Descended, Not Fallen, Thank You
Author's notes: The Last Battle takes place the same year as the end of Buffy. That means it’s been two years, making Neville 20 (and an assistant professor) and Cordelia 24.
Cordelia wasn’t waiting for Neville Longbottom, however it looked. She was trying
to get to Trelawney’s tower so they could talk about fostering psychic abilities. Hogwarts, however, seemed to have other ideas.
She’d gone down three dead end hallways, opened two doors to nowhere, and had gotten turned so ass backwards that she’d somehow or another ended up in the Slytherin common room by going through a secret passageway that no one had ever found before. Then she got on the freaking staircases and she’d spent the last 30 minutes going in circles because the damned things wouldn’t stop moving.
She shrieked, more startled than surprised, when the staircase she was on disappeared under her feet. And she hadn’t been looking for him but damned if Neville Longbottom didn’t catch her, the bastard.
Her first thought was, ‘Wow, for a gardener, he’s strong
’; her second was, ‘Ooh, his eyes
’; then he blushed under her gaze and she gave up, relaxing in his arms. It’d been awhile, too long really, since she’d dated a sturdy, stable guy whose only real issue was the way he dressed.
“Well, you’re not exactly what I expected,” he said, smile distracting her from his blush.
Powers but he was adorable.
“That’s me! Cordelia Chase, defying expectations since 1997,” she chirped before her brain caught up with her mouth. He was already turning her stupid.
His arms flexed around her and if she’d been on her feet, he’d have had to catch her again. He was packing some serious muscle under his ugly robes.
She shifted a little and he set her back on her feet, keeping an arm around her waist.
“Do you dance?” she asked suddenly. She knew his type and if she didn’t make the first move, they’d both still be dancing around the issue when something happened and only one of them would live to regret it.
“Headmistress McGonagall taught me in Fourth Year for the Yule Ball,” he said bemusedly, eyes skating over her face.
“A ball like the one you’re having this year?” she asked even though she was pretty sure of his answer. He nodded and she raised an eyebrow. “Are you taking me to this ball?”
He grinned painfully wide, smoothing a lock of hair behind her ear as he said, “I suppose I am.”
She smirked up at him. Fate couldn’t drag her around by the nose if she got there first. And Neville Longbottom? Well, he wasn’t exactly a hardship.