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Does Not Cease to Be Wrong

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Neville leaned back against the fence and sipped his beer—one of his wife's special batches she'd brewed just for this occasion—as he looked out over the raucous celebration spilling out of the Burrow and into their back garden. There had to be well over a hundred people celebrating the end of the school year in general, and Albus and Rose's graduation more specifically, so it was no wonder the house itself wasn't enough to contain everybody. It wasn't quite summer yet, so the warmth of the day was already beginning to fade as the sun set, but a few Warming Charms would take care of that quick enough. Not that Neville needed one at the moment.

He was feeling a little flushed as it was.

A few feet away, Rose Granger-Weasely threw back her head and laughed at something her Uncle George had said, her auburn curls bouncing and gleaming beneath the twinkling fairy lights. She normally wore her hair in a more chaotic riot of curls, but she'd gone for a sleeker style for the party. Neville thought both suited her heart-shaped face and intelligent eyes quite well, but there was something rather grown-up about the way she looked tonight. It might have been the hair, or perhaps it was the fact that she was wearing a dress for the first time in Neville's memory. It was a pale pink silken thing just shy of indecent, hugging her generous curves and emphasising the swell of her breasts and arse. Then again, maybe the reason why Rose looked so mature that evening was because, as of this morning when she and the rest of the students had caught the Hogwarts Express home, she was no longer Neville's student.

He hungrily traced the contours of Rose's body in that short, pink dress, and almost wished she still was. Because then she'd be off-limits, untouchable. Neville could ignore her shy smiles and coy glances and the warm press of her fingers brushing against his own as she helped him with his plants in the Hogwarts greenhouses. Getting involved with a student was a line he wouldn't cross and so, when Rose had been his bright, inquisitive pupil, he could turn a blind eye to the fact that her body had filled out in all the right ways, could brush aside the inappropriate glow of pride he felt that somebody so young and beautiful was infatuated with him. It had been easy to dismiss Rose's subtle flirtations as a harmless crush, one that she'd no doubt grow out of with time. He'd never take her up on what she was tacitly offering, and he certainly never would have while she was still a student at Hogwarts.

Which she no longer was.

Of course, it wasn't as if that was the only reason to stay far, far away. Rose was half his age, the daughter of two of his closest friends… and he was a happily married man. Or at least a contentedly married man, even if Hannah seemed more like a roommate than a wife these days. Hell, roommate almost seemed like a bit of a stretch considering how rarely they both managed to be home at the same time. During the school year, Neville spent more nights in his quarters at Hogwarts than in their shared home, and with Hannah working most evenings managing the several pubs she owned, it wasn't as if she missed him much anyway. These days they were lucky to get a single night a week together, and though sex hadn't completely disappeared from their relationship, it had grown rather perfunctory, lacking the filthy passion of the early days. Neville wondered if it would even be possible to rekindle that spark or if it was gone completely. It wasn't as if he was no longer capable of that kind of desire, that kind of passion. After all, he only had to look over at Rose and that plunging neckline, and he was overcome with the urge to bury his face between those full breasts, bend her over the nearest flat surface and fuck her for all he was worth.

Rose chose that moment to look over at him, a slow smile blooming across her lips as she caught his gaze. Neville cheeks flushed at the naked, heated stare, and he had to stop himself from looking around to see if anybody else had noticed Rose's blatant regard. None of the others in her group seemed to think anything was amiss, and nobody seemed to find it strange at all when Rose peeled away and made her way over to greet her favourite former professor. Neville's stomach writhed in dread and anticipation as her wide hips rolled invitingly beneath pale pink silk.

"Hello, Professor," she said with a cheeky smile. "Well, I suppose you're not technically my professor anymore."

"No, I'm not." Neville cleared his throat and pasted on a strained smile. "Speaking of, congratulations. I'm sure you're looking forward to your last month of freedom before N.E.W.T.s results come in and you start applying for apprenticeships."

Her lips twitched in apparent amusement, as if she could sense his arousal and discomfort as he desperately searched for safe topics to discuss.

"Absolutely! Al, Scor, and I are leaving for a trip to the continent next week so we don't go mad waiting for our grades to arrive."

"Smart," Neville said, draining the last of his beer and Vanishing the bottle. "I'm sure you'll all have a lot of fun."

"Oh, no doubt," Rose said, her eyes sparkling. "By the way, did you hear that my grandparents finally finished with their greenhouse?"

Neville paused, wary of the sudden turn in the conversation. "No, I hadn't," he said slowly. "Your father"—Rose's lips twisted in annoyance at Neville's emphasis—"asked for my input on the design, and for some suggestions on good plants to start out with, but I hadn't realised they'd finished building."

"Well, then, allow me to give you a tour," she said. Her voice dipped into a low, sultry register as she nodded towards where Neville could just make out the roof of what he supposed was the new greenhouse. "I'm sure Grandma and Grandpa Weasley would love to hear any feedback you might have."

Neville's entire body went hot at the underlying implication of her suggestion, the knowledge that her invitation was far from innocent. If he went with her now, he wouldn't be saying yes to a simple greenhouse tour.

"Won't you be missed?" Neville asked, desperate for a reason to say no when his entire body longed to say yes. "This is a party for you, after all."

"Oh, we won't be long, will we?" she asked, a naughty gleam in her eye. "Besides, it's not just for me."

"I—my wife might wonder where I've gone off to," Neville countered, grasping at straws. He hoped the reminder that he was a married man might deter Rose the way it wasn't really deterring him.

Rose just smirked and gestured towards the Burrow. "Looks like she's busy catching up with an old… friend. I doubt she'll miss you."

Neville turned towards the window, making out Hannah and Rosmerta through the glass, sat together on a sofa and clearly deep in conversation. They'd always seemed to have a special connection, one that Neville, in his youth, had been eager to put down to them both being in the same industry. He'd always ignored the hot flush that came to Hannah's cheeks when she mentioned Rosmerta, the insuppressible giddy smile. Whenever Hannah and Rosmerta were in the same room together they inevitably lost themselves in conversation for hours, to the exclusion of everyone else around them. Rose was right; Hannah wouldn't notice Neville was missing at all, not if she had Rosmerta to distract her.

When he turned to look back at Rose, she was already walking off towards the greenhouse, her arse round and inviting as it swayed. She looked over one pale, freckled shoulder at him, her smile wickedly pleased when she noticed where his gaze had been focused.

"Coming, Professor?"

Neville's cock throbbed, his throat went dry, and he felt powerless to resist the bob of his head as he let her lead him away from the party. The greenhouse wasn't far; he could still hear the indistinct murmur of conversation punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter, but they were mostly out of sight of the garden, hidden by several well-placed bushes and trees.

Then again, Neville knew that was entirely the point.

"Here it is," Rose said as she murmured an Alohomora and pushed open the door. They were immediately hit with a blast of warm, muggy air that told Neville the house had been properly constructed. He couldn't help his instinctive smile as he followed Rose inside, breathing in the rich, loamy scent of potting soil cut with light floral notes and bitter green leaves. The house wasn't overly large—he wouldn't expect otherwise for casual personal use—and there was still plenty of empty space along the waist-high wooden shelves lining the interior. It was clear they were still building out their collection, but Neville noticed most of the plant suggestions he'd given Ron were accounted for, along with several others that were used in many common household potions.

"So, how does it look?"

"Great," Neville murmured. He tried to keep his focus on the plants surrounding them, but in the end Rose was too tempting a figure to ignore. She was standing next to him, close enough to touch. Neville shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. He cleared his throat and nodded vaguely at their surroundings. "It looks great."

"And what about me?"

The back of Neville's neck began to sweat, and he knew it wasn't solely due to the humid air. "What about you?"

"How do I look?" Rose murmured, her lashes fluttering. "Do you like my dress?" She gave a little twirl, the hem of the dress fanning out around her, grazing Neville's trousers in a barely-there caress.

"It's… you look lovely."

Rose flashed him a pleased smile. "I'm not normally one for dresses, but I wore it specially for tonight."

"For the party," Neville said, his stomach tightening when Rose gave a coy shake of her head, sending her perfectly coiled curls bouncing.

"I thought it would make it easier," she said, her hands smoothing down the sides of the dress, tracing the curves of her hips before reaching the bare skin of her thighs and sliding up under the fabric. "This way, I can just"—her hips did a little shimmy—"slide off my knickers"—a beige scrap of fabric dropped to the ground around Rose's legs and she nudged it aside—"hitch up my dress"—her left hand slid up her stomach, bunching the silken material of her dress and revealing a gorgeous thatch of auburn curls—"and"—her free hand reached out and took hold of one of Neville's, her skin so soft and hot as she guided him towards where she was even softer and hotter. She pressed his palm right up against her cunt, and his hand instinctively cupped around her. Rose let out a pleased little gasp that turned into a moan as his fingers slid through her slick folds and rubbed at her entrance. She was so wet for him, so ready, and his middle finger slipped right inside her with no effort at all.

"Oh," she breathed, clenching around his finger and grinding her clit against the heel of his palm. Neville's cock throbbed as he watched her lashes flutter with pleasure, taking in the rosy, youthful glow of her cheeks as she rode his hand. He slid a second finger inside, relishing the tight squeeze, already wondering how she'd feel around his cock, the way her huge tits would bounce as he fucked her.

He wasn't the only eager one. Rose reached for Neville's flies, tugging at his trousers until the button came free and undoing the zip with an ease that reassured Neville that this was not Rose's first Quidditch match. It seemed less torrid, somehow, if this wasn't Rose's first time.

Confident hands shoved down Neville's trousers and wrapped tight around Neville's cock, smearing precome along his throbbing shaft as she wanked him. Godric, he wanted her. She'd been flirting and teasing him for years and he'd had to sit there and push it all down, pretending he hadn't noticed her pouty lips and bouncy breasts. But he wasn't pretending any longer, so he slid out of her soaking cunt and pushed her up against the wall, digging his wet fingers into a milky thigh as he hitched her left leg up around his waist. She moaned and bit her lip as he lined himself up, a sweet little gasp escaping as he sunk inside with one smooth thrust.

For all the build-up, the flirting, the guilt and resistance, the actual fucking didn't last all that long. Neville was a man grown, and he generally had the stamina to match, but the filthiness of shagging Rose—a former student, the daughter of some of his closest friends, a girl half his age who was very much not his wife—practically in public, where they could get caught at any moment, was possibly the hottest experience of his life. He didn't stand a chance, not with Rose arching up against him, mewling with every thrust, her arms wrapped tight around his neck as she panted hot and wet against his throat.

His orgasm rose up in him, sudden and intense, and he managed to wedge his free hand between them as he shuddered his release. He rubbed his fingers in tight, firm circles against Rose's clit, and it didn't take long before she reached her own climax, clenching around his softening cock as she came.

She recovered more quickly than he did, wriggling out of Neville's grip and cleaning both of them off with a flick of her wand. Another flick sent her knickers zooming into her waiting hand, and she shimmied them on before checking out her reflection in one of the greenhouse windows, smoothing down her hair and dress. Neville was still tucking himself away by the time she turned a sunny smile onto him, looking fresh and innocent and not at all like she'd just got shagged up against a wall by her former professor.

"I take it you can find your way back to the party?" she asked brightly. "We really should be heading back before we're missed."

"Err… yes?"

She laughed, her eyes flashing with heat as she stepped forward, delicate hands reaching up to fix his crooked collar.

"Excellent." She pressed up on tiptoes to brush a kiss against his cheek. "I'll see you around, Professor."

That, Neville thought, as Rose slipped out of the greenhouse and back towards the party, was precisely the problem.