average human’s Reviews > Dirty, Flirty, and Vindictive > Status Update

Charlie had been the last to arrive—after dinner—as the rest of them milled about the courtyard while Pansy double-checked the lighting. Charlie had shaken Narcissa’s hand as Nott introduced them on the stone terrace—Nott’s head ducked, his darkly lashed eyes pensive—and then Narcissa had smiled and touched Nott’s arm, and Nott had straightened, beaming.

Narcissa had said her goodnights, Nott escorting her in, and Charlie had been all grins as he’d bounded down the steps and sauntered toward Neville on the pea gravel. “Longbottom!” He’d tossed his loose curls back from his freckled face as he’d taken Neville’s hand. “Good to see you, mate.”

Neville had caught Hermione’s creased brow as he’d turned with Charlie.

“Hiya, Hermione.” Charlie had jerked his chin, an edge to his voice as he said, “Malfoy.”

“Weasley,” Malfoy had said, unsmiling.

“Oh, and Pansy!” Charlie had been grinning again as he’d bent to kiss her cheek, though—as far as Neville knew—their only interaction had been Pansy scolding him at the St. Mungo’s ball. Charlie had straightened and looked around. “Right,” he’d said brightly. “Should we do a fire?”

Nott had been back then, and Charlie had glanced over and said, “Hiya, sweetheart,” right as Nott threw his arms around him.

Malfoy had watched them collide and said, “We’re going to need more alcohol.”

Now Neville was buzzed on very expensive red wine and whiskey, his back cold and his front hot from the fire—which was significantly larger than was reasonable for a first-time houseguest to build, but Charlie didn’t seem worried. He was lounged on a little green folding chair, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, a glass of wine in his hand. Every time he looked at Nott, he looked delighted by him.

Nott was telling a story about Charlie’s llama—Nott and the llama were in an on-going dispute. Nott claimed the llama had it out for him. Charlie said Nott was antagonizing the llama. Nott had jumped up from his chair to act out the llama’s role in their encounters, his hands held up on either side of his head as ears that folded back in displeasure. “And then he spits on me!”

“You have to approach with good will!”

“After I’ve been spat upon?”

Charlie was laughing. “You have to be patient—”

“I approach with ill will, sir! With bad faith!”

“Don’t bring me into this,” said Malfoy.

“Oh, I am! I am! You’re going to come out and you’re going to ride the llama, Dray—”

Hermione was trying not to laugh.

Nott had dropped onto his chair and thrown his arm around Charlie’s neck. He was leaning forward. “You’re going to ride the llama and it’s going to spit on you, and you’re going to see why we’re enemies—”

“Why would I ride the llama? That’s why it hates you—”

“I know where this is going,” said Hermione.

“You have a dirty mind, Mrs. Malfoy. I wasn’t going to say anything about riding Dray like a pack animal—”

Malfoy’s eyes had narrowed. “Come here and I’ll spit on you—”

“In my mouth?”

“And there it is,” said Hermione.

Charlie was grinning as Nott turned to him, their faces close together. “You’ll spit on me, won’t you?” murmured Nott.

“Sure,” said Charlie. “If we run out of other things to do.”

Nott’s smile went wider, and then Nott was kissing him.

Pansy sighed wistfully.

Neville looked at her, eyebrow raised.

“You’ll—”

“No,” said Neville.

She was giving him her evil little grin.

Charlie and Nott were still kissing. Charlie hadn’t moved, just tilted his head. He was slouched in tight trousers, the wineglass loose in his hand. Nott had leaned over him—the heel of his hand on the far edge of Charlie’s seat. Charlie’s free hand went to his head—

Nott shifted, his foot pushing against the pea gravel—

The flimsy folding chair tipped—

Hermione gasped—

They went crashing down, overbalanced. Charlie whooped. Nott was laughing. They were rolling on the gravel, the spilled wineglass forgotten. Nott was shrieking, “No! I’m ticklish!” Charlie made him shriek some more.

“Noooo!” howled Nott.

Malfoy groaned. “Imperturb your room, Nott! I don’t want to listen to this all night.”

“It’s going to get loud—”

“My mother lives here—”

“Are we together, then?” Charlie was flat on his back. Nott had him pinned. “Or are you breaking into my room.”

“I do like forced entry,” said Nott.

Charlie was grinning as Nott kissed him.

At dinner, Narcissa had looked to Nott, seated on her left, and said lightly, “Theodore, dear, when your friend gets here, shall I put him in your room? So you two can catch up?” And Nott’s mouth had twisted as he’d gone silent and then said only, “Would you?”

Now Nott was braced above Charlie, gazing down on him. “Cissy knows locks can’t keep me away from you,” he said, and Neville looked away. It felt like he was violating Nott’s privacy, seeing his face like that.

Nott had flirted with Narcissa all through dinner—shamelessly, boyishly, as though he only wanted her attention. Then Narcissa had asked about Nott’s job, and Neville had realized Nott must write to her. Did he send her little updates—hoping for her praise? She’d said, “And have you reached rapprochement with your nemesis?” and Nott had sighed theatrically, fingering his salad fork. “No. I will be dueling at dawn with Janice from Accounting—”

“Janice from Accounting!” Hermione had jolted forward. “If she needs my expense report in triplicate, why can’t she geminio it instead of wasting a day sending it back—”

“She wants a written receipt for an oral troll toll,” Nott had said, swinging his head toward Hermione. “I explained oral, and now I’ve been written up—”

“Why were you in troll territory?”

“I can’t tell you, can I?” he’d sung out, thrilled as the rest of the table groaned.

Narcissa had patted his arm. “I think working has been good for you, dear. Hermione was right to encourage you to apply.”

Neville had watched as both Nott and Hermione straightened in their chairs. Then Narcissa had asked Hermione how she was finding International Magic, and Hermione had looked to Pansy and said, “It’s been a good move for me. Pansy was right to suggest it—”

Malfoy’s mouth had opened—

“—and Draco helped too.”

He’d huffed, mollified. Pansy had been smirking.

Narcissa had said, “I hope you’re not getting too involved, dear,” and Malfoy had said, “Of course not, Mum.”

Then Narcissa had asked Hermione about her latest legislation, and Neville had wondered just how much Malfoy told Narcissa and how often she visited Lucius.

Now Nott was taking his time climbing off Charlie, and Malfoy’s lips were against Hermione’s temple as he murmured to her. Neville could see Malfoy’s hand at her shoulder—he’d wound a curl around his finger, tethering himself to her.

Neville stifled a yawn. His whole body felt heavy. They’d come in early with their luggage, and Neville had spent the morning putting together bouquets with Narcissa and then the afternoon directing the elves as they placed the greenery on the back of the chateau. He wanted to go to bed. He looked over at Pansy.

She was eyeing him from under her fringe—that shifty expression.

He raised his eyebrows.

“I told you not to look at me like that,” she said.

Neville smiled.

“Don’t do that either,” she said.

He couldn’t help it. “Why?” he said, low. “Are you gagging for me?”

And then he was laughing as she shoved at him. Godric, he felt giddy. The fire was crackling in the dark night. Her hands were all over him. He was tired and punchy and a little pissed, in a place he’d never expected to find himself. He was kissing her as her fingers gripped his thigh. He was going to marry this woman.

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The bouquets were waiting in a small sitting room.

Neville’s boutonniere was a white anemone and eucalyptus. The anemone was known as the flower of the dead in Japan, but in the flower languages Neville had been brought up with, it meant sincerity and anticipation. The eucalyptus stood for protection. Neville found himself holding his breath as Nott stuck the little arrangement to his lapel. Malfoy was watching with a critical eye—his expression set—but he kept his hands in his pockets and let Nott do it.

Luna drifted into the room, and Malfoy turned to look at her.

“Hullo,” she said, and Nott glanced over his shoulder. She was peering up at Malfoy. “Draco,” she said, “I’ve seen you in the papers. I think you should think again about whether you really want to be doing what you’re doing.”

Malfoy broke into a smile. “Agreed,” he said with a laugh. “Thanks for your concern, Lovegood.”

He was still smiling as Ginny burst into the room in the same tight gold gown Hermione was wearing. Now Neville could see the curve of her stomach and how low cut the dress was in front.

“Oh, hullo, Luna. I like your sleeves. Parkinson thinks we all have her rack, huh?” Ginny tugged at a strap, sending everything jiggling, and Neville had to look away. “I need to stick this or I’ll flash everyone.”

Malfoy snorted. “I’ll leave that to you, Nott.”

Nott turned, wand up. “If I help, will there be fisticuffs with the Saint? Say yes.”

“I’ve got it, bozos.” Ginny chucked her chin. “Say—what’s the story with you and my brother?”

“We’re fucking like animals,” said Nott.

“All right, then!” said Ginny while Malfoy sniggered.

Luna’s head was tilted as she considered Nott.

It was then that the officiant came in.





Neville looked one last time at Pansy’s bouquet—still waiting for her on the table—before he left the room and followed the others down.

The bouquets were less bouquets and more an overflowing armful of greenery—leatherleaf ferns and bay leaves and venomous tentacula leaves and vines—studded with Venus flytraps and king proteas that matched the centerpieces. Or, at least, they were an armful for Nott and Malfoy. The Slytherin men had accepted the bundles with a surprising lack of commentary after straightening each other’s ties, and now they stood nonchalantly in their black forest green suits—cradling the greenery in one crooked elbow and waiting for their cues—as the Venus flytraps snapped at them experimentally. Luna and Ginny, though, were struggling. The venomous tentacula vines wound around them as though they didn’t want to be dropped.

Neville pictured Pansy’s bouquet—he’d made hers different to the others and smaller, because she had small hands.

The night before, they hadn’t had sex. Neville had held her in the canopied bed and kissed her face and told her he loved her, and they’d fallen asleep, exhausted. Now Neville just wanted to see her.

But he wouldn’t until the bond. She’d kept her dress robes a secret too. She’d only told him they were modern traditional while he’d frowned over the contradiction. She’d said the man not knowing was a muggle practice and she was adopting it just to make him mental. It was working. He was antsy as they lined up behind the double doors that led onto the terrace. Pansy had invited a lot of people, and Neville didn’t usually draw attention to himself. But, then, they’d all be looking at Pansy. Neville’s thoughts looped back to her, round and round.

Malfoy and Luna were out first. She’d soothed her bouquet and taken his arm, and his shoulders had rolled back as the doors opened. They looked a matched set with their white-blond hair—Neville remembered they were distant cousins. She’d caught Neville on the stairs on their way down and told him she was honored to be present at his bond and glad to see him well, and Neville hadn’t told her he’d tried to refuse her. It didn’t seem important now.

Then Ginny gave her bouquet a shake and hissed, “Stop it!” and took Nott’s arm and they were next out the doors.

The officiant was standing to the side. Neville waited until the man signaled him, and then Neville took a deep breath and squared his shoulders and walked out to take his place.

The pairs had split apart on the terrace. Neville’s attendants were to his right. His guests were seated in rows of white chairs in front of him. He could see Hermione and Harry at the front—surrounded by Weasleys. And there were Katie and Dean. And Gran and the great aunts, sitting with McGonagall and Sprout. The Slytherin and Ravenclaw side was already whispering and elbowing one another. Neville walked to his mark and turned.

He was in a tight black suit and a black forest green waistcoat and pointy dragonskin shoes. Wearing the Parkinson cufflinks. The Patek Philippe on his wrist. The white anemone on his lapel. Across from him were Nott and then Malfoy, the sunlight catching the green in the suits that appeared black indoors. They looked calm and expectant. Then the double doors under the garlands opened, and he saw their heads turn as his did.

And there was Pansy.





Neville’s breath caught. The familiar black bob. The familiar red lips. But she was in white—not black, like he’d expected.

The dress was sleek and tight. He could see everything—the shape of her hips, the lines of her ribs and her stomach, the swell of her breasts above the low neckline. The robes were cut like a cape shrugged over her shoulders, skimming over her and thin as a veil—he could see her arms through the gauzy fabric as she lifted the bouquet and stepped forward.

She was carrying the flowers he’d put together for her: paper moon scabiosa, seeded eucalyptus, thistle, white anemone, fanged peonies. The bouquet was beautiful and asymmetrical and a little unruly—he’d left it untamed.

“Oh, Pans.” Nott was already crying—Neville could hear it in his voice. Neville was blinking, trying to swallow it down. He watched her walk toward him, sparkling where the sunlight caught the silver threads bordering the robes.

Then she’d handed off her bouquet to Nott and was standing before him. She looked up at Neville with those big green eyes. Lined in black—but it wasn’t her usual makeup. It was somehow lighter, brighter. Her robes sparkled and something around her eyes shimmered and she gazed up at him, glowing, and Neville was crying. He blinked and felt the tears wet his cheeks.

The officiant was welcoming their guests—saying something Neville couldn’t hear because the blood was rushing in his ears. He was alive—his heart racing—because he’d killed that snake. Because Voldemort hadn’t killed him when he’d stepped forward alone. Because he hadn’t died when that bomb he’d been setting had exploded. Or when he’d accidentally dosed himself with arsenic. Or when his great uncle had thrown him out a window. He hadn’t died in a hallway, fighting the Death Eaters that Malfoy had let into the school. He hadn’t died in the Ministry, his nose broken, cruciated by Bellatrix, carrying Hermione through the Department of Mysteries. He hadn’t died in the dungeons, spitting blood at the feet of the Carrows. He hadn’t died in the Albanian woods or the cheap hotels or the flats in foreign countries where he’d hunted war criminals. He’d given them so many chances to kill him. Because he hadn’t thought it mattered whether he died or lived. But he would have missed this if he’d died. He wouldn’t have got to see Pansy standing before him, mouthing “I love you” to him while he cried.

She reached for him and he grasped her left wrist—his dominant hand, her hand nearest their guests. Her fingers were stacked with emerald and silver cocktail rings. They flashed in the sunlight, drawing the eye as the bond was made. Neville felt flooded with warmth as the magic surged through him. He felt the tears running down his cheeks. The bond didn’t vow love or adoration or respect—feelings couldn’t be dictated or promised. It simply tied him to her and no one else. They would have to do the rest themselves.

The officiant waved his wand and they were showered with silver stars and Neville took a deep breath. Pansy lifted her head—she wasn’t crying at all. She was beaming. She was looking at him like he was her man. Like he was her hero. Like he had the power to make her happy just by being here. Like he mattered.

Neville felt a kind of desperate happiness rush through him. He was glad he’d lived. He’d never have got the chance to fall in love with her otherwise—this smart, funny, surprising woman who was never satisfied, who kept pushing herself.

Neville kissed her for a little too long then, with a little too much tongue, because he wanted her and he didn’t want this moment to end.

The guests were clapping and whistling.

Neville was straightening and wiping his eyes.

She’d got her bouquet back from Nott.

She was on his arm.

Neville glanced to her and she was smirking and that made him laugh.

He escorted her down the steps and down the aisle that split the audience. Smiling. The adrenaline coursing through him.

He’d done it. He’d married her.

He was bonded for life.

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Neville was standing with Pansy to receive their guests as the elves reset the courtyard for the late luncheon. The elves snapped their fingers, and a dancefloor and tables appeared—set with china and glassware and the seeded eucalyptus and ruscus garlands and the carnivorous floral arrangements he’d put together with Narcissa. (A contingent of Parkinson elves had come to see Pansy wed and to visit with the Malfoy elves, and Neville hoped there wouldn’t be fights over the proper way to do things.)

Malfoy was standing beside him, radiating tension.

Now Hermione was at Malfoy’s side. Neville heard her ask, “All right?”

“Fine, love.” Malfoy’s words were clipped. “My bouquet has bitten the shit out of me.”

Nott’s bouquet was already missing. He was holding Pansy’s hand between his, his head tilted as he took her in. He bent and pecked her on the cheek. “Best wishes, Pansy,” he said.

“Thank you, Theo,” she murmured. She was gazing fondly at him.

Nott straightened, smiling down at her.

Then Nott shifted toward Neville, and Neville caught the glint in his eye.

Nott’s cool hand grasped his—

“Hey, Daddy—”

Nott jerked him forward, and then Nott’s mouth was on his.

Sandalwood, the squeeze of Nott’s fingers, the firm press of Nott’s lips—

Neville regained his footing as Nott pulled back from the kiss, grinning. “Welcome to the family.”

“Nott, get off my man!”

Neville raised an eyebrow.

Pansy was swatting Nott with her flowers.

Nott was skipping out of Pansy’s reach. He was backing into the crowd, blowing kisses with both hands.

Then Charlie was there and Nott was spinning to pluck a champagne flute off a tray as he threw his arm around Charlie’s neck and his body rocked to a stop against Charlie’s.

“Lover,” purred Nott, pressed tight to a smirking, wild-haired Charlie Weasley, who’d absorbed his momentum without moving.

“Salazar,” sighed Malfoy at Neville’s elbow. “They’re going to break all the furniture in their room.”

Neville laughed. He’d think Malfoy was jealous if he didn’t know all the reasons Malfoy had to be on edge.





Neville was sitting with Pansy at their table, the only one with fanged peony and white anemone arrangements to match her bouquet.

At a table to his right, Malfoy glared out across the courtyard while Hermione watched Nott feed his lunch to Charlie and the Venus flytraps in the centerpiece and the cat Charlie had picked up. To Neville’s left, Ginny squinted skeptically at Luna and Rolf as they gestured across from her. Harry had left his seat to talk to McGonagall. He was bent toward her, his hand on the back of her chair. Neville didn’t see Susan or Ron.

Pansy was whispering with Greengrass, the latest witch here to coo over her dress.

Neville drank his champagne and slid the warm D.A. coin from his pocket. It was George—he’d told the others Neville’s bond had been made.

Neville watched as the message from Seamus came in: May you know nothing but happiness.

Neville was smiling a little as Alicia chimed in: MAY YOU BE QUICK TO MAKE ENEMIES AND SLOW TO MAKE FRIENDS. SINCE YOU ALREADY HAVE US.

Neville snorted and then he was laughing. He looked over to George—sitting next to Bill and Percy, down from Charlie—and George chucked his chin as he raised his glass. Neville shook his head. He ought to remind them the coin was for crucial updates, but they’d only take the piss.

Greengrass left for her table. Pansy’s hand was on his sleeve. Merlin, she looked good. Her sparkling eyes. Her flushed cheeks. Her breasts pushed up by this dress—

“I’m going to pop over—”

“No,” said Neville. “Eat your meal.” He nodded toward the untouched beef filet on her plate.

“I ate the scallops and lobster starters. I just want to—”

“Pansy,” said Neville. “We’re going to be on our feet for hours. And then I have plans for you.”

She took a breath, her chest rising as he eyed her.

“Are you still going to wear that obscene silver dress?” he asked.

“Uh huh,” she said. Her eyes were on him, her lips parted.

“Then I’m going to have you on your hands and knees later.” Neville raised his eyebrows. “I don’t want you weak with hunger.”

She gazed up at him. “Oh,” she said.

Neville kissed her head and then her lips. “Eat. We’ll have time to talk to everyone.”





Neville was waltzing with Pansy while the elves brought out the cheese and pastries and coffee and cognac and more champagne. He was leading but he barely had to know what to do—she knew all the steps, she’d been trained to follow. Neville told himself no one was watching him when there was camembert and croquembouche and mille-feuille and tiny tarts topped with pansies and roses. And Pansy in this dress. The veil-like robes floated with her but did nothing to hide her breasts or the way the fabric clung to her waist and her hips. She was pressed to him, and he was thinking about kicking everyone out and taking her upstairs. Weddings were too long and unfairly tedious—he could be fucking his new wife while she clutched at him and panted his name and he told her how he felt about her.

But now he had to dance with Gran and that was the end of those thoughts.

Neville winced and went to collect his grandmother.

Gran was in black, wearing the fascinator she reserved for weddings. It featured a crow’s wing at a dramatic angle, as well as the bird’s skull. Neville offered his arm and the great aunts tutted their approval, and he led her to the center of the courtyard.

“Well,” Gran said, “I suppose it’s hard to find fault with any of this.”

“Thank you, Gran,” said Neville. “I’m glad you could be here.”

“You know, your parents had a very simple wedding.”

“Tell me about it?” said Neville, and she did while he slowly stepped her around the dancefloor.

Pansy was dancing with Malfoy. Her father was in prison. Her father-in-law was dead. She’d decided the duty fell to Malfoy as host. If Malfoy made it back tonight without Avery killing him, there would be no question, later, whether he had been here.

Pansy had shed the robes from her shoulders and shortened her dress to tea-length. She was wearing sparkly silver heels. Neville watched from the corner of his eye as Malfoy moved with her. His posture was formal but his face was relaxed. He and Pansy had known each other for a very long time, and had put each other through their worst. They danced like it was a relief to go through the motions for a few minutes, without anyone to impress.

Then Neville had Pansy back, and Malfoy was dancing with Hermione—he’d pulled her very close—and the rest of the dancefloor was filling. It was late afternoon in November, with evening fast approaching.

Last night, before dinner, Hermione had caught Neville alone. “Why haven’t you told Harry and Ron?” she’d asked him. The first time she’d acknowledged what he was doing.

Neville had canted his head as he’d considered her. “I won’t oblige anyone to keep living through the war,” he’d said. “Some people did enough. They should be allowed to move on. If they can’t, then they find me.”

It wasn’t untrue, what he’d told her. He knew he’d never understand what it had been like to be Harry during those years—the crushing weight on his shoulders. Neville still remembered Harry recounting, on the train, a conversation he’d had with Dumbledore. Harry had told Dumbledore he reckoned Voldemort’s followers meant to kill him, but he planned to take out as many of them as he could first. Dumbledore had been pleased, and Harry had been proud. Neville had been horrified—unable to put into words why it bothered him that Harry was talking like a martyr and Dumbledore wasn’t contradicting him. Later, of course, it had all made sense.

So, no, Neville could never say Harry hadn’t done enough. Neville assumed that, deep down, Harry was irrevocably broken. And if Harry sometimes seemed absent-minded or incurious, if he swung wildly between a strident insistence on seeing the best in people and nihilistic cynicism, if he seemed like a fine bloke to know but the last person Neville would ever want to depend on emotionally—well, Neville reckoned that was the cost of staying alive when you’d been brought up for slaughter.

So, for Neville, the question wasn’t why he hadn’t told Harry and Ron. It was why they’d never come to find him. Had they really been able to put the past in a box? Or were they up every night, opening it and sorting through the pieces?

Neville didn’t know.

Neville turned Pansy on the dancefloor and remembered Malfoy in a park in Muggle London, saying, They think it was all very glamourous. He knew Malfoy was still sorting it out. Malfoy and Nott couldn’t stop finding him. He’d given up on telling himself they had nothing in common.

He and Pansy swung around, and he saw Nott on the dancefloor with Charlie, standing close while the crowd spun around them.

The sun was lowering toward the grapevines surrounding the chateau.

Malfoy was dancing with Hermione, his eyes on the horizon. Neville could see the tension on his face.

Malfoy looked to Hermione and said something, and then she was pulling his head down, her fingers splayed across the short hair at the nape of his neck.

Malfoy’s eyes closed as their mouths came together. Hermione was kissing him desperately—she knew what was coming.

Heads near them were beginning to turn.

Charlie wolf whistled and Nott called, “Get a room, you two!”

Then Neville watched, his heart kicking up, as Malfoy spun on his heel with Hermione in his arms and they disapparated with a curl of black smoke—the perpetual reminder that Draco Malfoy had been a Death Eater and still bore the Dark Mark.

Neville looked to Pansy. He spun her and she disapparated too—off to change into her party dress as day fell into night.

Neville slid the warm D.A. coin from his pocket. Spinnet and Dionisio were in place with the subcontractors. Seamus, Balmaceda, and Estrada were on the mothership with the pirates.

Now they were all just waiting for Draco Malfoy to walk into a trap.

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“I think Scamander invited us to wife-swap!” hissed Ginny. She’d knocked Neville’s elbow with hers the moment Rolf had walked away.

“What?” said Harry. “I must have missed that—”

“At lunch,” said Ginny, turning to stare at him. “All that talk about them enjoying a lifestyle in tune with nature—”

“They’re magizoologists,” said Harry.

“—and how most species aren’t monogamous in the wild?”

“All right, that did get a bit weird.”

“And then—oh, look, it’s Dean. He’s looking fit.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed.

“Hiya!” called Katie. She and Dean were nearing, drinks in hand. Dean was in a blue three-piece suit, his shirt open at the throat, a thin, hand-painted scarf twisted and knotted loosely around his neck. Katie had hold of his bicep. “It’s been yonks!”

Then they were exchanging awkward one-armed hugs with Harry and Ginny, their drinks held to the side. Neville ran his thumb over the D.A. coin in his pocket as he watched Harry’s suit pull at the shoulder. He didn’t think Harry had got it fitted.

“You’re still in Ireland?” asked Ginny. “And you’re here . . . together?”

Katie and Dean nodded gravely. “We’re bonded,” said Katie.

“We were matched by the Ministry,” said Dean.

“Oh,” said Ginny, frowning and nodding. She and Harry exchanged a look.

“To each other?” said Harry.

Katie and Dean burst into laughter.

“No!” said Katie.

“But you’re the first to ask,” said Dean. “We got everyone else.”

“High five,” said Katie, and he laughed as he slapped her hand. The red in his scarf matched her dress.

“So who were you matched to?” asked Ginny.

“Oh, who knows,” said Katie. “They keep mucking up the paperwork. Tell me more about the baby! When are you due?”

Then Dean excused himself. Neville glanced to Pansy—talking to Padma Patil.

He looked back and Dean was shaking Nott’s hand. They were standing past the dancefloor and tables, where night encroached on the courtyard. The topiary in the planter there loomed over them in the dark.

Now Dean was extracting a packet from his breast pocket and extending a cigarette to Nott, and Nott was lighting Dean’s and then his own—a flash of Nott’s lowered eyelashes and hollowed cheeks, eerie in the harsh shadows, and then he finited the flame. Nott threw back his head and exhaled smoke. He cocked his chin—it looked like he’d asked Dean a question. His face was still, his eyes heavy-lidded—he wasn’t flirting with Dean. Interesting.

Neville felt the coin warm in his pocket. Katie and Ginny were talking about morning sickness. Neville nodded to Harry and made his way over to Nott and Dean. He slid the coin from his pocket as he cleared the dancefloor. He glanced at it and then to Bill and George—they were converging on him. They reached Nott and Dean together. George chucked his chin, and Dean got out the packet again. He looked to Bill.

Bill glanced over his shoulder. “What the hell,” he said, and Dean passed out more cigarettes.

Nott lit them and Neville inhaled and the nicotine hit. For a second, he was back at every other wedding, standing in his suit with the other men while they smoked and bullshitted. He looked for Pansy—she was talking to Angelina. Neville turned to Dean. “Seamus’s bit on the ship is done. He checked in.”

Dean nodded, and Nott said, “Dray?”

“We don’t know yet,” said Neville. He looked to George, who shook his head.

Malfoy should have been back by now. But maybe the set up at Goyle Manor had been more complicated than they’d anticipated. Maybe the meeting had moved to a second location. Maybe Malfoy was dead.

Maybe Malfoy was dead and Hermione would go on a rampage. Neville glanced up at the chateau windows. Was she still waiting for him in their bedroom?

“It’s still early,” said Bill.

“Yeah, Charlie still has his shirt on,” said George, and Bill snorted as they all reflexively looked to Charlie—drinking straight from a bottle of whiskey, down to his shirtsleeves—where he stood with Rolf.

Charlie was in his forest green trousers, Rolf in his forest green suit. Charlie was laughing at what Rolf was saying. His free hand tugged his hair back from his forehead. He shook the curls into place and threw his hand out, gesturing as he talked.

Neville turned back to Nott. His head was ducked as he took a drag, his eyes on Charlie. “Watch out for Scamander,” said Neville.

Nott’s eyes shifted to his.

“He’s trying to start something,” said Neville.

Nott straightened and flicked away his cigarette. He blew out smoke. He said, “Thanks, Daddy,” and then he was pushing through the little knot of men.

“Daddy—”

Neville glanced over—

“Ahhh!” George was grinning, nudging Dean. “He answers to it. You try—”

Neville sighed. “I made a deal—”

“We know, Daddy.” Dean exhaled smoke as George sniggered.

Neville shook his head. He watched as Nott sauntered up to Charlie and Rolf. He slung his arm around Charlie’s neck, tight and possessive. Charlie’s arm went round Nott’s waist as he talked. Charlie’s expression was still friendly—Nott’s wasn’t. Nott was eyeing Rolf in a way that should have made Rolf nervous.

Neville took a drag off his cigarette.

“Did you just sic Nott on Scamander?” George laughed.

Neville shrugged. “I don’t like him.”

George nodded. “Ange thinks he’s sleazy,” he said. “Said he tried to chat her up.”

“Knows his stuff,” said Bill. “He’s been called in on a few projects.”

“People put curses on wild animals?” said Dean.

“People put curses on everything,” said Bill. “And then they put the cursed animals just inside the wards. I had to get past some griffins.”

“You think Avery had anything exotic?” asked Neville.

“I don’t think they’re that smart,” said George.

Bill was looking toward Nott and Charlie. “Are we going to have to kill Nott if Charlie breaks it off?”

“Why?” said George.

“He’s already breaking into the cottage—”

“Yeah, but Charlie doesn’t ward for shit—”

“That’s not the point. It’s stalking and home invasion—”

“Is it bothering Charlie?”

“Nothing bothers Charlie.”

“Then it’s not a problem yet,” said George. “We’ll see what happens.”

“Maybe they won’t split up,” said Neville. Rolf’s hands were raised in a placating motion.

“Aw.” George chucked his chin. “Look who’s feeling sentimental.”

“I’m at a wedding,” said Neville, and everyone but Bill laughed.

Nott turned to face Charlie, crowding him, as Rolf walked away. Charlie’s hand had gone to Nott’s ribs.

Nott was leaning in. Charlie was grinning. He looked delighted by him.

Neville was standing with Pansy at the edge of the dancefloor, a tumbler of whiskey in hand. The professors and society matrons were talking at the tables. The younger cohort was dancing and drinking—the dancefloor getting louder and louder. Neville could see Terry Boot and his Beauxbatons husband—he wondered how they’d fared with the mandate. He could see Perks and Brocklehurst and Moon and Turpin and Frobisher with their men. Malone and Rivers and Goldstein and Hopkins and Towler and their witches. The Greengrass sisters with Pucey and a Durmstrang wizard. The Patils. Higgs. Bill and Percy and George dancing with their wives. Cho and Wood. Katie and Dean. Ginny and Harry. More people Neville didn’t recognize. Pansy had been chatting with Tracey Davis, who had never made much of an impression on Neville. She had dark, glossy hair and a flash style. Rolf had gone back to Luna—she was smiling at him now.

“You didn’t say anything about Luna changing her dress,” said Neville.

Pansy sighed. “Well, it’s Lovegood. I have to be grateful she’s not practicing nudism.”

Neville looked to the silver discs. “Unlike—”

“Merlin’s tits,” said Davis. “Is that another Weasley?”

Charlie and Nott were dancing close together. Nott’s forearms were draped over Charlie’s shoulders. Charlie had one arm snaked around him, his fingers splayed on Nott’s back. His other hand had a loose hold on the neck of the whiskey bottle. His chin was cocked—he was smirking up at Nott. Nott was lowering his mouth to Charlie’s, kissing him again and again.

“That’s the dragon one,” said Pansy.

“That’s the dragon one?”

“Mm-hm.”

Charlie’s shirt was unbuttoned at the chest. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow. All the exposed skin was freckled, except for the shiny pink scars. Davis was toying with her hair. “Does he like women?” she asked.

“Nott’s not sharing,” said Pansy.

“Damn,” said Davis. She tilted her head. “I could bounce so many things off that arse.”

“Oh my giddy aunt,” muttered Neville.

“I’m just looking,” said Davis. “Women are visual—”

“It’s the verbal part—”

“That’s just girl-talk,” said Pansy and Davis.

Neville felt the D.A. coin warm in his pocket. There was a flash in the corner of his eye—

It was the gold beadwork on Hermione’s dress, catching the fairy lights. Neville looked up and there was Malfoy. They’d stepped from the shadows onto the edge of the dancefloor. Malfoy’s head jerked, an almost imperceptible nod. The lights glinted off his white-blond hair.

Neville slid the coin from his pocket.

JOB DONE. BOMBS SET. AT BLACK SITE. MALFOY MIGHT BE DEAD.

Neville pocketed the coin as his eyes flicked up to Malfoy—very much alive in a snowy white shirt and a crisp black forest green suit, not a hair out of place on his head. Neville nodded to Malfoy.

“Nev—”

Neville turned to Pansy, placing his hand on the back of her neck as he leaned in. He wasn’t letting go of her for the rest of the night. Everything distracting him had been sorted. Now he could get pissed and fuck his wife. “Everything’s fine,” he murmured.

Then he saw Narcissa. She was standing with Miette and an elf Neville didn’t recognize. Her chin was lifted. Neville couldn’t read her expression. She was looking to where Malfoy held Hermione to him as Nott kissed his cheek.

Nott still had his arm across Charlie’s shoulders—he’d dragged him over. Nott pulled back and said something, gazing at Malfoy. Malfoy answered, staring back. Nott’s face broke into a dazzling smile—like they were boys again. It would have broken Nott’s heart if Malfoy had been killed—Neville could see it. He knew it would have broken Narcissa’s heart too. It had been easier—sending Malfoy into an ambush—before Neville had come to the chateau and eaten dinner with his mother.

Neville looked to Hermione. She had that bright-eyed look he remembered from school, like she was determined to be good in a crisis. Why had Spinnet thought Malfoy was dead?

Nott had nicked a glass of champagne from a passing tray. “Toasts!” he called, turning toward the dancefloor. “We need bridesmaid toasts!”

“Hear hear!” shouted scattered voices as Nott untangled himself from Charlie and kissed his mouth. People moved back to give him room, talking and jostling each other.

Nott took a step forward. “Pans, you sexy bitch!” People hushed each other. Nott was holding the champagne flute aloft. “Congratulations on snagging the fittest non-ginger Gryffindor and number-one plant daddy!”

Neville snorted as Nott paused for whistles and cheers. The crowd was buzzing, everyone pink-cheeked with alcohol. Ties loosened. Hair coming loose.

“And thank you for dressing him in those tight suits!”

Catcalls. Pansy was smirking while Neville shook his head. She’d squeezed his thigh. The floor had got louder.

Nott was grinning, playing to his audience. The flute swayed as he turned from side to side. “And you, Longbottom! You’ve made our sweet, patient Pansy—”

Nott tilted his head, indulgent, at the sound of jeers and groans. Pansy was shooting the crowd a two-finger salute.

“—fall in love with you—”

Aws.

“—and now you have the loyalest, cleverest, funniest, most ruthless witch you could ever wish for in your corner. Pans, Dray and I love you!”

The crowd was clapping and whistling. Nott was giving Pansy that dazzling, boyish smile. Happy. He knows I’m finally happy. Pansy’s bratty best mate, who never told her she was too much or needed to be nicer, who understood why she was the way she was.

But then the smile dropped off Nott’s face. His expression shifted with his gaze as he set those thickly lashed eyes on Neville.

“And, Longbottom, for that and more, we are forever in your debt and service. May your days be long, your enemies short-lived, and your bond fruitful.”

The guests were shouting “Hear, hear!” but they hadn’t heard what Nott had said. Neville studied him. Forever in your service. Your enemies short-lived. No Nott would ever say these words without knowing what they meant. Nott was looking right at him, unmasked for a moment. The snakes were blindly loyal. Was it for Pansy? Was it for Malfoy? Was it because the war had never ended for Nott either, living in that cursed manor? Was it because the snakes each desperately, desperately wanted to be claimed and the Weasley brothers had let Nott into their little circle and Neville hadn’t flinched all those times Nott had tested him? Nott’s foot against his. Nott winking at the table. Nott kissing him in the receiving line. Nott didn’t know how to make friends—he knew how to flirt and be useful.

Neville met Nott’s eyes, and he nodded—to him and to Malfoy, standing just behind Nott with his chin and glass raised.

Because we were both just boys.

Malfoy had nearly died tonight—or Alicia had thought so. But here he was. Vowing to do it again.

They think it was all very glamorous.

He and Neville knew it wasn’t glamorous. It was ugly. And messy. And never done. It was dirty, dirty work. The fruit of their poisonous trees.

Then Nott was laughing and kissing Charlie. His arm was slung over Charlie’s shoulders as he pushed Malfoy forward. “Your turn, Dray!”

The Slytherins were jeering and cheering on Malfoy, the other house alumni exchanging dark glances, and Malfoy smirked and bit his lip—the prat they’d gone to school with.

He stepped onto the dancefloor in the green suit so dark it was nearly black, his platinum hair brushed back off his forehead. The diamonds on his left hand glinted under the fairy lights as he raised his tumbler of whiskey. Hermione was staring at him, looking slightly dazed.

“To Pansy, my oldest and dearest friend, who has finally found a man who can make her happy—”

The Slytherins huzzahed noisily, elbowing one another with raised eyebrows that spoke of years of common room drama.

“And to Longbottom, a better and braver man than me in every regard—”

The dancefloor erupted at the admission, the Gryffindors shouting the loudest.

Neville raised his glass, and Pansy’s mouth twisted as she went on tip toe to kiss his cheek.

“I hope you like being neighbors!” Malfoy called, reaching back and grabbing Hermione’s hand. He pulled her to him. “Because Mrs. Malfoy and I bought you the vineyard next door, and we renamed it Parkbottom!”

Pansy shrieked, her drink spilling as she smacked Neville hard on the chest.

“Enjoy growing grapes, Longbottom! Pansy will take care of the wine!”

The crowd was whooping and hollering. Malfoy was gripping Hermione’s hand as she gazed up at him in shock. Neville was laughing. Had Draco Malfoy just given him a vineyard?

Malfoy chucked his pointy chin, smiling wide, and shot back the whiskey. He vanished the glass—

And all of George’s fireworks went off with a BANG.

The red lions exploded overhead.

And Neville kissed Pansy as she clutched at his waistcoat until the fiery red stars fell all around them, reflecting off every disc in her little silver dress.