Neville headed to St Mungo’s, feeling light and content, eager to hear what she wanted to do today.
“Fun,” Alice said with a smile when the movie finished. Neville smiled back at her.
“Yeah! It was fun,” he agreed, squeezing her hand. “What do you want to do now?”
His mum squeezed his hand again, her smile never wavering. Neville waited for her answer patiently, looking into her eyes, loving that she looked so happy to have him here.
She thumbed at his knuckles, grabbing his hand with both of hers and leaning closer to him on the sofa.
“Eat?” she asked.
Neville checked the time. It was almost 1pm.
“Yeah, I’m starting to get hungry too,” he said. “Let’s go have lunch, then.”
He helped her stand from the sofa, holding her hand firmly in his. He was significantly taller than she was, but she never seemed put off by that, and, like always, he offered her his arm as they made their way out of her hospital room and down to the St Mungo’s cafeteria. Along the way, Neville waved at the various Healers and receptionists they passed.
Everyone here knew them, and Neville could tell they were always happy to see him visit his mother every week. Many of them had been treating his parents for the past two decades; had been there at the very beginning, fighting to salvage his mother’s broken mind; had grieved the person she’d never be again; had witnessed and celebrated her slow but steady progress through the years: her first words, her first smiles, her tears, and her laughs. They’d seen Neville grow up, too, and after his dad passed unexpectedly just a couple of years after the Battle of Hogwarts, they had given him a shoulder to cry on.
They were like family to him. He liked to think his mum also saw them that way, even if she couldn’t articulate it.
They sat on their usual table in a corner by the window and ate the cafeteria meal slowly, watching the rain outside.
“You know, you can really tell Valentine’s is around the corner,” Neville said conversationally. “Especially at the shop.”
His mum didn’t answer, but she tilted her head slightly, her eyes trained on him.
“I don’t mind it being busy, and I certainly don’t mind helping people choose the best bouquet for their partners. But the older teens and young adults who come looking for potion ingredients of dubious moral standing are… something alright.” He rolled his eyes. “They really believe I don’t know the kind of potions they’re trying to make. Idiots.”
He wasn’t expecting his mum to reply. She didn’t, most of the time. So when she said, “Partner?” he blinked in confusion for as second.
“Hmm?” He frowned. Then realisation hit him. “Oh, you mean me? Um—no,” he stammered, embarrassed to have to admit something like this to his mum. He really hoped she wasn’t displeased by the news. “I haven’t… I haven’t really met anyone yet that I liked in that way.”
She beamed, and grabbed his hand again on the table, squeezing his fingers. Neville didn’t quite understand what she was trying to communicate, but that was okay. All that mattered was that she wasn’t disappointed in him. Relieved, he kept talking to her, telling her about the stray calico cat that sometimes visited his garden, and how he’d burned his toast that morning, and every other little thing he could think of to make her smile.
They walked back to her room arm in arm, and he kissed her temple before saying goodbye. Her smile was the last thing he saw before closing the door softly behind himself.
Gosh, he loved his mum so much.
The following week, Neville brought her a box of chocolates.
Her smile was radiant as he closed the door behind him and made his way to her on the sofa.
“Hi, Mum,” he said, giving her a hug, which she accepted. “How are you today?”
She didn’t reply, but he didn’t mind, because her smile didn’t falter as he sat by her side and handed her the box.
“I hope you like them. There’s a lot of your favourites with the caramel filling,” he told her.
She took one out of the box and put it in her mouth, humming contentedly as she chewed and savoured it.
“I take it they’re good,” Neville laughed.
After she swallowed, his mum grinned and took his hand in hers, as she so often did, to squeeze it. Neville understood it to mean thank you.
“You’re welcome,” he smiled. Moved by the earnest appreciation in her gaze, he added, “I really love you, Mum.”
He didn’t say it often—not with his words, at least. They made him feel a little bit too raw, bringing the gaping grief that had grown with him for the past twenty-seven years a little too close to the surface. He preferred to say it through thoughtful gifts, through his company, his touch.
When he did say it, his mum didn’t react. He had no doubt that she was capable of cherishing others in her own way, and of enjoying others’ company, but he gathered the abstract concept of love might be too intangible for her to fully grasp.
It hurt, but Neville had made his peace with it.
She set the box of chocolates aside and scooted closer to him on the sofa, looking intently into his eyes. It was as though she was trying to tell him something, an intensity flourishing in her gaze which he couldn’t remember seeing from her before. His heart skipped a beat.
“Yes?” Neville breathed, even though it was pointless to ask. Indeed, she didn’t answer him. Instead, she circled his shoulders with her arms and pulled him into a hug.
Neville held her close, almost tearing up from the sudden wave of emotion that hit him.
Was this her way of telling him? That she loved him? That she wanted him close?
He still remembered the days when both his parents had been averse to his touch, not remembering who he was or why they were supposed to feel affection toward him. As a child, it had been overwhelmingly painful to deal with. To feel not just rejected by his parents, but also like they thought nothing in particular about him. Nothing at all. Whenever he’d tried going to his grandma for comfort, though, she’d dismissed and belittled his hurt; it was a burden that he’d learned to bear in silence.
Even during the first few years following Voldemort’s death, when he’d visited his parents alone, they had barely tolerated him holding their hand at all.
And so now, being allowed to have this was exhilarating. He didn’t care how silly it was for a grown man to get emotional at having his own mother initiate a hug; he let his happiness blossom in his chest and spread through his limbs, holding her back tightly, breathing her in. She was a petite woman, but he felt as though she was able to hold all of him. Like he was a little kid again, and his mother’s arms were all that tethered him to the world.
He felt whole.
His mum buried her nose in his neck and drew a deep breath, and the thought that his scent might bring her even a smidge of the same comfort hers brought him made him feel elated.
Neville would have stayed in that moment forever. But when his mum let go just a few moments later, he pulled back immediately. The last thing he wanted was to impose his touch on her. If ever she wanted to hold him again, he’d accept any and all of the love she had to give him. And, if not, then he’d be okay with that, too, no matter how much it broke him inside.
All he wanted in this life was his mother’s love, and he would never give up in trying to be worthy of it. But it had to come from her. He would never, ever force it out of her.
“So,” he said, setting his maudlin thoughts aside, “what do you want to do today? Watch a movie, read a book? Go for a walk? It’s not raining as much today as it was last week.”
She didn’t answer, and Neville couldn’t help but notice that, although she’d sat back on the sofa, she was still particularly close, her hands lingering by his frame.
A small frown of concentration formed between her eyebrows as she rested her hands on his forearms, right below where his sleeves were rolled up above his elbow.
With light fingertips, she traced the shape of his veins on each arm, moving down his forearm towards his hands and looking fascinated as she did so.
He wondered what it was about his arms that had caught her attention. Maybe it was the way his veins had distended with the warmth of the room. Maybe it was his light arm hair, which she playfully tickled at points. Perhaps it was something entirely different. Whatever the case, he gladly allowed the touch.
He would always allow her touch.
She rested her hands on his, cupping his knuckles in her palms. When she looked up at him, her gaze was intense, though it was a different sort of ardour than it had been a few moments ago.
Neville looked back into her eyes, searching for answers that wouldn’t come. Wishing he could just read her mind, understand what it was that she was thinking, what she was feeling toward him.
She inched closer, her eyes never leaving his. It felt as though she was looking for something in him, too. Neville ached. He would’ve told her anything. Anything she wanted to hear. Anything that would make her happy. But she couldn’t ask him—didn’t have the words to do so—and so he couldn’t give her what she wanted.
He felt as though he couldn’t breathe.
“What is it, Mum?” he asked in a hushed voice, barely daring to break the silence, terrified this moment would end and he would never find out what she was feeling as she looked into his eyes. “What do you want to tell me?”
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She leaned closer still and raised a hand to his cheek to thumb at the stubble along his jaw. She seemed desperate now, her eyes tracing his whole face, taking all of him in.
Yes, it’s me, he wanted to say, tears beginning to well in his eyes. It’s your son. I’m all grown up, I know, but I’ll always be your boy. Do you recognise me? Do you love me? Are you proud of me, Mum?
But he didn’t speak. He couldn’t. Not when she seemed so close to words, yet so far away from them that any interruption might break this moment.
Her fingertips tickled the short hair at his nape, and her other hand, still resting on his own, moved to his shoulder, sliding up to cup the side of his neck. Neville trembled from it, feeling dangerously close to tears now from pure frustration and want. Merlin, he just wanted his mum to love him. How pathetic was it that he was about to cry because he just wanted his mum to love him?
“Want,” his mum suddenly murmured, the word coming out slightly rough, as though her throat was dry from breathing.
“Tell me,” Neville begged, his own voice breaking a little. He covered her hands in his, inching closer. “Please, tell me what you want.”
She closed the distance between them. Neville sank into it, desperate for another hug from her.
His breath hitched when their noses bumped and her lips brushed his.
“What—” was all he had time to say before her lips closed around his.
His world stopped.
His mum stroked the back of his head. Sucked his lower lip gently between hers.
What?
Her other hand travelled down his clavicle to cup his soft chest, caressing its way down to his plump waist and holding him there.
No.
She settled atop him, straddling his hips and attempting to deepen the kiss.
No, wait, stop—
There was hot, white static in his mind as he pushed her off of him.
She gasped for air.
Neville pulled at his collar. He couldn’t breathe.
His mum said nothing. Nothing at all. But he could feel her eyes on him, and when he looked back, her cheeks were flushed and her pupils dilated. Her lips wet with saliva. His saliva.
She seemed so confused. And hurt. Like she didn’t understand why he’d pushed her away.
Fuck, but he was hurt and confused. Why had she— Why would she— Her own son. Could she even comprehend that he was her son? Had she confused him with his dad? He looked so much like him. Everyone always said it.
“Mum,” he said, his mind barely functioning enough for words, “I-I’m Neville. I’m your son. I’m not my dad. I’m not Frank,” he corrected. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
She brought her fingers to her lips. Was she tasting him in her mouth? Merlin, he could still taste her in his.
He wanted to cry again, but for a very different reason this time.
How could he have let this happen? He hadn’t seen it coming, but he—he should’ve. He should’ve realised the kind of intensity she’d been looking at him with wasn’t—wasn’t what he’d been hoping it’d be.
But how could he have known? He’d never been kissed before. It was sad, and pathetic, but it was the truth: he was twenty-seven, and he had never been kissed, or passionately touched, or desired by anyone before.
How could he have known?
A tear rolled down his mum’s cheek as her fingers pressed into her trembling lip.
“N-No,” Neville stammered. “No, no, no, I—I’m sorry.” He reached out to wipe it away, and she allowed it, but pulled back from the touch immediately afterwards. “I’m sorry, Mum. None of this is your fault. I-I should’ve realised. You have trouble remembering. It’s okay. I’m not mad at you. I’m sorry.”
She looked at him with worried eyes, and he had no way of knowing how much of what he was saying she could understand, but he kept going, needing to explain, needing her to know that—
“I love you. I love you, Mum. Nothing can ever change that. I promise.”
Another tear slid down her cheek, and when he cleaned it, she leaned into his touch, resting her face in his palm.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, hoping she would understand at least that much.
“S-Sorry?” she mumbled, looking into his eyes again.
“Yeah,” Neville said with fervour, belatedly realising he was crying again. “I’m really sorry. Can you forgive me?”
She didn’t answer. But she’d stopped crying, at least. That was good.
It was all good. He was okay. He could move on from this. They could move on from this.
Though he still felt shaken, he wiped his tears away and breathed deeply to calm himself. She waited, just watching him, as though wanting him to take the lead.
And he had to. He was the one with all the power in the relationship. As much as he needed his mum—always had, and always would—she needed him more. Needed him to take care of her, to keep her safe.
But how could he do that?
How could he pretend nothing had just happened?
“I-I’m sorry,” he mumbled again, “I think I have to go home early today. I can’t stay much longer.”
Her face fell, and it ached. It ached to feel like he was disappointing his mum.
“Please, don’t worry,” he begged of her, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder, but then thinking better of it when her scent flooded his senses and he was reminded of her lips against his. “I’ll be back next week, okay?”
At that, her eyes lit up again, a smile tugging at her thin lips.
“Back?” she said in a tiny voice that was nonetheless filled with hope.
“I promise,” said Neville with conviction.
She took his hand in hers and squeezed, her smile growing. Neville smiled back at her reassuringly, but, when she didn’t let go, he eventually had to pull away from her.
He stood and grabbed his jacket while she followed his every movement from the sofa. When he got to the door, he lingered only for a moment.
“Bye, Mum,” he murmured. And, after some hesitation, he added, “Love you.”
She didn’t answer.
As he closed the door behind himself, he breathed slowly, putting on his most composed expression for the nurse outside.
“Leaving already?” she asked, surprised.
Neville tried to sound as casual as possible when he said, “Something came up at work,” and, “See you next week.”
“Blimey. Hope it’s nothing serious,” she said. Then, when she realised he was in a rush, she added a quick, “See you!”
Neville scurried away without replying.
As he made it through the halls of St Mungo’s, the world around him began to spin. He was vaguely aware of people waving at him and calling his name; of someone asking if he was also waiting for the lift; of bumping into an old man in his rush to get out of the building. Even outside, he couldn’t breathe past the panic taking over him.
By the time he apparated home, he was a wreck.
What had he done?
He curled up in his bed in the dark, trying to make sense of what had happened. Trying to backtrack, to find where it’d all gone wrong, where he’d given her the wrong impression, where she’d gone from simply not remembering him as her son to seeing him like… well. Like his father. Or, at the very least, like a potential romantic interest.
Merlin, just thinking about it made his stomach churn.
But it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t just the thought of his mum wanting him in that way that sickened him.
It was the fact that, when she’d kissed him, his body had responded to it.
He’d never been kissed before. He hadn’t known—he’d had no idea that was how it felt to be kissed. He hadn’t been prepared for the blinding sparks awakening every corner of his body, or the shiver of pleasure travelling south, or his brain going completely blank with something that wasn’t just terror but also a quivering titillation. His mind saying stop while his body begged helplessly for more.
And what kind of monster did it make him to have such a reaction to being kissed by his own flesh and blood? His own mother?
Merlin.
He hugged his pillow, dry heaving into it. He was past tears. He was past panic itself.
He didn’t know what to do. How to fix this. Was there even a way to fix this?
He couldn’t tell anyone what had happened. Who would believe him? He and his mum had been completely alone in that hospital room. He was a grown, corpulent man of sound mind. She was a small, defenceless woman with severe brain trauma. He knew exactly what it would come across as. No one would believe she’d initiated it. No—People would rightfully assume he’d taken advantage of her.
They’d believe Neville had assaulted her. Assaulted his own mum.
He might throw up.
No, he couldn’t ask anyone for help.
Deep down, Neville knew what he had to do. Knew there was just one correct course of action.
He had to stop visiting her. Put distance between them.
He had to make sure his mum forgot all about him.
A sob escaped him as tears filled his eyes. He didn’t want to do that. He didn’t want to live without his mum. He couldn’t. He needed her. For almost a decade now, Monday mornings had been his favourite time of the week—the thing he looked forward to when he was stressed, or sad, or when he was feeling lonely and lost in life. Just the thought of seeing his mum smile when he walked into the room was enough to get him through anything life could throw at him. It was his proudest achievement in this life; his biggest source of happiness and comfort. It was hard to admit, but, excluding his plants and the calico cat who often roamed his garden, his mum was his only true support in this life.
She was his rock. How could he possibly cut her out?
And what would everyone think if he stopped visiting all of a sudden? Not just the hospital staff, but also the other inpatients who already knew him, all his acquaintances, everyone. They all knew how much he loved his mum. They knew he wasn’t the kind of person to abandon his poor, sick mother. How could he possibly explain why he’d stopped visiting her? What if they grew suspicious? What if they dug deeper in search for answers? Merlin, what if they used Legilimency on her and saw? Saw that she’d kissed him, and that he’d allowed it to happen—hadn’t immediately pushed her away—had even let her taste his lips?
What if they looked closely enough to see the way his trousers had almost begun to tent?
Another wet sob escaped him, muffled against his damp pillow.
He had to keep this a secret. And he had to make sure it never, ever happened again.
Neville was a mess. The week went by agonisingly slowly, and, although he kept his mind busy with work and his garden and every single errand and book and TV show he could think of, he couldn’t escape what had happened on Monday.
Every time he closed his eyes, it was as though his mum’s lips were brushing his again, savouring him, carefully exploring the taste of his mouth. And, every single time, the memory of it felt more vivid than the last. Her breath tickling his lips. A strand of her hair brushing his cheek. Her hands roaming his body, tracing its shape, squeezing, grasping, mapping him.
He was breathless from it. He was sick with it. He couldn’t fall asleep at night, and he didn’t want to wake up in the morning. His own reflection in the mirror revolted him. Every time he showered, his skin ended up red from trying to scrub off the prickling under his skin as he imagined his mum’s fingers digging into the folds of his skin.
The following Monday morning found Neville rolling pitifully out of bed, his eyes stinging with the morning sunlight. He had barely slept, and what little sleep he’d managed had been troubled, filled with images and sensations he didn’t want to remember.
He had to visit his mother today. He couldn’t not. He hadn’t skipped a single Monday in years.
After a quick shower, he opened his wardrobe and stalled. Usually, he didn’t even have to think about what he was going to wear to visit his mum—he simply chose whichever one of his more lively and colourful clothes best fit the weather and called it a day. But as he searched for a jumper to put over his shirt, nothing felt right. He couldn’t shake the thought that his mother would be noticing what he wore. That she would be studying it, appreciating it—touching it.
He dreaded the idea of wearing anything that could bring attention to his body. Dreaded accidentally giving his mother the wrong idea.
In the end, he settled on a baggy, plain beige jumper and dark grey trousers. When he looked in the mirror, his reflection unnerved him. He didn’t feel good about hiding his body. It reminded him of the days during and after Hogwarts when he’d felt self-conscious about his weight and the way his fat sat on him and shaped him. Back then, he always wore dull clothes a size too big for him, subconsciously hoping he’d disappear underneath them.
But, just for today, this would have to do. All there was to do was hope the Healers wouldn’t notice a change in him, at least.
His worries about his appearance soon left his mind when he was faced with the next challenge the day brought.
He always bought his mum a gift.
As he ran through his usual options—flowers of various kinds, chocolates, baked goods, stuffed toys, sometimes jewellery or clothes—he realised with growing unease that, though they were all perfectly normal things to gift one’s mother, they were also things one could give a romantic partner.
Looking back on all those gifts, his own innocence and obliviousness to what he was causing to unfold appalled him. The mere thought that he might’ve given her the wrong impression was suffocating.
And what could he even get her today? Certainly not any of those things. He wracked his brain trying to think of alternatives. A DVD? Maybe something decorative? Or a card? She couldn’t read by herself, but he, as well as the Healers who cared for her, often read to her. And even though there weren’t guarantees that she understood what was being read to her, she always paid very close attention. If he wrote her a card that was very clearly worded as being from a son to a mother, would that help her understand?
It was worth a shot. With his mind made up, Neville practically ran to the closest stationers’ in Muggle London and, after careful inspection, bought a cute, puppy-themed card that read, Mum, you’re the best! It was simple, concise, and clear. And, most importantly, it didn’t have any hearts on it—just cute paw prints in different colours.
Before leaving the shop, he stood to the side of the counter and borrowed a gel pen from the clerk. He preferred quills, but the Muggle contraption would have to do. Inside the card, he carefully wrote:
Thanks for being in my life, mum. I may be all grown up now, but you will always be my rock. Nothing can ever change that.
Your son,
Neville.
He re-read the message twice more before folding the card and tucking it carefully inside its envelope.
It would have to do.
Neville arrived at St Mungo’s feeling weirdly calmer than he had all week.
He could do this. He could face his mum. Sure, last Monday had been awful, and she’d been extremely confused about who Neville was. But she’d meant no harm, and the only reason things had escalated so much was that Neville had been completely oblivious to her intentions. He felt optimistic that, now that he knew what could happen, he’d be able to control the situation. All he had to do was to be completely clear with her at all times about the nature of their relationship, and her feelings for him would readjust accordingly.
Plus, there was a chance she wouldn’t even remember what she’d done last week. Who was to say? Maybe it had all just been a strange blip. She could’ve woken up in a strange mood. Perhaps her Healers had skipped a dose of her meds.
Maybe things could go back to normal. Maybe he could pretend nothing had happened.
Nervous though he was, Neville couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips when his mum saw him walk in and her entire face lit up.
“Hi, Mum,” he said, holding her close for only a moment when she walked into his arms. Then, coaxing her gently away, he handed her the card. “This is for you. I hope you like it. Do you want me to read it to you?”
She simply took it and sat on the sofa with it, inspecting it with a curious smile. Neville sat by her side, a prudent distance away, and silently asked for it back. When she handed it to him, he read it slowly and carefully. He glanced up every few words, wanting to make sure she was paying attention.
When he finished reading, he observed her carefully, looking for some semblance of understanding behind her eyes.
Her gaze, which had been trained on the card as he read, travelled up to his face, inquisitive.
“Did you understand it?” Neville asked, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she searched his face for something only she could understand.
With a sigh, Neville folded it and gave it to her.
“Well, I hope you like it, at least,” he said, more to himself than to her.
“Like,” she said with no hesitation, much to his surprise. She stood and placed it by her bedside table.
“I’m glad to hear that,” he said sincerely. He wished she would have acknowledged the words in the card, but this would have to be enough.
His mum walked back up to him. He followed her movements carefully, trying to read her body language, to have at least some idea of what she was making of his presence in her room.
He hated that he felt so on edge in her presence. And, frankly, it felt wrong to analyse his mum’s intentions like this. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was thinking ill of her when she truly didn’t deserve it. It wasn’t like what had happened the previous week had been her fault, after all. She would never do anything to intentionally hurt him. She was just struggling, and confused, and trying her best to make sense of the world around her after going through harrowing torture that had resulted in severe brain damage. Who could blame her for making mistakes?
She sat by Neville on the sofa, closer to him than she had previously been. He tried to scoot subtly away, but she shifted closer again, her thigh brushing his as their knees bumped.
Neville stood so fast the world spun for a moment.
“L-Let’s go outside,” he said quickly, hating how nervous he sounded. Hating that the thought of being touched by his own mum felt suddenly so scary.
Everything would be fine if they went outside. Outside there were people, and things to do and see, and air that could flow between them. Outside, he wouldn’t feel like he was going to die if his mum initiated any sort of physical contact with him.
She took his hand in hers, and he allowed it, but opened the door hastily.
“Going outside?” the Healer behind the counter asked with a smile.
“Yeah, thought we’d get some fresh air,” he said quickly, hoping to sound as normal as possible.
“Gotta take advantage of this weather, eh?” She laughed. “Well, have fun!”
“We will, thanks,” he smiled, cringing at the sound of his own voice.
As he walked away, he burned with shame.
What if she could tell something was amiss? What if she had noticed they were holding hands? Did they usually hold hands when they went on walks together? He had never even thought twice about it, except to inwardly celebrate that his mum wanted to be in physical contact with him.
And why did he feel so dirty for holding his mum’s hand back?
Though anxiety never quite stopped fluttering in his chest, as the morning went by, Neville eventually found himself breathing more and more easily. Just as he’d thought, being out in public had been exactly what they’d needed.
Before heading for lunch, they spent some time in a nearby park picking wild flowers together. He let her choose which flowers she wanted to pick, and talked about their scientific names and magical properties while she listened attentively.
Then, while he treated her to lunch at a restaurant a few streets down, he talked about everything that crossed his mind. At first, he did it out of a terrified sort of determination not to let things get weird between them. But, eventually, he became more and more convinced that things were truly back to normal. Sure, his mum reached out for him to hold her hand during dessert, but that was something they did often. It didn’t have to mean anything else.
They were fine. Everything was fine.
What had happened last week felt so far away it barely seemed real. He’d made such a big deal of it, and for what? It was clear they were okay. Something as silly as a quick kiss on the lips wasn’t nearly enough to break the relationship they’d built over a whole decade, and his whole life before that.
“It’s getting cloudy again,” he said conversationally when they stood, glancing out the restaurant window. “It might rain today after all. Let’s head back before that happens, shall we?”
She locked her arm with his in reply, and he let her. It was fine. That was what they always did. Plus, it wasn’t like her touch or her gaze had lingered weirdly on him at any point throughout the morning.
She guided them back toward the hospital, and Neville let her take the lead, pleased to see that she knew the way back. She walked at a fast pace, and didn’t slow down even after they entered the hospital, moving quickly through the corridors and up several sets of stairs, darting for her door as soon as it was within her line of sight, which took him off guard.
“Energetic today, are we?” the Healer laughed, and Neville gave her an apologetic look.
“Yeah, it seems like it,” he said as his mum tugged him inside the room and closed the door behind him.
Things had been going so well today, but now it was time to say goodbye. He couldn’t push his luck. He’d shown up, brought her a gift, acted normal in front of the hospital staff—and all of that was more than enough for one day. He’d have time to deal with everything else later.
Neville was bracing himself to say his quick goodbyes when his mum crowded him against the door.
Panic rose in his veins as she cupped his neck with her hands. And when she stood on her tiptoes and breathed hotly against his lips, he had to hold back tears.
“Mum, no,” he said firmly, holding her wrists and taking her hands off his neck. He was so disappointed in himself—so hurt. He’d truly wanted to believe this wouldn’t happen again. “This is wrong.”
She pulled slightly back. Just enough to look into his eyes. When he let go of her wrists, her hands fell to his waist, and he had to hold back tears of pure frustration. He loved his mum’s touch, and to have to reject it went against everything he knew. He couldn’t bring himself to move her hands away again.
“I’m your son,” he said earnestly, wishing she’d comprehend what that meant and step back on her own. “You’re my mum.”
She dropped a hand and held his in hers. Squeezed it, looking in his eyes.
“Hold,” she said with urgency.
“Yes,” Neville agreed. “I hold your hand because you’re my mum.” He was so close to tears, desperate for her to understand. “You’re my mum, and I love you, and I don’t want to lose you,” he said, pushing her further back and dislodging himself from between her body and the wall. “I’m just so scared. I-I just—” Angry tears rolled down his cheeks. “I just don’t want to lose you, but I don’t know how to do that.”
She stroked his arm and he shrugged her off. Undeterred, she rested her hand on his shoulder, and, fuck, he couldn’t refuse her touch again, didn’t want to refuse her touch again. It was all he’d ever craved. For so many years, all he’d wanted was for his mum to see him and want to keep looking his way, to touch him, to hold him. He remembered being alone in bed, first at his grandma’s house and then at Hogwarts when he was older, and just… wishing his mum was there. Wishing she was rocking him gently in her arms as he fell asleep. Wishing she’d read him a book, sing him a lullaby, kiss his forehead. Wishing to wake up in her warm embrace, lost in the safety of her scent and the strength of her arms.
She guided him back to the sofa, and, lost as he was in his own suffocating mass of grief, he let her, even though he knew he shouldn’t. He sat down heavily, wiping his eyes angrily with a hand. He didn’t move away when she settled by his side again, her leg flush against his own.
He just wanted his mum to love him.
Was that really too much to ask for? For his mum to show him she loved him when he felt so—so—?
“Scared?” she murmured, gently wiping away a tear that rolled down his cheek.
“Yes,” he admitted, even though he knew it was foolish to do so. She couldn’t be the mum he desperately needed her to be. She couldn’t tell him the words he so badly needed to hear. “Yes, I’m scared, Mum. I’m s-scared of losing you. I-I don’t know what to do.”
She rested her hand on his cheek. Caressed his jaw, his nape. Pet his hair as he cried, shushing him.
“I just want you to love me, Mum,” he confessed, feeling helpless beyond words. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“Love,” she murmured, and he sobbed, because she had never said that word to him before, and he had never expected her to even understand that word, and now her body was pressed so hotly against his, her lips practically brushing his cheek, and everything was wrong.
But everything was right, because she’d said she loved him.
His mum loved him.
She straddled his lap again, and he didn’t move. Couldn’t move. She cupped his cheeks and said again, “Love,” brushing away his fresh tears with her thumbs and angling his head back so he was looking up at her. Their eyes met, and she slid her arms around his shoulders. “Love.”
“You love me?” Neville asked, blinking past more and more tears that rolled freely down his face.
She pressed her forehead against his, and he closed his eyes.
“Love,” she murmured, and Neville shivered.
He didn’t open his eyes again. Not when she shifted, her forehead no longer pressed against his. Not when her breath ghosted against the corner of his mouth.
He didn’t move when her lips pressed against his in a small, tender kiss.
He didn’t breathe as she cupped the back of his head and nipped at his lower lip.
Silent tears rolled down his cheeks as he allowed her to taste him carefully, almost reverently. He shivered from her fingers tickling his scalp as she played absent-mindedly with his hair. And, when she deepened the kiss just slightly, Neville found his hands travelling to her waist, holding her there, feeling her warmth.
His mum loved him.
She was soft, and gentle, and caring, and she loved him. She didn’t want to let go. She wasn’t rejecting him.
She loved him.
He let his mouth fall slightly open, and, when the tip of their tongues brushed, he let a broken moan escape him.
This was so wrong. He was drowning in his mum’s taste, in the feeling of her hands exploring his neck and back, in the press of her body against his. He was shivering from it all. And although there was some lingering horror, a sense of guilt that threatened to suffocate him, that wasn’t the reason he was trembling in his mother’s arms.
She ended the kiss and Neville breathed roughly, arousal coursing through his veins. Her mouth travelled to his jaw, kissing and suckling at the soft flesh there, and he had the presence of mind to grab his wand and throw locking and muffling spells at the door before grabbing her hips and letting his eyes fall closed.
She was his mum. She was his mum and she was sucking a hickey into his skin, and he was so heady from it he feared he might faint.
When her hands found the hem of his jumper and slipped underneath, Neville shivered once again. Her skin felt so hot against his, her hands so sure as they kneaded the love handles at his hips. His own hands inched upwards of their own accord, dragging her blouse up with them, his pinkies skimming the skin of her lower back. His mum snapped her hips forward, and Neville gasped.
Oh, Merlin. Fuck.
He was hard.
“W-Wait,” he said, pushing at her shoulders to dislodge her from his abused neck. Her eyes didn’t meet his like he’d hoped, though, and instead travelled south.
When she saw the tent in his trousers, her wet, slightly open mouth pulled into a smirk.
She was flushed from kissing him, her hair slightly tousled and her pupils dilated.
Neville didn’t even want to think about how he himself must look like right now, but it couldn’t have been very different.
All coherent thought left his mind when his mum’s hands slid up to her blouse and began unbuttoning it from the top down.
His brain was hot, white static. His eyes were trained on every minute movement of her slender fingers as they caught on the fabric, on the pale skin underneath, on the white straps of her plain bra—
She was halfway done by the time Neville’s mind stopped spinning. He reached up to catch her wrists, saying, “Wait, Mum—”
She let go of the button and instead caught his hands in hers, guiding them under her open blouse to cup her breasts over her bra. Sparks exploded behind Neville’s eyes, his mouth going dry.
They were so small. They fit perfectly in the palms of his hands.
And her skin was hot, even through the fabric.
He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. He was about to burst, his trousers way too tight around his aching cock.
His mum wasn’t in the mood to be patient, though. Playfully, she guided his thumbs with her fingers and moved them in slow circles over where her nipples must’ve been. Sure enough, within just a few seconds, he could feel two small bumps harden under the thick cloth of her bra.
A small moan parted from her open mouth as she rocked slowly back and forth in his lap.
Neville thought he might die from it.
He wanted to stop. He did. This was wrong. This was his mum. His mum, who was currently holding his hands firmly against her breast, encouraging him to squeeze, and touch, and tease. His mum, rutting so slowly against his cock that he just might faint from it.
His mum, who had eyes for no one but him. Who wanted him, wanted to touch him, to drown in him. Who wanted to see and love all of him.
He had to put an end to this, but how could he say no to her? This was the closest he’d ever be to having everything he’d ever wanted.
“M-Mum,” he groaned brokenly.
She pressed her forehead against his and guided his hands under her bra.
Neville’s head fell back as he moaned, and it took every ounce of restraint left in his body to stop himself from coming.
Her skin was hot, and slightly sweaty, and her nipples were wonderfully hard around his fingers. He circled and tweaked them softly, his hips bucking up against her.
“Harder,” she keened as she pushed her chest against his hands. Fighting for breath, Neville pinched her nipples hard, making his mum wail in pleasure.
“Fuck,” he breathed hotly against her lips right before she captured his mouth in hers in a hot, wet kiss.
He was starkly aware of her hands leaving his wrists to sneak under his jumper and shirt. She grabbed his chest, too, first trailing her fingers over his chest hair and then cupping his own breasts and tweaking his nipples with her fingers. Neville panted hotly into the kiss, his keening sounds muffled against her searing mouth.
Too soon, she pulled back from the kiss and let go of his chest, sitting back just enough for her fingers to fiddle with the button of his trousers.
“Mm. Big,” she said approvingly as she unzipped his trousers and saw the shape of his hardness through his pants.
Neville was so close he feared he might combust. He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t even contemplate the idea of asking her to stop as she brought a hand to her mouth and pooled a copious amount of spit on her palm.
“Touch?” she asked.
Neville nodded urgently. “Y-Yes, yes,” he managed, mind completely blank, every single thought zeroed in on that wet hand that lingered just above his stomach.
Without hesitation, she snuck her hand under his pants and gave him a firm stroke.
Neville’s entire body jerked as he climaxed, coming all over himself as she wanked him swiftly through the most intense orgasm he ever remembered having.
He barely realised he’d been moaning loudly until his cries died down into whimpers, his whole body sagging against the sofa.
His mum gave him a few more strokes before letting go, and, for several seconds, all he could do was catch his breath under her satisfied watch.
Then reality came crashing back.
Fuck.
He’d—
He’d just dry-humped his mum.
His mum had just wanked him to orgasm.
Merlin, this was—this was fucked. He was fucked. This—This couldn’t even be legal. She was a chronic inpatient due to severe brain damage, for Merlin’s sake. She wasn’t capable of deciding—o-or even understanding—
His thoughts came to an abrupt halt when she tugged at his hand.
She’d unbuttoned her trousers while Neville was catching his breath, and, as she ushered his hand toward her crotch, Neville swallowed hard.
He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t, and now he was in his right mind he was pretty sure he didn’t want to. Except he didn’t pull away when she guided his hand under her knickers, nor when his palm cupped her hairy mound as she helped his fingers slip against her—oh, god, her sopping cunt.
He wasn’t stupid. He knew women got wet when they were aroused. But this— This was—
“In,” she urged him, pushing his fingers between her labia, the tip of his middle finger catching on her clenching entrance.
He shouldn’t. He couldn’t. Pathetic as it was, he didn’t even know how to touch a woman. He had no idea what he was doing.
Still, he allowed his finger to slip inside.
“ Fuck,” he cursed under his breath at how easily it went all the way in—at how drenched and hot she was, at the texture, at just how much this was.
She rocked against his finger, whining a low, “More,” as she tugged earnestly at his wrist.
“H-How many?” Neville stammered. “Two?”
She didn’t reply. He pulled out and pushed back in with his index and middle fingers, and she clamped down around him as he fucked her all the way to his third knuckle, the tips of his fingers coming into contact with a softer flesh deep inside her.
“More!” she cried out as she bucked her hips.
“More? Th-Three?!” Neville squealed. Was that—okay? Would three fit? They did in porn, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. He didn’t want to hurt her, didn’t know if that was what she meant, or if she just wanted him to move faster—
“More, more,” she repeated with a wild sort of desperation, and Neville inched a third finger in.
She wailed loudly, fucking his hand with wild abandon. Neville watched, mesmerised, as sweat rolled down her temple from the effort. And then he couldn’t keep watching, because she leaned down to kiss him again. As she fucked herself on his fingers in a frenzy, she moaned and panted into his open mouth, sucking on his tongue, their drool running down the corner of his mouth.
With a grunt, she buried her hand in his hair and guided his mouth to her neck, and Neville, unable to resist her grip on him, lapped wetly at her soft, sweaty skin, biting her gently before drawing a patch of flesh into his mouth and sucking.
“ Ahhhhh,” she howled, angling his wrist so he’d go deeper inside her squelching cunt before fucking his hand with wild abandon, her cunt making the most obscene noises he’d ever heard. Neville’s wrist was cramping badly, but he held strong as she let out a litany of “ Ah, ah, ahh—! ” and began to rhythmically spasm around his fingers, clenching down hard, coming.
When, after some moments, she dislodged herself from his hand, his fingers were sodden and sticky, and he couldn’t feel his wrist.
His mum plopped down on the couch by his side, breathless and looking utterly fucked out.
She was smiling. She looked more content than he had seen her in… well, in possibly forever.
Neville’s head was spinning.
He couldn’t help the feeling that the room smelled heavily of their sex.
He felt dirty. Perverse. He was disgusted by how much he’d enjoyed every second of that. Every second of… of sex with his mum. In a hospital room. The hospital room where she lived. Which was also now the place where he’d lost his sexual innocence. To his mum.
Merlin, how could he even walk out and look the Healers in the face now? They’d know. He just knew they’d see it in his face—smell it in his hand—sense it in his every move, hear it in his every word.
And, even if they somehow didn’t, they’d see it in her. In the blissed-out smile tugging at her lips, and the tousled state of her hair, and in the sound of her breathing and the laxity of her muscles.
Maybe that’d be for the best. If they found out. If they took him away. Maybe that’d be the best thing for her. Clearly, he wasn’t safe for her to be around. He couldn’t control himself. Couldn’t take care of her in the way that she needed. Couldn’t stop her from using him to hurt herself. Couldn’t keep her safe—
“Good,” his mum exhaled heavily by his side, eyes closed, her whole body sagged against the sofa, as though at complete and total ease. “Good.”
Neville suddenly wanted to cry again.
“No, Mum,” he said, shaken to the core, though he knew it was pointless. “Not good. This wasn’t—This shouldn’t have happened.”
She looked at him with a worried expression that tugged at his heartstrings.
She didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve to worry, didn’t deserve to fear that she’d hurt Neville, or that he hadn’t liked it. She didn’t understand… couldn’t understand what it was that actually bothered him, or why this wasn’t okay.
All she could understand was that she’d had a sexual encounter with a man she was attracted to, and she’d enjoyed it and thought it was good—but that guy was now saying that he hadn’t.
He wanted nothing more than to take her worry away.
“I… I liked it,” he said, feeling himself go red. He quickly tucked away his soft cock and zipped his trousers, sitting up to look at her. Merlin, her knickers and bra were still in full view under her open clothes. “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to think I didn’t. I was just… nervous,” he admitted. She listened intently, concern still coating her features. “This was my first time, you know? Doing anything… like that.” Gosh, he couldn’t believe he’d just admitted that out loud to his mum.
She sat up as well and took his hand in hers, trailing her fingertips over his knuckles.
Her touch was so soft.
Even after everything that had just happened, Neville didn’t want her to stop touching him.
“I just… I liked it, okay?” he breathed, throat going dry from pure embarrassment. “Don’t worry, Mum. Everything is okay.”
He couldn’t look at her, eyes trained on his shaky knees. His mum didn’t reply, but, a moment later, a hand on his cheek guided his face up and soft lips met his in a tender kiss.
After pulling back, she lingered close to him and smiled sweetly at him.
Shakily, Neville smiled back.
She was happy, and that was all that mattered. As long as she was happy, he could be, too.
She kissed him again, and he let her. He cupped her face gently and played with her soft hair.
“Okay,” he murmured when she pulled back to breathe. “I have to go soon. Let’s make ourselves presentable again, ’kay?”
She was so reluctant to let go of him, but eventually he coaxed her off of him. He walked into her small, individual bathroom and brushed his hair, splashing cold water on his face and neck to wash away the flush covering his overheated skin. He cast a straightening charm on his clothes for good measure, and checked his reflection half a dozen times to make sure there were no signs on him of what had just happened before walking out.
His mum was still on the sofa, with her trousers and blouse half unbuttoned and her hair a mess.
“Merlin—” He rushed toward her, in equal parts embarrassed and aroused by the sight. “Come on, mum, you need to get dressed.”
She just watched him in silence as he leaned close and buttoned her blouse carefully. When his fingers brushed the skin of her cleavage, Neville shivered at the same time as he heard her breath hitch. Then, as he moved down to button and zip her trousers, he had to swallow several times to stop his cock from stirring in his pants.
Neville hurried back to the bathroom and grabbed the hair brush, which he handed his mum while he put all the cushions back in place. He cast five different air-freshening and smell-cancelling charms before opening the windows to air the room.
Even when there was nothing left to do to erase all traces of their sex, Neville couldn’t shake the anxiety from his core.
“I… I have to go now,” he said, checking the time. “Mum, you… you can’t tell anyone what happened between us.” It didn’t matter that she didn’t have the words to tell anyone. He was still positively freaking out. “This has to be our secret. Okay?”
“Secret?” she asked. Her hands were back on his forearms, her eyes trained on his as they stood close to one another in the middle of the room.
“Yes, a secret. Nobody can know that we’ve kissed, or… anything else,” he said. She frowned in confusion, and he begrudgingly clarified, “No one can know we’ve touched each other sexually, do you understand?”
She mulled over his words, and then, after a second, nodded.
“Secret,” she repeated.
“Exactly.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead gently. “See you next week, okay?”
She squeezed his arms and held on to him as she matched his steps. She didn’t let go until he was a step away from the door.
He was about to open it when she said, “Love.”
He bit his lip.
Why was he suddenly about to cry?
“I love you too, Mum,” he murmured, and then scurried quickly out of the room before he could think himself into another anxiety attack.
There was no one behind the counter.
There were also no friends or acquaintances in the corridors. No one waiting for the lift. No one standing between him and the door, no one to accidentally push past in his rush to get out.
Neville noticed with a start that life had kept on going outside his mum’s hospital room. The world had kept on turning, unbeknownst to what Neville had just done.
It was almost as though the universe was trying to send a message. That no one was going to notice. That no one needed to know.
That it was okay.
That he deserved happiness.
Neville dreamed of his mum every night that week. Each morning, he woke up to damp sheets, to a raging erection—to the most obscene mental images. His mother’s breasts in his mouth. His face between her legs and her juices coating his lips. Her cheeks hollowing out around his cock.
He felt like a randy teenager all over again. Even worse, because as a teen, he’d had wet dreams once every few months, but now, it was constant and relentless. His body just could not get enough.
Neville wanted her. He wanted his mum. It was such a shameful, degenerate, and mortifying thing to admit to himself, but he couldn’t deny it anymore. He wanted his mum’s hands back on him, wanted her mouth back on him. He wanted her to suckle hickeys all over his body, and kiss him, and worship him, and hold him in her steady embrace.
He wanted her to tell him she loved him again, and he wanted her to show it.
And he wanted to show it, too. Wanted to map her whole body with his hands until he had loved every corner, every crevice, every last inch of her there was to love. He wanted her to feel it. To feel the immensity, the endlessness of his love for her.
Still, when Monday rolled around again, there was still a part of him that stubbornly wished it’d all go back to normal. That wished she’d forget what they’d done, wished she’d lay eyes on him and somehow, miraculously, see him as nothing but her son.
He dressed in his usual colourful clothes and checked that the necklace he’d bought her a few days prior—too impatient to wait for Monday morning to get her a gift—was still in his coat pocket.
When his fingers brushed against something plastic and squishy in his pocket alongside the ring box, he flushed.
He’d never carried condoms around before, and couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone would look at him and know what was in his pocket.
Still, he left them there and headed out, shaking with anxiety and an indecent sort of anticipation.
This time, when he sat down on the sofa and his mum immediately straddled his lap, Neville let her. He cast locking and silencing spells all over the room, and then he let her hands roam his chest as he placed the necklace around her neck, touching his fingertips to her cleavage to admire the sight. It was discreet: the small, silver outline of a heart, hanging from a simple silver chain. It fell perfectly in the dip between her small breasts.
“It’s a heart,” he explained to her as she snaked her hands under his jumper and shirt and pulled them off over his head. “B-Because I love you,” he added breathlessly as she cupped his soft chest in her hands and tweaked his nipples with her fingers, squeezing them slightly.
“Love,” she echoed, smiling as he, too, removed her shirt and tossed it on the floor before letting his hands rest on her breasts over her bra.
She leaned down and captured his lips in a slow, unhurried kiss. Neville savoured her, delighting in her taste. It was sweet, and warm, and, much like her personal scent, it reminded him of his childhood—of home. Even if he’d never lived with her, even if she’d never raised him, he’d always considered her home.
He trailed his hands up and down her sides, loving the warmth of her skin, and she hummed contentedly. When his fingers bumped against the strap of his mum’s bra, he hesitated only for a moment before attempting to take it off, which proved to be much harder than he had expected.
With a chuckle, she pulled back from the kiss and undid it herself.
At the sight of her bare breasts, decorated only by the glistening necklace, Neville’s mouth watered.
Her nipples were only slightly hard. They were dark around the edges and a softer, pink hue on the nubs. They were framed by a few dark hairs, and, even though her breasts had slightly sagged, they were still quite perky for a witch of her age.
Mesmerised as he was by her beauty, he forgot he was supposed to do something until his mum fisted the hair at the back of his head and urged him down, pushing her chest against his face.
It was all the encouragement he needed to take one of her nipples in his mouth. She sighed, humping his legs slightly.
He had no idea what to do, but he was determined to make her feel good, and so he wet the bud with his tongue and suckled gently on it.
She guided his hand to her other nipple, and he tweaked it between two fingers. She reacted with another, small sigh that had Neville feeling slightly insecure. He had no idea if he was doing this right.
Just when he was starting to panic, the fist around his hair clenched, and she murmured, “Lick.”
Oh. Right.
With his lips still around his mum’s nipple, he poked his tongue out and flicked the small bud with the tip of it. Her breath hitched with a small groan, and her free hand fell on his shoulder for support. Encouraged, he repeated the motion, flicking his tongue in quick, small motions while squeezing her other nipple between his fingers.
Her head fell back with a moan that travelled right to Neville’s straining cock. He kept on licking her enthusiastically, and when she guided his mouth to her other nipple, he repeated the motion until his mum’s hips were practically flying back and forth across his lap.
He wondered if she was wet down there. If she was desperate for him, just like last time. Merlin, he wanted to touch her, to pleasure her and make her come. But he wanted to do it properly this time. None of the awkward, nervous touching from the previous week.
Dislodging himself from her breasts, he helped her off his lap and into a standing position. Before she had time to wonder what he was planning, he unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, pulling them down harshly. She stepped out of them, and Neville pressed two fingers against her cunt through her knickers.
They were drenched. She was drenched. For him.
“Merlin, I love you,” he gasped, and stood, manoeuvring her onto the sofa so that she was sitting on it with her legs sprawled open. He knelt between her legs and pulled her knickers down, eyes flying to the prize underneath.
At the sight of her, his mouth watered.
He’d seen cunts up close before, but only in porn, and those were always so… curated. So hairless, and pink, and dainty, like a toy designed for men’s pleasure. Even though he was very much attracted to women, they’d never really piqued his interest.
His mum’s cunt was nothing like that. She had a thick bush, and dark labia surrounding wet, pink skin. Fuck, and she had a strong, musky scent that threatened to send him into a frenzy.
This was what a real, aroused woman looked like.
Neville wanted to devour her.
“Tell me what to do,” he said, parting her knees further and moving closer. “Okay? Help me know what you like.”
In reply, his mum buried her hand in his hair and urged him forward. He gladly complied, and, without hesitation, lapped at her cunt from the bottom all the way to the top.
He barely heard her needy wail over the moan that escaped him when her taste flooded his mouth. It was so much. It was nothing like he’d expected, and yet it was simultaneously everything he’d ever wanted.
His mum bucked her hips and pressed his head down, fucking herself on his face. With a groan, Neville licked all of her again, marvelling at the soft texture of her entrance, at how it contrasted with the roughness of her bush against his nose and face.
When he pushed the tip of his tongue inside her searing hole, his mum keened and cried out, but those sounds were nothing compared to the ones that fell from her lips when he moved up to her clit and, without thinking, flicked it quickly with his tongue the way he’d done with her nipples. At that, an endless string of obscene, broken sobs fell from her lips.
Delighted, Neville kept at it until his tongue was beginning to cramp. His mum whimpered and moaned, bucking into his mouth, practically bent in half over him. Her grip on his hair was so tight it hurt, and Neville was drunk from it—was going wild with it. He wanted to make her come undone just like this.
However, before he had a chance to try, she suddenly pulled away, holding his head a few inches away from her sopping cunt as she caught her breath.
He huffed, too, and the cool air of the room made him starkly aware of just how wet his face was with spit and with his mum’s juices. He looked up at her, trying to make sense of why she’d pushed him off. Had she come without him noticing? Had he overstimulated her? Had she changed her mind?
He was about to ask when she suddenly urged him into a standing position between her spread legs. The next second, her hands were on his fly, undoing it and pushing down his trousers and pants.
“M-Mum—” was all he had time to utter before her lips closed around his cock and she took most of him into her mouth.
“A-Ahhhhhhhh !”
He was going to come. Fuck, he was going to come down his mother’s throat. Or so he thought. Just as fast as she’d taken him in her mouth, she let go, leaving him twitching pathetically in front of her face, so close to orgasm he feared he might pass out.
He looked down at her, and, fuck, she looked completely obscene. Her hair was a mess, her pupils dilated, and her legs were spread wide open, with one of her hands teasing her own clit absent-mindedly as the other held his twitching cock at the base.
She was the most beautiful sight Neville had ever seen.
“In,” she said, and, as if to clarify, she spread her labia with two fingers.
Neville almost came right into her hand.
He managed to control himself, though, and instead stepped out of his trousers and ran for his coat pocket. He retrieved a condom from it and walked back to his mum, who watched curiously from the sofa, two fingers sinking in her cunt to the second knuckle.
His fingers were so shaky as he opened the condom that he almost dropped it.
“Fuck,” he muttered as he tossed aside the wrapper and inspected the condom. He realised with mounting embarrassment that he had no idea which side was up.
Sensing his confusion, his mum bit her lip and, with a smile, took the condom from him. She pinched the tip of it between two fingers and slid it on all the way to the hilt with practised ease.
Then, she looked up at him expectantly.
Neville licked his lips. He was aroused beyond words, and he… he felt ready. He wanted to go all the way with his mum. To go where no man should ever go. He wanted to give his mother his virginity, to give her all of him.
But the logistics were beyond him. Should he crawl atop her on the sofa? He didn’t know if they’d fit, or how he’d even—well, put it in. Maybe he could take her to her bed instead? No, that was a terrible idea—the Healers would surely notice if the bed was all of a sudden made differently.
Sensing his indecision, his mum stood and, reaching up, pressed down on his shoulders, guiding him onto the sofa. He plopped down, letting her take the lead. She climbed on top of him again, and, catching his hands in hers, she put them on her waist. Then, she grabbed his cock at the base and crawled closer on her knees.
Before Neville had a chance to catch his breath or process what she was about to do, she pressed his cockhead against her entrance and sank.
Neville moaned long and high as his mother engulfed him. He didn’t even have time to catch his breath before she gripped his shoulders, dug her fingers into his skin, and rode him.
“M-Mum, ahhh, MUM—”
Unthinking, he grabbed her roughly by the hips and urged her to move faster. She groaned, riding him wild wild abandon. She leaned down and their mouths clashed together, teeth clanking and tongues coiling as hot puffs of air got lost between them.
He was so close. He was so close. Fuck. This was everything he’d ever wanted. His mum’s hands on him, her whole attention on him. Her whole world reduced to him the same way his was to her. Wholly breaking apart in her arms while knowing that she would accept all the pieces and put him back together.
“Mmmh. Mum,” he gasped against her open mouth. “I love you, I—I love you—”
She was riding him so fast, but it wasn’t enough. He needed to move. With a grunt, Neville lifted his mum off him with both arms and flipped her over, laying her across the sofa with her head on the armrest. He’d slipped out of her, and, slumped messily atop her, he grasped his cock and pressed back inside her.
Then, pressed flush against her with one knee on the sofa and the other on the floor, Neville fucked her.
She sobbed into his mouth, spreading her legs and meeting his every thrust.
Neville cried out in pleasure. He couldn’t fathom why he had ever tried to resist this. The idea seemed ludicrous now, with the way his mum was engulfing him so beautifully, clenching and squelching loudly around his full length.
Wasn’t this everything he’d ever wanted? To trust his mum with his whole body and soul? To be her everything, the centre around which her world spun? To make her happy?
All of a sudden, even through his blinding arousal, he could taste his salty tears in their sloppy kiss.
He was the happiest he’d ever been.
His mum shivered and came, her legs circling his waist and her hips bucking up as she spasmed rhythmically around his whole length. He swallowed every single one of her moans, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks, and slowed down the pace so as not to overstimulate her as he kept on fucking her, chasing his own release.
When she came down from her orgasm, she silently encouraged him to keep fucking her, her hands roaming every corner of his body he could reach, her lips nipping playfully at his open mouth. She grabbed at his love handles, buried her fingers between his double tummy, squeezed his soft breasts, ran her hands up and down his broad back. All through it, Neville gasped and whimpered into her mouth, trembling with it, crying silently from it.
He was still fucking her slowly, tenderly, when pleasure overtook him. Neville went completely still as he came, and his mum held his shivering body close. She pushed her hips up so his twitching cock was buried in her to the hilt, and she carefully swallowed every sound that left his mouth as he shot his load inside her.
By the time he came down from his orgasm, their mouths were still slotted together and his mum was kissing him leisurely, her tongue brushing his, her lips suckling on his lightly.
When he began to soften, he slipped out of her, but remained on top of her, too tired to move. He should’ve been too heavy for her to be comfortable underneath him, but she didn’t seem to mind, and in fact coaxed his head down so his cheek was resting on her chest.
Neville lazily removed the condom and grabbed his wand from the floor to vanish it.
Then, when his mum buried her hand in his hair and played lightly with it, he allowed himself to close his eyes and let out a heavy sigh.
Her skin was so warm. Her heartbeat was quick and steady against his ear. Her hands were soft and loving on his fucked-out body.
He was safe in her arms.
He was completely, unequivocally loved by her.
And, yes, some part of him was starkly aware of how wrong this was. And he knew that, should she ever change her mind and see him only as a son, he would respect it. But, for as long as she wanted him in this way, he would want her back.
Even if he could never tell anyone. Even if it made him a monster. Hell, even if it damned his soul. He knew now that he would never reject any kind of love his mum was willing to give him.
He was all hers. He had always been, and he would always be.
And, when his eyes blinked blearily open and he caught sight of the heart necklace resting against her heart, he knew that she was his, too.
Hopefully, she always would be.