Summary: Neville is badly injured saving Ginny's life. Ginny feels guilty and oversees his return to health. She angsts over him loving Luna. He angsts over her loving Harry. Eventually the truth comes out. Smut ensues.
Squicks: Well, coffee_n_cocoa mentioned that squicks probably weren't possible with N/G. I believed differently. :) Nothing seriously squicky, except for boundupbyplants!sex. Teehee.
Author's Notes: I'm pretty proud of this, even though it's nothing compared to some of the fic I've read here. I really hope you like this, coffee_n_cocoa, even if it isn't overly squicky. Oh, sorry this took so long!
Everything was her fault, that much she knew. If she had just listened to her mother and not gone with Harry and the others to fight, he wouldn’t have been hurt. He would be never had pushed her out of the way and taken the curse himself. If Ginny would only have listened, Neville wouldn’t have nearly died. Neville wouldn’t be dangerously wounded and bed-bound for two months.
The only way she could think of to begin paying Neville back was to take care of him while he couldn’t take care of himself. She made sure Neville ate right, never satisfied until his plate (that was positively groaning under all the food) was clear. She made sure that his clothes and sheets were fresh, learning not to blush during the brief times he was in the bare. She made sure that he slept, not leaving the room until his gentle snoring was a done deal. She was, in short, a most perfect nurse.
But despite this, Neville was still sad and lonely. His talks with Ginny were the sunlight of his miserable days. He missed walking around. He missed taking care of his plants. The flowers continuously supplied in the several vases around the room were pretty enough, but Neville missed the smell of dirt and grass and manure. He missed the feel of dirt beneath his fingernails and the sweat that always poured down his face. He missed his freedom.
“Neville, what’s wrong?” Ginny sat down on the side of his bed, concern etching its way over her smooth, freckled forehead.
“You’ll laugh at me.” Neville said, sitting up and leaning his head against the wooden headboard.
“No, I promise I won’t.” Ginny looked intently at him. He temporarily savored having her full, undivided attention.
“I miss my plants. I’m grateful for your company, Ginny, I really am, but I miss my plants. They’re probably really lonely without me. If you could just bring one or two, I could rest easy. I have Professor Sprout looking after them, but I’d feel better with a couple of them here.” He looked up, and was startled by the thoughtful look on her face. She was concocting some Weasley scheme, he could tell.
“I think I can help you out here. I’ll be back in a couple hours, okay?” At his nod, Ginny left, her now short red hair bouncing slightly.
Neville grinned. He loved looking at her, even though she would never feel anything more for him than sisterly affection. He had long admired her for the feisty and fiery yet gentle, unsure young woman that she was. Seeing her so obviously in love with Harry had nearly killed him, yet these small moments with her gave him a certain kind of strength. Even after she and Harry had split, and Harry found Susan, he knew that Ginny would find another strong and handsome guy and fall hopelessly in love with him. He sighed, wanting the one girl he knew he could never have.
Ginny made her way to the greenhouses, silently cursing herself for not telling Neville how she really felt about him. Sure, the snogging with Harry had been great, but it was absolutely nothing compared to the sweet, innocent love she felt for Neville. Ginny was a tough girl, she knew that . . . everyone knew that. But what they didn’t know was that she hoped for the quiet, deep yet passionate love that her parents had shared. She knew that Neville was the only person in the world that could ever give here that, and he was the one man she knew that wasn’t smitten with her . . . everyone knew that he loved Luna, even though she had disappeared six weeks ago, and had not been seen since.
If she could get him back to health, if she could somehow repay him for everything he had done for her, then maybe, just maybe she could learn to live with the fact that Neville’s love resided with a girl who was, sadly, most likely dead. Gathering up a few plants of his was a small task, yet she was happy to do something that would cheer him up.
As she finally came upon the greenhouses, she tried to remember which one to go in. Neville had once told her about the doors, one red and one purple. One held some of the most dangerous plants known to wizards. Another held harmless, yet powerfully healing plants. Only Neville and Professor Sprout were ever allowed to enter the dangerous greenhouse. They had spent hours upon hours trying to breed plants that would be useful in taking down Death Eaters. They had succeeded with flying colors. Ginny knew that even Alastor Moody had been impressed, and that was high praise indeed.
Now . . . what had Neville said? Surely the red door meant danger, right? The purple door was most likely the harmless door. Ginny’s mind was made up. She opened the purple door and walked through.
Her eyes went wide at the number of beautiful plants. Neville certainly had an eye for beauty . . . never mind that he couldn’t see her. Large hanging plants with long, leafy vines were twirling, the sunlight shining off of their glossy surfaces. Small potted plants were resting upon the enormous tables, blooms twitching enchantingly. Medium plants were planted in a long strip of earth on the east wall of the greenhouse, sure to catch the rising sun.
Ginny picked up two identical looking plants with pink and red blossoms and several leafy vines and decided that these were the ones that would adorn Neville’s room. She carried them out, closing the door behind her, grateful that she had obviously picked the right greenhouse. She was in a good mood. Surely Neville would be pleased at the plants she had picked. They were pretty and would lighten up any room.
She felt a small prick on her left arm and looked down. One of the vines had pricked her and there was a slight blip of blood. She ignored it, convinced that the plants were growing impatient to see their master. She picked up her pace and in no time, was climbing the stairs and entering the room that held her charge.
Neville was asleep, and there was a small, peaceful smile playing about on his face. He really had grown quite handsome, what with his sudden late growth spurt and all. He no longer had the puppy fat that had led one to erroneously believe Neville to be a ‘fat boy.’ His face was lean and his arms were nicely made, not scrawny, not muscular. His hands were large and rough, farmer’s hands, as her Mum had once called them. He was nearly as tall as Ron, and indeed, was taller than Harry. He looked like the picture of his father that she had found in his trunk. He had the kind, gentle face of his mother and the build of his father. Appearance wise, Neville had really come into his own.
Ginny smiled softly and placed on plant next to his bed, and the other on the table across the room. She would leave him, and let him be surprised when he woke. Yes, that would do nicely. Surely he would be happy to see two of his beautiful plants.
Neville woke up to the sensation of having his arm pricked and knew that something was very, very wrong. He sniffed the air and smelled it. There was no way, surely. He had told her not to go into the greenhouse with the purple door. Surely Ginny hadn’t forgotten? If she had, and she had taken the plants he thought she did, it was going to be a very long night. He sat up, groaning. He looked by his bed and grimaced. He looked across the room and his worries increased.
“GINNY!” This was going to be bad . . . very, very bad … good, actually, at least for him.
She came sauntering in, a dazzling smile on her tanned freckled face.
“Do you like them?” She asked, apparently not noticing the panic in his voice.
“Please tell me that you didn’t go into the greenhouse with the purple door.”
“But that’s not the dangerous one, Neville.” Perhaps she was wrong, after all?
“Yes it is, that’s why the door is purple, it’s the color of the Wizengamot, and it shows that having those plants isn’t illegal! The red door means the plants are harmless.”
Then he noticed it, the plant vine behind her twitched excitedly.
“I’m really, really sorry Neville. I thought they were okay! And they’re so very pretty.” Her voice was downcast...she had ruined her chance at impressing Neville.
“Ginny,” Neville’s voice was low and serious. “Ginny, get out of here. Now.”
The plant behind her was reaching its vines out towards her.
Her face fell and her heart plummeted. Surely it wasn’t that bad? The plants hadn’t done anything.
“Neville, I said was sorry!”
“Ginny, go while you still can!” His face was panicking.
“Fine, then. Don’t take an apology!” She whirled around.
It was too late. The vines had covered the door in a think coat of leaves and the windows were covered too. There was no getting out, at least for a while.
“Neville?” Her voice was a scared whisper. “Neville, what’s going on?”
“Ginny, did the plant prick you?” He had gotten out of bed, coming towards her.
“Yes, but I didn’t...what’s going on?”
“Whatever you’re suppressing . . . this is not good . . . Pomona will kill me if she finds out . . . oh, and they’ll induce what I’ve been suppressing . . . Ginny, I’m really sorry about this. We won’t be leaving this room for a while.” He had been looking around, worried and in his own world, until he addressed her.
“What do you mean, suppressing? What are these plants?” She had no clue what was going on. She only realized that the room was suddenly hot and that her clothes were sticky.
“The plants, Pomona and I bred them. They prick you, read your blood, and then induce whatever feelings you are hiding or suppressing. They’re like truth serum for feelings. We used them against the Death Eaters, though in a different way than this.”
“Ginny, I’m sorry. I’m about to get to know you very well.” He looked only slightly ashamed with his trademark touch of defiance and determination. And in that moment, Ginny understood.
He wanted her. The plants were going to help him. That also meant, though he didn’t know it, that they were going to help her as well. She feel a touch of fear and anxiety quickly followed a keen sense of anticipation and excitement. She smiled a slow, warm smile, the one that had brought Michael, Dean, Harry, and others to their knees. The smile that had saved her from the memories of Tom.
His eyes widened, partly due to the fact that the plant behind him was letting its vines unbutton his shirt and snake down to stroke his straining erection, and partly because the plant behind Ginny was in the process of removing her shirt. She didn’t have a bra on.
Thank God for small favors.
It had started on her jeans, now, unbuttoning them and sliding them down, revealing the fact the she, as Dean had once said drunkenly in the dormitory during sixth year, didn’t wear knickers. Another vine was circling around the area.
His own plant, however, was content to torture him. His shirt was off, revealing the not-so-muscled chest that he had acquired from working in the greenhouses. His plant was toying with his trousers, lowering them and then raising them. He didn’t know how much more he could take.
“Ginny? Are you okay? I’m really, really sorry about this...I mean, well-” His pants were off, with his boxers.
“I’m not.” And, to Neville’s utmost surprise and utmost delight, she began to walk towards him. “If I can have you now, maybe in a few years it won’t hurt so much.” And, tracing along the vines path, she kissed him and stroked his straining cock.
His arms came around her, as did the vines. His and her vines wound together, wrapping them up, teasing one another; his, her wet red curls and what lay beneath, her, his solid cock, touching ever so lightly.
It was, in short, quite lovely, for all parties involved.
Finally, when Neville and Ginny were completely sure that they couldn’t take much more of this lovely torture, the plants surrendered and Neville and Ginny finally came together. Ginny was not a virgin, which didn’t surprise Neville. She had been (though he wasn’t trying to malign her in any way) extremely friendly with both Dean and Harry. Neville certainly wasn’t a virgin either, which would have shocked most at Hogwarts, save for Luna, who knew him well, if not in the carnal sense.
He thrust into her and she arched up, with a throaty moan. He started thrusting in earnest, not caring how rough he was, not caring that she was clawing his back, only focused on how wonderful this was and how he was finally able to fuck her like he had been wanting to do for the past few years. It didn’t matter that he would probably never get to do this again, all that mattered was that she was his and always would be, no matter what happened.
Ginny moved beneath him, arching, moaning, and clawing his back. She wasn’t worried that she would have bruises from him biting on her breasts or her neck or that she would be extremely sore and tender tomorrow. All that mattered was that she was with him, and he was her’s, not Luna’s. His heart might be with her, but Ginny had his body, and right then, it was good enough.
It was take and give and give and take, with a stray vine touching here or teasing there. Neville thrust hard, and Ginny lifted up to meet him. They grinded and groaned and growled and whimpered. He teased her, she tortured him. They were sweating and panting and pawing and thoroughly enjoying this little interlude while it lasted.
Finally Neville felt Ginny clench up and her face was the picture of ecstasy. She came with loud ‘Neville!’ and he came a few strokes later. They settled into the bed, holding each other, limbs still intertwined, relishing the cooling sensation after sex.
“Neville?” She stroked his chest, running a finger around in circles.
“Yes?” Wow, that felt great.
“Thank you. That was great.” She was still tingling.
“Yeah, it was. You’re welcome. Hey, Ginny?”
“What did you mean, when you said it would hurt later before we … ah,-”
“Fucked? It hurts because … because … I can never have you. Everyone knows you love Luna. You were heartbroken when she disappeared. And, maybe after doing this, just maybe, it won’t hurt that you’ll never love me.” She spoke slow and soft, half terrified that she was even having this conversation.
He was silent, digesting what she had said. Finally after several minutes, he spoke.
“I love Luna. She’s the sister I never had. And I am broken hearted that she hasn’t been found. I’ve never slept with her or kissed her or shared anything but friendship with her. We’re close, but not the way everyone apparently thinks. I mean…she’s really nice, but sometimes she’s really whimsy and that…”
“Alarms you?” Ginny supplied
“Yeah…besides, she never felt anything like that for me. She fancied Seamus, always did. And, really, it’s you I love.” His voice was quiet and intense, as if sure of what to say, but not how to say it.
“Really, you do? Love me, that is?” Ginny smiled, her heart soaring.
“Yeah…and, maybe, sometime, we’ll be happy together. I’m certainly no prince charming, but I do really care for you. You have to know that.”
“Oh, I do. So should we just take it slow and see what happens?”
“Yes, I think that’s what we should do, Ginny. That’s what we should do.”
They lay back, holding each other, assured that if even their future wasn’t perfect, it could be happy at the very least.