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Dark red, dark enough to be mistaken for black when the lights in the study burned low, the ruby-filled pendant sat heavily in the middle of Neville's palm.
Daphne stood at the window overlooking the path leading to the front gates of the Longbottom properties. Where many purebloods boasted rolling hills and topiary, Neville had filled each space with expansive gardens and pools, greenhouses instead of gazebos, and little lanterns dotted the swath Daphne could make out to light the rock paths painstakingly built by the man himself. It had been so many years since she'd come to the estate and visited the man on the other side of the room. She itched to inspect the world below her in more detail but her feet stayed rooted to the carpet, her black boots clicking beneath her robes as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other, unfolding and folding her arms over and over again.
"You're sure you don't want me to call Theo for this?" Neville asked without looking up from the stone in his gloved hand.
Daphne breathed out heavily. "He's deep enough in it as it is, we need more hands on for this one."
Her impatience getting the better of her, she strode over to loom above Neville as he inspected the long silver chain looped through the clasp at the top of the charm. The badge on her hip rattled a bit as she moved, the belt full of weapons and tools heavy, but not nearly as heavy as the coil of dread nesting in her stomach.
Neville gently placed the ruby, inscriptions with fine lines of script too blurred without a magnifying glass, back onto the silk purse Daphne had used to carry it. He took his glasses off the bridge of his nose, folding them into his breast pocket, and scrubbing his eyes with his palms for a moment before saying, "Daphne, sit, this will take a moment."
Leather and heavy cotton rustled loudly as she folded herself onto the couch between Neville's desk and the roaring fireplace. A large jar of Floo powder sat on top of the mantle next to a line of finely cut brandy glasses, and she caught herself wondering if Hogwarts gave Neville a stipend for the substance or if he grew the plant to powder himself. With one of the largest rosters of children the school had seen in centuries, some of the younger teachers happily opted to live at home and Floo in for breakfast each day, allowing the dormitories to be expanded and give the limited professor's quarters to the more tenured employees. Neville's muddy gardening boots, dragonhide by the way they glittered, stood next to the stone grate as if it were a porch outside of a home, and the scent of the different soils mingled in Daphne's nose, reminding her of fall days repotting plants several decades before.
"Has Sprout decided to retire yet?"
"Heavens, no!" Neville laughed, rustling around a table covered in books of pressed flowers and several bouquets in Waterford vases balanced at the edges. He licked his fingers to make flipping through the pages easier. "She's holding onto that post like mad, but really, until McGonagall takes on an Herbology apprentice for me next year, there are too many students for just one professor in each main subject. Gets easier after the kids pass their OWLs, and can split up to Draco's Alchemy classes or choose more distinct disciplines in Defense...ah! Here!"
Daphne stood at his exclamation, her feet landing against the carpet with muffled thuds, and her robes arcing out almost to brush the iron gate around the fire as she rushed to his side.
The page was filled with sketches of crossed stems and leaves that frankly she did not understand, as less living artifacts were her specialty in the Auror Office as a Curse Breaking Specialist. Still, her eyes traced along with Neville's index finger as he scanned each line, muttering the notes under his breath.
Their shoulders nearly touched as she leaned around him, his taller stature bent over the book he held reverently.
"This is a cross strain of venomous tentacula and murtlap. It started as someone's Mastery project, combining the deadly poison of the first with the healing properties of the second, and it created this monstrous plant, called The Dreaded Fall, because of how it grows in a rope like pattern and...anyway, point is, that pendant can be neutralized with the stewed leaves of this plant."
"And you have it, right?" she asked, leaning her upper body until it pressed against Neville's arm.
"Daphne, the only reports I have of this ever germinating successfully are rumors from the Department of Mysteries."
She swallowed thickly, her trachea hitting his shoulder as she did, eyes widening at the implication of his words. "You're saying-"
Neville spun, setting the book down gently so he could use both hands to grasp her forearms. Keeping her gaze on his, emphasizing his sincerity with a heavy brow and frown, he sighed, pulling her into his embrace. "You've been gone on the continent for a few years. Someone must have gotten ahold of something they shouldn't have, and now they're cursing objects previously cleansed." He paused, and in the silence their breathing synced to one rhythm. "And they're targeting the artifacts you've handled."
Holding her away at arms' length again, Neville regarded her with open concern, pleading, "Tell Theo? Please?"
The coil in her stomach spun tighter and she felt herself losing control, this final straw threatening to tear down the resolve she'd constructed over years of curse breaking, but the heat of his hands on her arms calmed her enough to nod weakly. Regret joined the coil of dread, and she wished she'd come to visit Neville sooner, instead of letting her pride control her actions, realizing it was easier to fold into his arms again than she could have imagined. Years of memories nearly forgotten swirled through her mind as she mumbled against his chest, "First thing in the morning. I promise."