claire de lune | arden

Venturing a glance in Dash's direction, Neville was pleased to see that didn't look entirely confused by his confession— him, a teacher. A decade prior the thought would have been laughable at best, but he found in a strange way that Bancroft was showing him how much he loved to explain as much as he loved to learn. There was a magic in and of itself when that little light bulb went off in someone's eye, indicating that they got it.

"I think so..." He exhaled slightly. The hot air from his mouth seemed to make steam in the air over the smoke of the fire. "I don't really know actually," He added as an afterthought. "Kids and people our own age are equally as intimidating...." He mused with something of a smile. They weren't all that bad.

Not really.

"Really?" Neville's eyes widened at the mention of the Reservation. "What was that like?" He had only heard of the place but was infinitely more fascinated than he ever had been before. "I think Bancroft mentioned that, actually," He spoke out of turn, recalling some piece of furniture the old man was always banging on about that she had made. A chair? No— a side table, perhaps?

"S'pose it's good to keep some passions separate from work, " He mused, a half-baked question, brow quirking slightly in the process. He had no real coordination as far as woodwork or clay were concerned, but someone had told him once to not turn the thing you love most into a job and that had stuck with him to some degree (evidently not wholly).

Our age. She smiled a bit, thinking that she was almost twenty-seven and he was… She’d only asked ten minutes ago or something, but she couldn’t recall his age. He was in Harry Potter’s year, so… She did a little thinking, trying to follow the math, but it eluded her. He was young, she settled on. Younger than her. A decade or so younger than Charles.

“I tutor a couple of first-year university classes,” she told him lightly. “They’re not so bad. Think they like me because I’m a bit younger than lots of their professors — I keep getting invites to house parties and pub crawls.” She exhaled a little puff of air from her nose, an almost-snort as she met his eye, thinking that he’d understand her amusement. She wasn’t quite sure why she thought he’d understand, though; wasn’t he only a couple of years older than her first years? He should probably be out going to house parties and pub crawls, still. Then again, she thought, she was only twenty-six, even if she’d mentally counted herself as thirty for at least the last year or two. She didn’t know why she was thinking so much about age.

What was the snidget reservation like? “I liked it,” she said with a slight shrug. “Have you seen a snidget? Cute little things…” She indicated size with cupped hands as she held them over the fire. Round little things, she thought, remembering the first time she'd gone there, wondering how they were able to fly so fast when they didn't look very aerodynamic... "It was pretty low-pressure, especially at the start because back then I mostly just cleaned things and assisted where I was needed." She was slow-rambling a little, again, but there didn't seem to be a point in stopping. "My boyfriend worked there, too, so that was nice. I was at Modesty’s for a couple of years after school… Left around, um, the end of the war. Or thereabouts.”

University classes, with university students— Neville let out an impressed exhale of breath, catching Arden's profile as the light from the fire moved over it. After a moment she turned to look him in the eye and for a moment he forgot what it was that she'd just said.

"Didn't want to go?" Neville eventually remembered that Dash was looking bashful about the number of invitations her students had given her to their parties and pub crawls. He smiled good-naturedly. If the look she was giving was any indication, likely not. He couldn't even begin to fathom that kind of predicament. When he was with the ministry, maybe, but lately he was spending much more time with people decades older than him.

At her next question, he paused. Had he seen a snidget? It was the kind of animal that he felt like he inherently knew, though when prompted, realized he hadn't ever seen one in person. "Only in textbooks," There was a hint of disappointment in his tone at the confession.

There was a brief moment of internal panic that crept up in his chest at the mere mention of the war, but Neville had gotten good at brushing that aside to deal with when he was alone, painfully awake until the sun came up. "How did you move to sea—"

A crack from the oak tree jolted Neville and immediately his hand was on his wand and held toward the fire to silence the crackling. "I think I really heard it that time..." He focused on the tree but couldn't make out any sign of movement. Another creak of branches. "We'll have to put this out," His voice lowered again, waving his hand to remove any sign of flame. For the flower to bloom, it needed only natural moonlight.

He was quiet for a moment, his eyes meeting hers. Had she said something awkward? Her amused smile lingered on her lips, but she felt a little relieved when he spoke again. It probably wasn’t that long of a pause, she thought. Just her brain conjuring imagined tension. “Um,” she said, glancing away and gathering her thoughts, her amusement directed at herself this time, with a tinge of embarrassment there too. “I mean they’re like… Eighteen,” she answered,  Eighteen probably didn’t feel so far away from however old he was, but it felt like a decade to her.

She nodded at the textbooks comment, her eyes on her hands, still cupped as if one of the little golden birds was sitting there in her hands right now. Such sweet little birds, she thought affectionately. She her arms fall to her sides, looking up at him again, realising belatedly the conversational slip-up she’d made. The war. Oh no. It wasn’t something one generally brought up in casual conversation with a stranger. Britain’s wizarding world wasn’t so large; everyone had a war story. He was Potter’s age too, she reminded herself. He’d still been at school that year.

Dash had spent too long away from Britain, with people who hadn’t been here, then.

She was paying him too much attention, trying to think of a way to apologise for mentioning it, not to jump when there was a sound that seemed to come from the tree itself — it startled her. She raised a hand to cover her lips, nodding wordlessly as the fire disappeared and the colours around them shifted from warm to cool hues. The temperature shifted too, and she shivered. Her skin was tingling, and she gave him a sidelong glance, wondering distantly if he could tell. It was like the heat from the fire was lingering on her arms and cheeks, though… admittedly this was probably just the brownies. She took the smallest of steps towards the tree, an inch closer to him, too.

They were silent for what felt like entire minutes, Dash’s gaze shifting slowly between Neville’s face and the tree. She felt the tension of anticipation, her heartbeat a little fast. It felt like a long time, and nothing happened. “I’m sorry,” she breathed eventually, glancing his way, the moonlight making it possible for her to just make out his features in the shadow of the tree. “I’ve gotten used to being away,” she added near-silently, her words making perfect sense to her and probably not so much sense to him.

With the fire firmly gone, the cold came in. There wasn't even an ember at the bottom of the pit for heat to hold onto. Neville didn't notice the involuntarily shiver that ran up his spine he was so consumed with studying the oak— waiting, hoping for another sign of movement. If, not when, the flower blossomed, they would only have a few minutes to extract the pollen. Time would be of the utmost importance.

The cold he could miss, but Arden taking a half-step toward him Neville couldn't. Her hand was clasped over her mouth and briefly, he felt a pang of guilt for cutting off their conversation so abruptly, startling her. Then again, Bancroft would have his head if he stuffed the job up on account of being distracted.

Neville had to wonder why he had been so adamant Dash come along if that was the case, of course...

His eyes had adjusted to the darkness when she spoke again, softer—impossibly— more careful than before. There was something innately gentle about the way that she moved, the way that she spoke, everything she did. It was soothing, to say the least. Neville glanced over at her curiously. She was sorry? "Don't be sorry—" He assured, assuming at first that it had something to do with their task.

One look at her eyes, like orbs under the moon, looking back up at him confirmed otherwise. There was a familiar sense that hit him. The war.

It sounded like he cut himself off partway through a sentence, and she watched (mildly mortified) as he realised what she was apologising for in real time. A shift from curiosity to understanding. It was immediately clear that she shouldn’t have said anything. Shouldn’t have mentioned it, and definitely shouldn’t have apologised.

“Shouldn’t have said anything,” she breathed, hesitant. In fact, she should stop talking about it right now. Maybe she was reading into it too much, being paranoid — maybe it wasn’t even a big deal at all, and it was just brownie-brain making her think that it was. Maybe she should say something else, move the conversation along? Her thoughts were moving unhelpfully slowly, but she should definitely change the subject. “You were in school?” she asked instead, her voice soft. She touched his arm quickly, shaking her head. “Don’t answer that,” she added.

“Sorry,” she said again, pulling her hand back, in case that was weird, too. Dash glanced away, her cheeks a little flushed with embarrassment. She ran a hand back through her hair, eyes on the tree. She willed it to do something, make another sound to distract them both. Unhelpfully, it stayed silent. “Brain-mouth filter,” she mumbled, gesturing to her head with a hand as an explanation.

"It's okay, really..." His voice trailed off, careful not to cut Arden off, but also firm in his belief that she had nothing to be apolozing for. It wasn't the first time someone brought up the war and it certainly wouldn't be the last. It was a natural thing to do, wasn't it? Besides most were not nearly as diplomatic, or caring, as she was so obviously being. It was evident to him, more so than ever, that she felt things deeply— as deeply as him, he thought— like she had experienced his as her own in some strange way.

The touch to his arm sent a surge through his veins directly from the point of contact. Dash pulled her hand back and immediately he ran his fingers over the spot on his arm in an attempt to hold onto the way that it felt. His thumb stumbled over the fabric of the flannel as his gaze caught hers briefly. It was hard to make out in the darkness but he imagined her cheeks had flushed. As had his.

"I was," He said carefully. "—in school, I mean," As if that needed clarifying. There was a sense of relief that came with the idea that she might not have heard his name before, as it pertained to the war. Often it was easier when people thought they knew everything there was to know about him. It required less talking, and less digging too deep.

Neville followed to where she looked to the tree, but it remained quiet around them aside from the whipping of the wind moving over the field of tall grass. He shivered again but didn't dare start up the fire. "I would, but—" He gestured to the fire. "We can't have any light if it is blossoming..." He explained, well aware he was avoiding the topic of conversation, rambling. "Do you want the blanket?" Neville asked but had already reached for it, a step closer to her without thought.

She felt like an idiot, standing in the dark with this guy. Dash was comfortable in social situations, but she didn’t often make new friends, and especially not ones she spent time with outside of work. She was lucky to have a few close people already, and lucky that she liked being alone, too. Maybe it was silly to have agreed to come and spend the night with a man who she didn’t know at all, she thought — too easy for her to make things awkward.

Or, maybe that line of thinking was just the brownies, too.

She wanted to look at him when he clarified that he was in school, but she waited a moment, until he wasn’t looking at her anymore, to glance his way. She nodded quietly, her gaze drawing a line down his profile. Dash had her own wartime experiences — as everyone did — but Hogwarts had to be one of the worst places to have been that year. Prying was not in her nature, and she stuck firmly to this despite her momentary lapse in judgement, just nodding in response. There was the urge to apologise again, but that was certainly just an irrational search for reassurance.

“Oh, no worries at all,” she said, shaking her head as he gestured at the fire. As if her body wanted explicitly to betray her, Dash shivered just then, too. Maybe that was just because he was closer now; she could feel the warmth from his body beside her. She folded her arms across her chest, curling her fingers into her sleeves and trying not to look too cold, just like she had earlier. She'd forgotten to be quiet, so she dropped her volume when she spoke again. “I’m okay,” she said, giving him a small, apologetic smile.

Neville, admittedly, was no expert in reading people but Arden's body language said enough. He could feel the cold emanating from her before he could feel it in the air. He held his held carefully overtop the folded knit blanket (courtesy of Melete), the other firmly underneath as he twisted back upright. They were closer than he remembered they had been before. The proximity was comforting.

"C'mon," He half-grinned and half-pleaded, brushing aside what he was learning was her default— not all that unlike his own. Dash's arms tucked tightly across her chest made it clear that the lack of fire was felt yet still she protested. "Here," He said, a fraction softer than before as he unfolded the throw. The familiar smell of the Bancroft home sent a wave of nostalgia.

He held it up for a moment, only fumbled slightly, then wrapped it over her shoulders. "We won't be able to set the fire now," Neville reiterated as if he needed to say it again to justify touching her, even through the thick wool. "Not until it blossoms," Wishful thinking on his part. It just as easily not turn up at all, making their night in the cold a waste. For a moment, he lingered where he had wrapped the fabric over her shoulder, unable to tear his gaze away.

"Erm," He cleared his throat, retracting his touch.

His smile was reassuring; she let herself relax a touch. It was good to know she hadn’t made things too awkward, then. With this in mind, Dash rolled her eyes, smiling too now, and nodded. The warming charms from earlier had held pretty well; it was cold out here but it wasn’t England-in-February, middle-of-the-night cold. Cold enough for a blanket. She could concede that.

He set about wrapping her up in it and she let it happen. Let herself indulge in the proximity, too — just a little. She wasn’t getting too carried away, she thought; it just felt nice to be looked after, was all. Nice to be close. It had been a while since she’d been alone with a man like this — in a space that verged on intimate. And there were no Mrs Nevilles waiting up at home; he’d clarified that already. They were adults, they were high; she let herself enjoy it an appropriate amount. “It’s okay,” she said quietly, smiling, responding specifically to the comment on the fire.

She curled her hands into the thick fabric, bunched at her neck, so he could let it go. He was right — it was definitely a good idea. Neville didn't pull back right away, though; his arm lingered half around her shoulders. She stilled, meeting his gaze and wondered exactly what it was he was thinking.

They were both quiet for a moment, then he pulled away. Her heart beat a little quicker.

Dash was half amused at her own desire for him to put his arm back around her and half caught up trying to come up with a way for it to happen again. After a beat, she held out an arm, the blanket dangling like a wing. It could stretch around them both, she thought. “It's big enough, if you wanna…?” She trailed off, wondering if it was a bit too much. It could be casual, though? Right? At least casual enough. After a beat, though, an easy smile tugged at her lips. “Can’t set the fire until after it blossoms,” she teased gently, repeating his words back at him.

Neville inhaled through his nose, his eyes still on Arden, before steadying himself to glance over to the oak that had gone suspiciously quiet. Based on the research he'd done, a false alarm was rare when it came to the blossoming. Something was going to happen. He could feel it. His eyes narrowed on the otherwise ordinary tree planted in the middle of nothing then inevitably found their way back to her.

It was big enough, if he wanted. Neville watched the familiar fabric of the blanket open up over her arm that was outstretched in his direction. In his direction? He had to do a double-take. Most of him could hardly believe it, but the other was grappling with a surge of serotonin, a shot straight to his head. "Oh," He stammered briefly, eyes widening despite an attempt to be casual.

"That's—" He was going to say it was alright, that he was warm enough, comfortable enough, but they both would know that was a lie. With a silent bow, he shuffled half of a step forward to where she held out her arm. Their height difference wouldn't help, he thought, but who was he to say no? Neville tucked his arm over hers, under the blanket, wrapping across her upper back hesitantly.

Unsure of where to hold himself, he caught her attention once more with an obvious question in his eye. "Thanks," He offered, his thumb running absently over the fabric of her jacket just under her arm. It was subtle enough that he hadn't even noticed he was doing it. Immediately, there was a warmth that washed over him, their closeness cutting through the cool of the February air.

Her wand was back in her bag, but it seemed unnecessarily frivolous. For a second she thought he’d say no, and the suit yourself — with a smile — was on the tip of her tongue. But then he came closer, sliding in beside her. She tried not to look too awkward, too amused, too embarrassed, too anything. Just tried to look normal. Dash wasn’t usually so self conscious; she blamed it on the substance.

He was looking at her again, uncertainty in his gaze. Very close, now. “Take this,” she urged quietly, reaching up over his opposite shoulder with the corner of the blanket for him to take. She was expecting more of an arms-to-themselves-but-side-by-side situation, so it was a pleasant surprise that he’d put his arm around her. She had to hold back a laugh, her mind doing funny things in response to it all. There was some self-directed disapproval too, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to let it become anything. Instead, she just curled her arms to her chest, holding her corner of the blanket in both hands, and leaned into him.

Warm, she thought. It made her shiver again.

She wasn’t really one to overthink. Overfeel, maybe, but everything she felt — from anxiety to affection to anger — tended to manifest far less explicitly than worked up thoughts. So once they were settled again, the flow drifted into something more meandering. The goosebumps didn’t go away, and her heart still beat a tad quick, but her mind stilled, and she let herself just enjoyed the feeling.

It was quiet for a minute or so. She wondered what the time was, and she was hungry, but she couldn't stand to break the tension of anticipation by bringing up either thing. “Any second now, right?” She breathed, her voice a touch muffled by the blanket tucked up just under her chin.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, weary and quiet, Neville felt like he ought to be more uncomfortable. The wizard wasn't overly affectionate with new people—that came with time—but the night seemed to have fast-tracked the process as it came to Arden. It was the brownies, or maybe, he thought, it had to do with the fact that it was the middle of the night and nothing felt particularly real anymore. It was like they were wading through a dream.

Neville had settled next to her, the other end of the blanket draped precariously over his opposite shoulder. He tucked it carefully into his palm and let out a breath of hot air into his closed first before holding it against his chest. He was careful with his movements as to not disrupt how it was wrapped around Arden.

Their collective warmth had done more in two minutes than his bloody spells had, Neville thought with a chuckle to himself.

"Hm?" He turned to catch her words that muffled slightly on their way to him. Any second? His brow furrowed, willing the tree again to make any sort of movement. He feared the false alarm didn't bode well for them. "Should be..." He didn't sound entirely convinced. The doubt seeped in elsewhere and suddenly the thought crossed his mind that he didn't know how long they would be stood there, pressed together, because he had said so.

"Bit anticlimactic, isn't it?" Neville whispered as if the flower might hear them, grinning. 

He turned slightly to hear what she’d said, but she didn’t copy the action. He was only maybe a third or half a foot taller than her; taller, sure, but the gap wasn’t so big. With his arm around her, too, their faces were so close already. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was aware that if they looked at each other like this, the proximity might be a bit much.

A cold wind blew then and she had to hold a hand up to stop her hair flying in her face. She felt glad again for the closeness, ostensibly because her fingertips were freezing. Her skin was tingling all over, but the feeling was especially acute everywhere they touched. That was definitely a brownies thing.

He didn’t sound very convincing, or very convinced for that matter, and Dash smiled a bit in response. “It’s not so bad,” she admitted, feeling bold. Bold for her, anyway, which mostly just equated to comfortable. She glanced at him, catching his grin, and exhaled a puff of air through her nostrils — a small, amused snort — as she looked ahead again. Her small smile threatened to shift into a bigger one. “Can think of worse ways to spend a weeknight," she added gently.

After a moment of looking at Arden, not even halfway over his shoulder, Neville's gaze flicked back to the tree. He hoped the reluctance wasn't obvious but feared the drugs weren't doing him any favors as far as that was concerned. Every movement was heavy and slow and holding onto comfort. Looking ahead was the safer option, of course. With an arm already around her, anything closer felt like crossing some kind of boundary.

"You think?" He wondered, sublty (he thought) pleased to hear her say that she could think of worse ways to be spending her night. He was reminded that it was Thursday only then, having lost himself in the capsule in which time didn't exist. Bancroft mentioned he could have the day to rest tomorrow but he knew he would be up and working as soon as given the chance.

"I—" Neville opened his mouth, unsure of what he wanted to say, but sure that he was speaking out of turn either way. Most of him wanted to impart on her how nice of a time he was having, but he couldn't find a way to put it into spoken words. He chewed the inside of his lip, suppressing what felt an inevitable grin, eyes still cast forward despite the urge to look at her. "This is nice," He landed on, finally breaking into an actual grin.