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    “Due to the recent news of Ron Weasley’s

engagement to Hermione Granger, we can

 no longer consider our former winner as

 a possibility, ladies. Add this to the marriage

 of Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley last

month and we must mourn the loss of

 any members of the “Golden Trio” topping

Witch Weekly’s Most Eligible Bachelor

charts this year. But, don’t be too disappointed,

 because we are pleased to announce that-”


Hannah took another sip of her tea then turned the page.

“-Neville Longbottom, snake killer and Herbology

Heartthrob, is this year’s winner!”


Hannah made a loud snorting and choking sound, half out of amusement, and half out of surprise, causing to spurt out her previous sip.

“Neville Longbottom,” she said under her breath, as if saying it aloud would make it any less –well, weird. “Neville Longbottom, Most Eligible Bachelor.” It didn’t.

“Neville?” she called into the other room. “Have you read this week’s Witch Weekly?”

“What?” he said, leaning his head around the doorway.

Hannah sat up properly from her position in the corner of the sofa to look at her boyfriend. From his expression, she could tell she had asked the wrong question.

“Why, in the name of Merlin, would I read Witch Weekly?”

He stepped out from the bathroom and into the open, wearing nothing but a pair of trousers.

“Last time I checked, I was a wizard.” He looked down at his chest, examining it, and then looked back up at Hannah. “yep, definitely a wizard.”

Hannah giggled and raised an eyebrow.

“Alright, smarty-pants. Just read this article.” Hannah held out the magazine and Neville took it, sitting down next to her.

Neville started to read and Hannah reached out for his spare hand, tangling her fingers with his. Slowly, she leant closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder; his skin was warm and soft and familiar.

“You’re incredibly distracting you know. I don’t know how you expect me to concentrate.”

Hannah sighed and apologised for him having the attention span of a goldfish, but did not move.

“Have you read it yet?”

“Yes.” Neville replied, then burst into a large, smug, grin that he felt was unnecessary to contain. Ron was unbearable last year when he won, and would boast about his victory constantly, but this time, Neville thought, it was his turn to boast.

“I am this year’s Most Eligible Bachelor, and a heartthrob, apparently.”

Hannah narrowed her eyes. Hearing Neville say the words had made her suddenly aware of their meaning. Eligible: suitable. Bachelor: available. Witch Weekly was effectively telling women that Neville was attainable and that they should seek his affections. Hannah was then inhibited by the satisfying vision of running after any women that made an advance on Neville with a pitchfork.

“But you’re not an eligible bachelor. You have a girlfriend- I’m your girlfriend-”

Ah. The jealous streak. Up until now, Neville wasn’t sure Hannah had one.

“I love you Neville, and I’m not having some woman thinking she can get lucky-oh”

Neville had cut her off with a kiss. Their lips brushed together, lingering for only a second, but Hannah was immediately comforted. He rested his forehead against hers and looked deep into her eyes.

“No girl is going to get lucky except you, Hannah. You’re the only one I want.”

They stayed like that for a moment, just looking into each other’s eyes. Hannah loved Neville’s eyes, they were fantastically blue, like the sky, or the sea, or the mesmerising lights of a Patronus charm. His eyes were Hannah’s favourite physical feature (though his toned chest was an added bonus, she had to admit).



“Can I ask you something?”

Hannah’s heart skipped a beat. His voice was serious and sincere. Was he about to ask The Question? Hannah had thought about The Question, and its answer. Was he going to- was this it- was she about to become Mrs-?

“Do you, in your honest opinion, think I’m a heartthrob?”

The anticipation in Hannah lifted, and she laughed, going to swat him with the magazine. “I’m not sure I should answer that, I don’t want to make you too big-headed.”

Neville gasped in mock offence.

“Me? Big-headed? How rude.”

Hannah smirked. “I love you too, honey”

Neville stood up with a sleepy yawn. “I’m so tired.”

“Funny, I’m not tired at all.” Said Hannah brightly, downing the rest of her tea.

“Because you only just got up.” He yawned again. “I’ve been at work all day, and now I’ll probably be up all night. Ron is going to be full of energy.” He groaned. If Ron wasn’t tired, then no-one else was allowed to be tired either.

“So he should be. He just got engaged.” Hannah reasoned, and went to the bathroom to do her hair for work. She was on nights that week, and always found it strange to go to work in the dark and come home in the light, instead of the other way around as she was used to. But she also enjoyed it, something about St Mungos at night made it more exciting.

“What time are you going downstairs?” She called to him. “Or are you going to Hogsmeade tonight?”

Hannah saw in the mirror that Neville had followed her into the bathroom.

“Nine, and yeah, downstairs.”

Neville stretched, giving Hannah a full view of his chest in the mirror. As always, her eyes focused on the thin white scar that went from near his shoulder and down in a diagonal to the middle of his chest. She hated that scar, it was her fault he had it. Hannah knew he had taken Snape’s curse for her on the day of the “Great Escape,” and it was hell knowing that all the pain and the lifelong mark was never meant for him.

Neville reached up for his shirt that hung on a hanger behind the door and started putting it on.

The words left Hannah’s mouth before she could stop them.

“Oh. I like it when you-”

Hannah hesitated when she realised what she had said, but then thought to herself “What the heck?” and felt confident in continuing.

“I like it when you have your shirt off.”

Neville looked slightly taken aback, and looked at his shirt for a moment, contemplating whether his desire to keep warm was greater than the satisfaction of Hannah inadvertently answering “yes” to his earlier question. 

He put his shirt back on the hanger. It was only half eight, and the Leaky Cauldron was only downstairs after all.

“Fine, but I’m risking feeling a little chilly because of you, so I deserve some form of compensation.” He said cheekily, with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Hannah rolled her eyes at him. “Very well,” she whispered, and stepped over to him. He watched her intently as she stopped only a centimetre away. Hannah rose up onto her tiptoes, used a hand to gently pull his head down, and kissed him. His soft lips tasted of butter beer, as they always did, and ever so faintly of toothpaste. Kissing him was one of Hannah’s favourite pastimes; it was like creating their own special magic, just between the two of them.

Hannah became aware of Neville’s hand on her back and another in her hair. Neville stroked her hair every time they kissed, without fail. Hannah couldn’t quite understand his obsession with it, to her it was just a blonde tangle, but when she dared suggest cutting it, Neville almost had a fit. Hannah’s lips formed a small smile against Neville’s as she thought about how Neville reacted every time she brought the subject up (if she was honest, she often did it just to mew with him).

They eventually broke apart, and Hannah was sure she heard Neville say a little “wow” as he caught his breath.

Neville saw Hannah’s eyes sparkle; she knew what a kiss like that did to him.

“Well, I was just hoping for a chocolate frog or something, but that – that works – better, in fact.”

Hannah smiled widely. “I’m glad you think so.”

She kept smiling as she pulled on her healer robes and grabbed her wand and bag.

“Have a good night, and don’t let Ron get you too drunk!” she waved.

Neville laughed, “I’ll try not to!” He called, and watched Hannah disapperate. He stood and stared at the space Hannah had just been for a moment, still slightly dazed and dizzy, his lips still tingling from Hannah’s kiss.

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