Author: Meltha
Rating: slash, but very mild
Feedback: Yes, thank you. Meltha
Spoilers: Written prior to Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Everything from that point on his pure conjecture.
Distribution: Fanfiction.net and the Bunny Warren. If you're interested, please let me know.
Summary: Harry's years at Hogwarts have drawn to a close, but there's still one thing he hasn't done. Harry/Neville.
Disclaimer: All characters are owned by Mutant Enemy (Joss Whedon), a wonderfully creative company whose characters I have borrowed for a completely profit-free flight of fancy. Kindly do not sue me, please, as I am terrified of you. Thank you.
Author's Note: Written at Meg's request.
Years had passed beneath the gaze of the stone gargoyles that stood guard at the school’s main drive. Autumns full of promise, winters with worries as countless as snowflakes, springs overflowing with adventures, tragedies, triumphs, had progressed in what often felt like the blinking of an eye. The final day of school had at last arrived, though, and Harry Potter, defeater of Lord Voldemort, first wizard not yet into his twenties to be granted the Order of Merlin, second class, had taken his final N.E.W.T. It had been potions, of all things, and Snape, despite all the Order of the Phoenix had been through together, had maintained his surly dislike of the boy, taking his last paper from him with a snidely grumbled “good riddance.”
But none of that seemed terribly important now. Harry had survived Hogwarts, in every sense of the word, and the world gaped ahead of him. From his vantage point by the lake, he surveyed the rapidly sinking sun, the sky over the school holding the early summer colors of fiery orange and red-gold. Moodily, he picked up a stone and chucked it into the water, watching the ripples grow out from the place it had disappeared and thinking of things still undone.
He supposed most people would think he would have no regrets upon leaving Hogwarts, certainly nothing that would make him look back with regret. From all outward appearances, he’d supped that cup to the dregs and then some. It was true that his years there were filled with much that brought him satisfaction. Quidditch, true friends, victories over a gallery of villains - all of them brought a feeling of happiness to him, but there was one aspect of his life still vacant.
Perhaps it was Ron and Hermione’s impending wedding of next week that had started his introspection. In any case, they weren’t with him now as they had taken the opportunity to have one last kiss behind the greenhouses. He was rather glad of it. There were few things in life as uncomfortable as being a third wheel, particularly when the first two wheels were both friends of his. Ron had tried, without much success, to fix Harry up with Ginny during their sixth year. She was a great girl, no question about that, and maybe a bit too perceptive for Harry’s good. After three dates, she’d tipped her head sideways after their second, awkward kiss, regarded him carefully for a half-minute, then asked him quite calmly, “So… who is he?”
He’d denied it for all of five sentences before Ginny, her eyebrow quirked in a way that let him know she wasn’t buying it, managed to draw it out of him: Harry Potter was mad, completely, utterly and totally mental, yet somehow still in love with one Mr. Neville Longbottom. Ginny’s reaction had been only mild surprise.
“Neville’s not a bad sort,” she’d said agreeably, “and he has that fragile quality about him that makes people either want to smash him or protect him. You should just ask him out.”
He’d blanched at the idea and made her swear never to tell anyone what he’d said. With a roll of her eyes, she’d consented, and that was the end of the matter. Ron and Hermione were both oblivious, and Sirius hadn’t lived long enough for Harry to ask his advice in the matter. Now, the last day of school had come and gone with Harry’s secret still entirely in the dark. It was exactly what he’d wanted, he told himself. Yes, said another voice inside his head, and it also kept you alone.
Harry watched the sun finally dip below the horizon, a veil of dark blue beginning to settle over the colors, and he sighed. Tomorrow, the train would take him back to King’s Cross, and that would be the end of it.
“Hey, Harry.”
He nearly jumped out of his skin at the familiar soft voice. He turned around to find Neville standing only a few feet away. The final rays of light seemed to paint his round face in a rosy blush.
“Hey, Neville,” he said in return, his voice cracking only slightly. “How’d potions go?”
“Dreadful,” Neville said honestly with a self-deprecating smile. “My Locator Distillation turned bright pink and dissolved into bubbles. It was a mess.”
“Well, at least that’s over,” Harry said, smiling a little at the thought of Snape having to clean pink bubbles out of his dungeon.
“Yeah,” Neville said, then looked about uncertainly for a moment. “So… it’s been a really memorable seven years, hasn’t it?”
“Pretty well memorable, yeah,” Harry agreed, toeing the sandy dirt with his trainers. He reached deep into himself and gathered up enough courage to look into Neville’s eyes and stammer, “I’m really glad to have met you. I mean it.”
Neville’s expression became very difficult to read at this. He looked strangely defiant, almost the same expression Harry had seen on his face when Neville had cornered Belletrix the previous month. There was determination there, mixed with a heavy dose of resolve.
“Neville?” Harry asked. “You okay?”
Neville took a sharp breath and grabbed the front of Harry’s robes, hauling him with surprising strength towards him. Before Harry’s stunned brain could begin to process what was going on, he was being thoroughly kissed by the other boy. Once his mind did catch up to what was going on, he smiled into the kiss in return and felt his arms automatically encircle Neville’s waist as they continued to take small, sipping pecks of each other’s lips, finally ending in resting their foreheads together in an effort to get their breath back.
“Wow,” Harry said, blinking a bit.
There was no doubt now that Neville’s blush was not some trick of the light as he turned seven shades of red.
“Okay, then?” Neville asked softly.
“Yeah,” Harry responded, still completely unable to feel his knees. “Yeah, more than okay.”
Neville smiled broadly, his eyes lighting up with happiness. “I’m so glad Ginny told me. I never thought you were interested!”
“Ginny told you?” Harry said, frowning for a moment. “Well… suppose I should be angry, but oddly enough, I’m not.”
Neville’s smile grew even larger, and the two wandered along the banks of the lake, hand in hand, exchanging small, shy glances.
From the open doorway behind them, a tall figure whose silver beard glowed in the twilight nodded in satisfaction at the distant pair, chuckling softly.
“Well done, Mr. Longbottom,” Dumbledore said quietly. “You always did have pluck. However, I don’t believe I’ll be telling the entire Great Hall this time what you did to earn Gryffindor its winning ten points.”
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