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Hermione felt she had returned right back to where she had started: at Hogwarts. Not that she considered it a failure. She loved teaching and enjoyed the company of her few colleagues, but she barely saw Harry and Ron anymore and missed them dearly, although she had her own hands full as a newly-minted teacher. In fact, she had a pile of essays to grade, so she headed to her office. However, all thought of grading flew out the window upon seeing a beautiful bouquet sitting in the middle of her desk. She had no clue what they were, but the large red and gold flowers screamed Gryffindor, so she took an immediate liking to them. No card, though. Strange. It wasn't her birthday, and she couldn't fathom who might have sent them. She called a house-elf, but they had not made the delivery either. Someone from the castle then? Or maybe the flowers had been sent to the wrong office… Hermione nodded. In her mind, that made much more sense. She couldn't even recall the last time she had received flowers, so she went in search of their rightful owner.
An hour later, she had to admit defeat, and decided she would guiltily enjoy the bouquet herself. However, upon opening her door, she was startled to see her office already occupied. In an instant, wand in hand, she was ready to hex the hell out of the intruder, but she was shaking too as flashbacks of the war set in, her muscle memory and reflexes stronger than her own sharp mind.
"Hermione, it's just me," Neville soothed, as he laid his hand on the end of her wand, lowering it gently, not the least bit afraid she would curse him.
Hermione blinked, drew in a shuddering breath, then tried to laugh off her ridiculous overreaction, but it sounded more like a strangled sob. She wanted to cry, scream and rage! Why was she still wired like this? Years after the war? Why couldn't she be normal? Like… like Neville!
"Shhh, it's alright," Neville said as he took a step closer, his hands on her upper arms a comforting anchor to reality.
"It's not. It's really not. I could have… Oh Merlin! What if you had been a student?!"
Hermione felt even worse because she could have seriously scared a student.
"No hex, no foul," he insisted. "The only thing you're guilty of is being quick on the draw."
Hermione smiled despite herself. Neville always knew how to cheer her up, a constant support throughout the days, although he wasn't usually lurking in her office…
"Why are you here by the way? Were you looking for me?" she asked.
Neville's hands dropped, and he began fiddling with a piece of parchment he had been holding onto. Gazing up at him, his cheeks bloomed red, a damnable blush he had never managed to get rid off since they were kids, and which she knew very well the meaning of.
"What are you hiding?" she insisted.
It wasn't like him to be sneaky and secretive. At least, not with her, and the thought he might be hiding something from her was like a sharp dagger right in her chest. Finally, he sighed, shoulders drooping.
"I couldn't even do this one thing right," he mumbled before slipping the parchment between the flowers.
Hermione's eyes grew wide as realisation dawned. Of course! She should have known such unique flowers could only come from their resident herbologist. Honestly, what a dunderhead she could be sometimes. But… why? Why was he offering her flowers? And what did he mean by doing things right? She hesitated, looking from the mysterious card to her old friend, gauging which one would give her answers more rapidly.
"May I?" she asked, gesturing at the flowers.
"They're yours," Neville said, stepping aside so she could reach the bouquet.
Hermione plucked the card from the flowers, heart beating fast and hard as she turned it over:
Dearest Hermione,
I have created these flowers just for you,
And named them after the brightest, bravest, and kindest witch I have ever known.
With all my love,
Neville.
"I'm not so good at writing this kind of stuff," Neville confessed when the silence stretched for too long between them.
"I just… need a minute," Hermione explained, her mind painfully slow and jumbled.
However, Neville took it as a rejection and turned away, already reaching for the door handle. Instinctively, Hermione grabbed his hand to stop him, but Neville had grown so tall and strong, she might as well try stopping the Hogwarts Express, and she stumbled into his back instead. Hermione laughed. The whole situation was so ridiculous… Here was Neville, the most caring and considerate wizard she knew, making a romantic gesture of such epic proportions it had sent her into shock, and he thought she was rejecting him . Was he mad ? Granted, she had never let her heart wander down this path out of fear of rejection, of losing his friendship, but if Neville's heart was so bold as to meet her all the way, she would be a fool not to embrace it.
"You did all that just for me?" she asked.
He turned around to face her once more and nodded.
"You created a whole new species of flowers… just for me?"
"And named them after you," he added, his lips quirking upwards, eyes alight with rekindled hope before he looked away. "Then forgot the card. I spent half the night figuring out what to write so you'd understand how I… How I feel, and then I went and forgot it."
Her heart was bursting with fondness and, yes, maybe love had been there all along too. Neville might have become this fearsome rebel warrior during the war, but he was still the sweet, forgetful wizard she had met on the train all those years ago, her very first friend.
"It's perfect," Hermione replied. "I wouldn't have you any other way."