He had always admired her from afar. Throughout their years in school together he had watched her every move. The way she grew in stature, her intelligence shining through in class. The way she could deal with her peers, both friend and foe with gritty determination and yet empathy. The same way she dealt with the teachers, again both friend and foe.
He knew she would grow into something very special and so she had. Not only intellectually, but in beauty, though he had always thought of her as beautiful and sensuous. She was his perfect woman… But he was Neville Longbottom, the butt of everyone's jokes, the buffoon, the round, clumsy friend of 'The Three Musketeers', herself, Harry and Ron.
What did he have to offer? Admittedly he was the ace in the school at Herbology. But despite its importance as the bedrock of most magic, because without the herbs and plants and knowing what to do with them so much of the Magical World would be lost, it was still considered a minor skill and subject. It did not have the kudos of work with spells, potions or even ability at Quidditch.
During the final, terrible, year of school when Hermione, Harry and Ron had been on their quest he had come of age in so many ways. He found depths of strength and leadership that he had not known he possessed leading the underground subversion at school. During the final Battle of Hogwarts he had shown great courage and fighting skills, but when it was all over had shrunk quietly once more in to the background.
On leaving school he obtained employment at The Ministry, where he excelled, but others always seemed to get the credit. But he didn't mind. His focus was on following the career path of Hermione and when she had completed her extra year at school and joined The Ministry he was ecstatic.
He took every opportunity to cross her path, offering help and conversation whenever he could and their friendship grew, if only in work. They could confide in each other, knowing whatever was said would go no further. But the friendship never extended out of the work place. Neville knew he could not compete in the social circles that Hermione moved in, which included International Quidditch matches, as her relationship with Ron had moved on and he was now a regular in the England team.
Whilst the friendship was the most rewarding in Neville's life, it also hurt as his feelings for her grew with each year. His heart beat increased in her company, his dreams were populated by visions of her, the flowing mane of hair, the way she walked, laughed, the shape of her hips moving under her robes, the perfect breasts. He pictured what she must look like naked, saw himself making love to her and eating her pussy.
Was he in love? He didn't know, but he did know that he had never felt like this about any other woman. He had had relationships with women but had never talked so openly with them or laughed with them as he did with Hermione and the sex was not as satisfying as his dream sex.
But he was still just Neville, the work clown, first to arrive and last to leave at staff functions, clumsy but funny, not to be taken seriously. And more importantly Hermione was to get married to another of his friends. Perhaps this would be the catalyst needed to stop his growing need.
The years following the marriage had been easier, due mainly to her absence from work with the arrival of children. The feelings had not abated but her absence made them easier to handle. However this was only the calm before the storm and when she returned to work on a more or less full time basis it was painful. No longer was there an attractive young girl, but a woman of extraordinary beauty, sensuousness and confidence in her own body.
He was hopelessly smitten. Their work friendship was re-established and was even deeper. When he left work in the evening he carried the smell of her perfume in his nostrils and it sustained him until the following day.
Ten years after the Tri-Wizard Tournament there was to be an anniversary Yule Ball at Hogwarts. Neville was one of the first to arrive, taking up his customary position at the bar, regaling all and sundry with funny anecdotes and jokes, drinking more than was good for him.
When Hermione arrived he was rather drunk, but even through his unfocussed eyes she had an effect on him. His blood pressure rose, his cheeks flushed and despite his intake of alcohol there was a distinct tightening in his trousers as his cock became erect.
She was dressed in a bright red ball gown, cut low showing the slopes of her perfect milky white breasts. It was cut in, enhancing her slim waist and flaring out; accentuating her delicious hips and when she turned the sight of her arse encased in the tight material had his cock jerking in the confines of his trousers.
She was alone and looked annoyed at this fact. Neville remembered that Ron was at the England training camp getting ready for the Quidditch World Cup.
He stared open mouthed at her, his erection remaining stubbornly in place as she took to the dance floor with partner after partner. Her glorious locks flowing, her laughter ringing out and he even thought he could smell her perfume.
After several more drinks Neville decided that he would tell her how he felt about her. If nothing else he hoped it would break the spell on him when, as she was bound to do, she laughed at him.
He gathered himself, walking as steadily as he could over to her.
'Hello, Hermione. You're looking lovely tonight. Would you like to dance,' he rushed out in one breath, so as not to slur his words.
'Of course, I think the last time I saw you dance was at this ball ten years ago,' she giggled.
The sound made the discomfort in his trousers grow. He looked deeply into the dark sensuous pools of her eyes and his heart skipped a beat.
After two rather frenetic dances, during which Neville struggled to stay on his feet, the band played a slower number. He gripped Hermione, pulling her in close. The feel of her breasts against his chest and his hands caressing the small of her back caused his heart to race and his cock to throb.
He knew she must be able to feel it, but she did not pull away, nor did she take her eyes from his. The pressure of her body and the friction of their movements were causing his breath to come in short gasps as his cock was rubbed between them.
Emboldened by her lack of negative reaction he decided that now was the time to express his true feelings.
'Hermione,' he began, haltingly, 'There's something I want to tell you. I think, no, I know that for years now I've been in lo..'
His words were cut off by Hermione's finger against his lips. He looked in to her eyes, which were moist, but determined.
'Neville you are my dearest friend. I want you to stay that way. No. I need you to stay that way, but friendship is all it can ever be. I'm sorry.'
A feeling like a knife piercing his heart gripped Neville. He knew he should never have done this. It was going to ruin their friendship, he couldn't live with that.
Hermione seemed to read his mind from the devastated look on his face.
'Things won't change, Neville. You'll still be my friend and confidante. I'm actually pleased you have felt able to express yourself, I'm flattered, really. But…'
At that the music came to a halt. Neville disengaged himself and staggered from the hall, wandering through the corridors of his old school aimlessly.
And that was how he came to be up against a tiled wall in one of the bathrooms with…
His head was leaning back against the cold tiles, his trousers and underwear in a heap round his ankles and his engorged cock gripped in his hand.
His eyes were closed and he was picturing Hermione naked in front of him, her alabaster skin shining in the light. He advanced on her, drinking in her body with his eyes, his cock growing harder.
He reached her and ran his hands through her lustrous hair, bringing bunches up to his nose, breathing in her scent. His hands travelled slowly down her body reaching her breasts, her nipples already erect, the areolae changing colour as blood rushed to them.
He lowered his head, enclosing an engorged nipple between his lips, lashing it with his tongue and pulling it outwards, then releasing it to spring back, covered in his saliva, before turning his attention to her other breast. Backwards and forwards between them he went, causing her breathing to increase in intensity, her body beginning to quiver with sexual tension.
Releasing her breasts he slid slowly down her body, kissing and licking the exposed flesh, poking his tongue in the indentation of her belly button, producing a shiver through her body.
His chin reached the apex of her thighs. He breathed in deeply, the smell of her perfume enhanced by the unmistakeable aroma of female arousal. Neville nuzzled his face in her pubic bush, the same magnificent hue as the hair on her head.
His tongue snaked out, working through the downy fur until it encountered the moistness of her pussy lips. He licked from top to bottom, the lips opening for him, glistening with arousal. As he licked he used his fingers over and around her clit, feather light touches sending bolts of electricity through her body.
Neville transferred his oral attentions to her throbbing clit, flicking and stabbing with his tongue. He slid first one, then two fingers into her pussy, exploring the damp heat, reaching upwards behind her clit, and searching for that elusive spot.
Hermione's fingers were entangled in his hair, pushing and pulling at his head as waves of pleasure rippled through her body, her legs threatening to give out.
Replacing his fingers once more with his tongue, Neville parted her pussy lips, drinking of her pleasure, rubbing his nose over and around her clit.
As he felt her orgasm approach he slid one moistened finger under her and inserted it into her arse. The feeling of tongue in her pussy, a nose upon her clit and a finger up her arse was too much. Hermione cried out as a crashing orgasm overtook her, her knees giving way as she slumped to the ground next to Neville.
At this point in his revels Neville's eyes shot open and with three violent, strong strokes of his cock he came. He pushed his hips away from the tiled wall as cum erupted from his cock, shooting away from his body in an arc. He continued to stroke his shaft and three smaller, but still strong spurts of cum followed.
He stood with his cock, still hard, in his hand. Then, soundlessly, tears began to spill from his eyes and he slid slowly down the wall.
When he was sitting he put his head in his hands, closing his eyes in despair.
How long he sat there he was not sure, but unbidden a tune started to play in his head. It took some time for him to recognise it, but then he started to hum it, trying to recall the lyrics.
He had it. It was an old song from a muggle rock star, Meatloaf.
What were the words?
'I want you,
I need you,
But there ain't no way
I'm ever gonna love you.
Now don't be sad,
'Cos two out of three ain't bad.'
He started to sing it out loud to himself and as he did so his tears stopped and lightness entered his heart.
He stood quickly, pulled up his clothing and strode purposefully out of the bathroom and back to the ballroom.
He scanned the room and spotted Hermione sitting on her own. He strode over to her. She looked up at him cautiously. Neville pulled her to her feet, embraced her lovingly and whispered in her ear, 'You know two out of three isn't bad.'
He kissed her on both cheeks, held her away from him and said, 'Thank you,' and without another word, turned away smiling, leaving the room singing in a loud voice a song that not many people recognised.
People shrugged as they watched him go. 'It's just Neville, funny old bugger he is.'