Teen Drama or "Are we sure there are no more Horcruxes, wife?"

Greenhouse Smoke

A week later

Neville Longbottom found himself kneeling on the floor of Greenhouse #1, holding his left hand to his chest and struggling to keep in the shout of pain he desperately wanted to let out.

He had never been hurt by the Venomous Tentacula before – not even during his student years – but Sophie's presence in the greenhouse had escalated from mildly distracting to completely disturbing his focus.

As he had foreseen, she had made it her mission to mess with his head, forgoing the muggle jeans in favour of skirts; every time she worked with him in the Greenhouses that week, she had worn a skirt. And that Saturday was no different – she'd chosen a knee-length skirt that didn't show anything improper but filled his mind with ideas of easy access.

"Fuck," Neville groaned in a low voice as his hand throbbed.

Because of his inattention, due to her new choices of attire, the Venomous Tentacula had got angry and taken advantage of his predicament, attacking him in a fit of jealous rage.

"Fucking hell," he whisper-growled, gritting his teeth.

"Prof. Longbottom?" he heard Sophie's sweet voice come from the other side of the long greenhouse.

"It's fine. I'm fine!" he quickly replied, but even he could tell his voice was a clear giveaway that he was anything but fine.

"What's wrong?" Sophie asked, quickly approaching him with a concerned frown, "Why–"

Then she saw the blood and how he held his maimed left hand close to his chest and inhaled sharply, "Professor!" running to his side, quickly understanding what had happened: "The Venomous attacked you?" she touched his shoulders and down his arm.

"Yes," Neville said between gritted teeth, "I just need you to call Pomfrey here– she'll help me."

But Sophie didn't seem to be listening to him, she helped him up, obviously using magic to lift him from the floor, and conjured a chair, pushing him to sit on it before he could ask her what she thought she was doing.

He didn't fight her though, sitting on the chair, blinking slowly, realising that he couldn't see right, probably due to the pain and blood loss.

"Miss Snape–"

"Shh," she promptly shushed him, and he felt something warm run down his left arm, making his fingertips tingly.

"What–"

"I'm stopping the bleeding, professor, now just breathe and stop moving," her voice authoritative, the voice of someone who expected to be obeyed.

As if all he needed was another reason to find her more attractive – imagining her bossing him around and he making her submit wasn't going to help his situation in any way.

"Just call Pomfrey–"

She snapped at him: "If I don't stop you from bleeding out, I might as well call the morgue instead of a mediwitch."

Neville gulped, for the first time since he'd met her, he could see her father in her, in the angry gaze and sarcastic tone. And part of him – the wicked part responsible for the darkest desires he carried inside – wanted to show her who was the boss.

He had to fight the consuming need to grab her by the ponytail and kiss her sensuous mouth into submission.

"There, it's stopping," Sophie said softly, clearly proud of herself.

Neville's vision was no longer blurry, and he could see all of her once more; being that close but having her focus on his arm and hand, allowed him to take notice of every detail of her face. Her emerald-green eyes, her high cheekbones, the dark-pink lips that she pulled between her teeth as she focused on healing him, her slender neck, the curve where her neck met her shoulder.