This chapter was written in response to the HO January 30th prompt. I'm dedicating it to my friend s i l v e r a u r o r a. Credit to Mew & Mor's Weird Pairings!

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"It's time to come clean and make sense of everything,

It's time that we find out who we are,

'Cause when I'm standing in the dark,

I see your face in every star."

-Ellie Goulding, 'Guns and Horses'

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It's nothing more than a flight of fancy – that's what Neville tells himself as he does the buttons of his jacket. Only, his mantra doesn't stop his fingers from fumbling, the digits entirely without the precision that accompanies him into the greenhouse. Of course, plants have always been simple to him. Botany is easy to understand. Life, as he has found, is not. Not by a long shot. Satisfied with his appearance, Neville gives his hair a final pat down and turns away from the mirror's accusing stare, leaving the bedroom that belongs to both and to neither of them. It has been many months since he has been able to slip between the sheets beside his wife without regret, and longer still with any real wish to lie beside her and have her breaths perform a peaceful duet with his own. In sleep, Hannah looks innocent, peaceful. He sometimes thinks that were she to wake up and look at him, she would see the guilt written across his unsuspecting face.

It is with a similar spasm of remorse that he smiles at Hannah when he reaches the bottom of the staircase, raising his hand in a jaunty wave. She is oblivious to the significance of this particular goodbye, her own hurried wave made midway between serving drinks to the customers of the Leaky Cauldron. Despite the hammering of his heart – louder than the chatter and laughter filling the pub, he is sure – Neville's exit passes unnoticed. He slips onto the streets of London and wills the cool night air, the rhythm of his feet against the cobblestones, to calm him.

After all, what's the worst that could happen?

He is a man in a corduroy jacket and casual slacks – a fairly non-descript outfit; respectable, even. He could be going anywhere, perhaps for an evening stroll. Why would anyone look twice at him? It is only in his imagination that there is anything to mark him out, and the logical part of Neville's brain realises this. This same section also told him that the probability of anything significant taking place was slim to none, and that she would be sitting in her family home, listening distractedly to her brother and sister arguing, perhaps giving a bemused smile now and then as she thought of him.

If she isn't, Neville won't blame her.

He is selfish – hadn't he proven that? Every time he had pushed Hannah's dull image out of his thoughts, allowed himself to be pulled under by the current of her beauty and drown in the vibrant blue of her eyes, the sweetness of her skin ... – but not selfish enough to expect her to give up anything for him. It was enough that when she looked at him, not only her mouth but her entire face would be lit up by a smile that was brighter than the stars.

No, she isn't going to be there because there is nothing for her to gain by meeting him again, let alone going along with his foolish plan.

Their fling had been a glorious, honey-sweet interlude from reality and it had lasted for the final few months of her last year at Hogwarts. After he had recovered from the shock of Victoire returning his feelings, Neville had assumed that a passion as bright as theirs would soon burn itself out and decided to make the most of it – when he could feel the soft brush of Victoire's breath against his neck, when her hands were caressing his skin with near reverence, Neville would forget that there was such a thing as remorse, never mind that he ought to be feeling it. Only, the more time he spent with Victoire, the more enamoured he became. Victoire had given him reason to believe that it was the same for her.

When she had finally completed her seventh year, Neville had imagined that they would forget about what had passed between them, that it would become a distant, fond memory and take on the hazy quality of a dream. However, Neville misses her. And if Victoire's letters are anything to go by, she misses him too – desperately. Of that longing was born his plan to continue their relationship.

He continues through the streets, which start to thin out as he gets farther away from the city centre. Neville's hands are clenched in his pockets. Now that he is close to the destination he suggested – a park, one which he favours due to the way in which the natural foliage, daisies and dandelion clocks, are allowed to grow – he is increasingly anxious. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He is also hopeful; the moon shines its pure, comforting light over what is a tranquil scene. The stars too are luminous, and something about their intensity causes him to recall the particular sparkle that would begin in Victoire's eyes when she laughed.

Neville sits on a bench. He drums his fingers on the wood, pauses to wipe away the peeling paint. Restless, he stands and begins to pace. The gravel crunches underneath his feet. So consumed is he by the repetitive pattern of his steps, so intent is he on not looking left and right for a woman that most likely will not appear, that he is not immediately aware that his are not the only footsteps on the pathway.

When he next turns, Victoire is before him. She is so pale and beautiful that Neville suspects his mind is playing tricks on him until she speaks.

"Hello Neville." There is an uncharacteristically hesitant quality to her voice. He sees the beginning of a smile at the corners of her mouth. "You came to me – I knew that you would, but I was afraid that you wouldn't." She shakes her head, conscious that she is babbling.

Neville catches the delicate scent of her perfume, mingled with that of the flowers in near-by plant pots.

It registers in his mind that Victoire is with him, and what it means.

"Of course I did. I invited you here, didn't I?" He reaches out and caresses the side of her face. There is a current between them, as strong as ever, and Neville is powerless to resist. She leans into his touch, and her expression is peaceful.

Unlike him, Victoire doesn't seem concerned that she is conspicuous in appearance. Of course, her golden good looks have always drawn attention, yet it seems that she has deliberately augmented her own appeal with a pale blue dress, complete with silken ruffles that dance in the slight breeze, and a string of pearls sitting around the base of her neck. To someone who is not close to Victoire, it would seem as though she was doing everything in her power to lure him away from his wife with her pretty gown and pearl necklace, however Neville knows that she often uses that spectacular beauty of hers as a shield against hurt, because she knows that she can rely on it.

"You did..." Unwillingly, Victoire tilts her head away from his hand. "But Neville... did you really mean it? Do you still mean it?"

Both of them notice that she hasn't voiced the motive behind their meeting.

"I do. You've made me feel so happy, Victoire; so alive. I don't want to let you go." He wraps an arm around her waist, feeling the warmth of Victoire's skin radiating from beneath the silken material.

"Even if it means leaving your wife – leaving Hannah?" By putting a name to the woman whose husband she has stolen, a family friend who has often been kind to her, Victoire shows him that she too understands the hurt that they are going to case, because the fact that they have cleaved together makes it clear to Neville that they will do it.

"Even if it means leaving Hannah, which it certainly does." He hides his frown by kissing the crown of Victoire's forehead – there will be plenty of time for them both to wonder how wrong their adultery really was, and for now he wants Victoire to simply enjoy the fullness of the future.

"Wow." Victoire looks up at him strangely. She shivers slightly, and he realises that although is summer time, her dress is not enough to keep her warm. "You'd do that for me?"

"There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. It wasn't right for me to make you my other woman, and it wasn't right for lie to Hannah." What passes between them has not always been innocent, however Neville intends for it to become a more honest state of affairs. "I love you too much to throw this away."

She takes a step backwards and sits on the bench, folding her dress around her knees. Neville knows that she is thinking about something important, and so he doesn't join her, instead keeping his distance and allowing Victoire space.

"I think that you do, yes – you love me as a whole person, not just a beautiful girl." Her candour surprises Neville. He is taken aback by the spirit behind her words, and relieved that she understands the depth of his own feelings. The leaves on the trees rustle gently, and Victoire pauses to look at them. "I love you too, Neville – please don't doubt it."

"I don't." He sits beside her on the bench. Victoire's hand slips into his.

"What happens next? What do you plan on telling Hannah?"

"The truth. She deserves nothing less." Neville wonders for the hundredth time how he grew apart from his wife, recalling the way she had originally been so shy around him. She had blushed scarlet when he had introduced her to his grandmother. However, there is no longer the same sting of sadness to his musing.

"She'll despise me." Victoire swallows. Neville doesn't argue with her. "What do you think my parents will say?"

"Quite a lot of things, I'd imagine." Neville imagines the various insults Bill and Fleur Weasley will aim at him, and hopes that they will not judge their daughter too harshly. He hadn't planned on seducing her. She hadn't planned on seducing him, either. Then again, there are almost ten years between them – not quite as large as the discrepancy between him and Victoire, but it is there nevertheless.

"Yeah." He shrugs off his jacket and holds it out to Victoire, who wraps it around her shoulders gratefully before resting her head against his shoulder. "Neville? Do you think that I'll be worth it all?"

"Honestly? I'm certain of it." He strokes her hair, playing with the strands as they fall between his fingers. "And you?"

"I have a lot less to lose, and you know it. Your reputation – Neville, you're a teacher..."

"I've wanted to devote more time to research for years – long before I found you. It was easy to put it off – there was routine in what I had with Hogwarts and with Hannah, but now I think that it's time for a fresh start. I handed in my notice this morning." He struggles not to laugh aloud – Victoire's face is the picture of shock as she turns to face him. He doesn't know if she realises that she is the source of all of his impulsive courage, which suggests that what he is borrowing comes from a near infinite supply. "Perhaps I'll go back to teaching in a few years, but for now?"

Neville shrugs.

He cannot help but smile as Victoire presses an enthusiastic kiss to his mouth. Everything about her is delicious to him.

"That's amazing, Neville. You're amazing." Victoire toys with her hair as she looks at him in a coquettish gesture that he finds irresistible.

"I've been asked to write another series of articles for the Green Thumb, and so I'll be able to live on that until my research picks up. I know that you don't much like to plan ahead, but in time, if you'd like to that is -"

"Yes?" Victoire places a hand on his arm, quietly prompting him.

"I plan on renovating my parents' home, and I'd thought that you might like to stay with me now and then, perhaps even permanently later on, although if not -"

"I'd love to." Victoire's reply is certain, her delight unfeigned. Once again she kisses him, this time for a little longer. "I know it isn't going to be easy, but there's so much ahead of us, isn't there?"

"Yes... Yes, there is." Neville wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls Victoire towards him.

They sit together, talking and dreaming of the same future, until the sky begins to lighten. When they part, both Neville and Victoire know that it won't be for long – a new day is dawning. It feels as though the sun is rising for them.

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