The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.
Beta cred: Palmetto Blue
“Draco, may I have your forks?” As Luna waited for him to look up from the morning edition of the Prophet, she looked around the great hall. It was early, and teachers were still shuffling onto the dais. Neville passed behind their chairs and included them in a sleep-thickened greeting just then. She held out her left hand expectantly. “Good morning, Nev!”
Draco didn’t so much as glance away from the paper. “Of course, sweetheart.” He collected the requisite items blindly and handed them over. “Anything else?”
She added another level of interconnected forks to her structure. “Nothing until this afternoon, and you’ll like that a lot.”
That got his attention. He quirked his mouth in that way. “What will I be doing to you this afternoon?”
Luna had to remind herself that straddling her lover in a public place was against the rules of her Hogwarts contract. She knew this for a fact because Minerva had added it in fine print to the backside of the parchment, along with six dozen other very specific no-nos. “This month’s edition of Contort came yesterday. I thought we could bring it down to Greenhouse 6 after classes and try some new positions in the aquatic plant reservoir.”
Draco opened his mouth to reply but paused when, from her other side, Neville groaned. “How many times must I tell you, Lu? It’s not for sex; it’s for plants.”
From the corner of her eye Luna saw Hermione at the end of the dais. She bit back a smile. This was all too easy! “Oh, Neville! We’ve talked about this before – if the plants can have sex in the water, then people can, too.”
“But they don’t-” Neville broke off as Hermione tripped on the leg of his chair. “Uh, morning, uh, Hermione.”
“Morning everyone.” Hermione slid into her seat. “Errrrrr, morning, Neville.”
Luna hesitated, just as her star charts had suggested, and in the ensuing pause Minerva hijacked the conversation. “I cannot imagine what in Merlin’s name is so fascinating in London,” she complained in their direction, “that two faculty members desire a Thursday evening visit. Neville? Hermione? Does either of you care to explain?”
Neville froze. “Uh . . .”
“Errrrrrr . . .” Hermione leaned forward and asked in a wavering tone, “What’s that you’re working on, Lu?”
Minerva gave a waspish harrumph. “Well, you’ve both apparently joined the same secret society, so I won’t hold my breath for an explanation. But my office is not a main thoroughfare; the two of you can just use my Floo at the same time. Pass the kippers, please.”
Luna beamed. Oh, things were coming along nicely! She could feel another subtle shift in the astral fields as the planets began their realignment in earnest. Now if only she had one more fork . . . “I call it Venus Ascendant.”
She spent the rest of breakfast contemplating her delicate work of art.
* * *
“Draco, may I have your forks?”
Draco’s eyes remained fixed on the financial section but his mouth twitched in amusement. His witch had stolen nearly all the silver and was building what looked to be abstract table art. He was looking forward to watching the various faculty members’ reactions to their reduced table settings. “Of course, sweetheart. Anything else?”
Neville passed behind them on the way to his customary chair. “Morning.”
“Good morning, Nev,” Luna chirped. She turned to Draco. “Nothing until this afternoon. You’ll like that a lot.”
The wizarding stock market completely forgotten, Draco aimed what he hoped was a knickers-soaking smirk in her direction. “What will I be doing to you this afternoon?”
She responded with a very naughty smile. “This month’s edition of Contort . . .”
Draco heard nothing after that one word, and spent the next several seconds recalling last month’s Contort-inspired playtime. He opened his mouth to reply just as Neville gave a groan and, recognizing the devilish gleam in Luna’s eye, he sat back to watch his friend’s discomfiture with barely concealed delight.
The fun was over all too quickly, in his opinion, because Minerva had to go and interrupt the potentially hilarious scenario. Still, she unearthed some interesting information: Hermione and Neville were practically working hand in hand on The Plan to get them together!
Draco returned to his perusal of the Prophet’s financial section, not quite able to rid himself of the grin tugging at his mouth.
* * *
Neville’s body arrived at the breakfast table without much help from his brain, which was far off on a cloud of erotic fantasy with Hermione Granger.
He tried to rearrange his teaching robes as he sat down, then tried hiding the tent in his trousers under the miniscule serviette at his place setting. Who the bloody hell had decided tea serviettes were appropriate at the breakfast table? Finally he resorted to stealing the one to his right and using it as well. Curse undersized serviettes and the current trend for tailored lines and cutaway coats! Curse his- he stopped short of bemoaning his monster cock; other than standing to attention at inappropriate times and threatening to tear through his trousers, it had been a great friend his entire life.
His table setting was lacking most of its silver, thanks to Lu and her penchant for three dimensional art, so he settled for a croissant from a nearby serving tray. It would be the last decision under his control for several excruciating minutes, unfortunately, because from there the conversation took a turn to the left and then traveled due south towards complete mortification. Luna began planning another desecration of his beloved aquatic plant reservoir, waxing eloquent just as Hermione arrived at the table; this ensured he blushed more violently than a virgin on her wedding night, of course. He bid the woman of his dreams good morning in a desperate attempt to stop the madness, only to be interrupted by Minerva, who announced to the entire table his plan to-
Hermione was going to London as well?
Neville’s body locked down, leaving him unable to do more than stall for time with a long, drawn-out sound of uncertainty. He could practically feel Draco’s smirk, the smug bastard. That notion sent his thoughts down a different path. Why had his closest male friend at Hogwarts abandoned him this week? In his time of need? Since Monday, Neville had been floundering about on his own, trying to make heads or tails of Luna’s plan. Draco would have been a perfect, albeit annoying, sounding board for his thoughts! Together they could have plotted out his course of action in following The Plan, especially now that he was traveling to London with Hermione, who seemed to know exactly what was going on . . .
At that point, Hermione proved her status as Brightest Witch of the Age by cleverly redirecting the conversation. Exactly how she did it was lost to him, though, because her voice trembled in such a way that Neville became lost in its sound, imagining her uttering his name in the throes of ecstasy with just such a quaver of feminine emotion. He only exited his fantasy when the sounds of his colleagues’ chairs being pushed back from the table rudely disturbed him.
* * *
Hermione eyed Neville as she passed behind the chairs at the teacher’s table. He was wearing another of those amazing robes – the ones that did nothing to hide the fact that he was packing. She hoped the house elves had decided to take her suggestion of using smaller serviettes at the breakfast table; the form of Neville’s cock was visible in his trousers at any given time, but in the morning? His wood was spectacular. She wanted as good a view of it as possible!
From the sound of the conversation, Luna was planning to defile Neville’s big plant pool in Greenhouse 6 again. The mention of that place triggered a series of extremely graphic memories in Hermione’s brain of a dripping wet Neville in swim trunks as he hoisted himself out of the pool with his big, muscular arms . . . She tripped over the leg of his chair and barely managed to return his personal greeting.
Where was her serviette? Where was her silverware, for that matter? Her keen powers of observation finally spotted the first item draped over Neville’s trouser tent and the second as part of one of Luna’s table games. She decided to have a croissant.
She pondered his greeting as she picked at the flaky roll. Now that she thought about it, he’d been singling her out in such a way for a while now. When had that begun? She gave free rein to her prodigious mind, letting it race to the answer: fourth year. If she remembered correctly – and that protasis was purely for form’s sake, because she always remembered correctly – then . . . merciful Merlin’s wand, fourth year was when Neville had started greeting her separately from everyone else at meals! Butterflies erupted in her chest cavity as realization dawned.
Sweet Circe, Neville Longbottom of the sexy brain and slow-burn smile really did like her! And tomorrow was Friday, and The Plan was coming together because they were both working on it, and Venus was ascending, whatever the hell that meant! She had never been gladder than in that moment to be a Gryffindor, for what other house was better suited for such a daring venture?
She triple-tasked mentally for the rest of the meal, dividing her attention between the plans for her evening trip – with Neville! At least, for the first few minutes – to London, anticipation of tomorrow night, and the titillating knowledge that her serviette was camouflaging what could possibly be the most impressive cock in the existence of humanity. If her voice trembled when she rescued the waylaid conversation, no one seemed to notice.