Title: A Whiter Shade of Pale

Author: Kate of Kintail

Fandom: Harry Potter, year 7

Rated: NC-17

Warnings: slash, first-time sex, nudity, lots and lots of angst

Pairings: Harry/Neville, Ron/Hermione, Seamus/Dean, various others

Archived: Woobies of Destiny Fuh-Q-Fest, and eventually on my personal website

Disclaimer: Yeah. I've legally no claim to these characters or their universe. I'm doing this only for fun, not money or fame or any of those things. I've no claim to the title, either; that was the song I was listening to when I started this fic and it helped shape the story.

Summary: Challenge #47- Harry slips a love potion into the drink of the object of his affection (Ron), but Neville gets it instead. Harry decides it's not so bad after all

Author's Notes: Written for the Woobies of Destiny Fuh-Q-Fest. Beta-read by the wonderful circe. All mistakes left are my own.

A Whiter Shade of Pale

He knew precisely what Hermione would say if he told her. She would tell him he never should have done anything so stupid and against the rules in the first place and that he was paying for it now. And she’d ask him what he planned to do about it. Problem was, he didn’t have an answer for that. Harry sat on a bench in the Gryffindor locker room, one leg bouncing up and down from nerves. Fingers of one hand rubbed their way across his brow, massaging the pain away. It was hard to believe that, even after working up to the moment for years, something had still gone wrong. But indeed it had, and he still had no idea just how badly it would go.

He picked up the towel he’d retrieved from the pile by the showers and pitched it into the bin by the far wall. His hair was still a bit damp but he didn’t much care. What he wanted was a certain someone to emerge from the showers with a towel just for him. He wanted the towel to be wrapped around him lovingly like a hug that patted him dry at the same time. Except that the someone he wanted, the someone he imagined, wasn’t about to do anything like that for him.

"Harry?" called Ron, coming out from the showers. Apart from the towel he used to pat his red hair dry, he was utterly and gloriously naked. Beads of water glistened on his pale skin, accentuating the freckles. There was a flush in his cheeks that the hot steam from the shower had given him. And there was concern in his eyes as he cocked his head, drying his hair, and looked down his best friend. "Something wrong, Mate?"

Harry’s eyes scanned quickly up Ron’s body, making eye contact, then back down again, down to the floor at Harry’s feet. Ron’s body, which had once been tall and gangly, was now starting to truly resemble that of a Quidditch player, with proper bulk and muscles to go along with his height. But there was one part of Ron’s body not at all hard, but soft and flaccid. That was all the confirmation Harry needed. "Yeah," he replied. "But nothing you can help with." He waved his hand nonchalantly. "Come on, get dressed and we’ll head back." As Ron always took longest in the showers, the rest of the team had already left the locker rooms by now. It was a perfect time for them to be alone, with all that that could entail entailed. But, to Harry’s great disappointment, Ron simply nodded and set to work getting changed. And Harry had to turn away to hide his arousal from Ron.

He couldn’t blame Ron for not wanting him, really. He could barely understand why anyone would want him after what he’d been through. But he wished he knew just what it was. Was it his looks? His glasses? His scar? Or was it simply everything about him? Every time he’d gone out with Cho she had cried in front of him. How could he think anyone else would be different? Who could kiss the Boy-Who-Lived and not feel some tie to Voldemort? If anyone could, Harry thought it would be Ron. But then there had to be something wrong with him intrinsically, because Ron didn’t seem the least bit interested in him. Maybe it was his height or his eyes or his hair he couldn’t keep tamed. Maybe it was his temper, or his grades. Maybe it really was everything. But all he wanted was to have the person he liked like him back. After all that he’d been through, he hoped that wasn’t too much to ask.

As they set off for the castle, the early autumn air crisp and chilling, Harry began working it over and over again in his mind. Without a doubt, something had gone terribly wrong. It seemed to Harry that it had started in their fourth year, without his realizing it. Somewhere between the Yule Ball and seeing Ron’s face when he revived on the lakeshore after the Second Task. But the feeling had struck a dozen times after that at least. Sometimes when Ron was sitting closer than normal to him. Sometimes when he was helping Ron practice out on the Quidditch pitch. Sometimes just because of a look Ron gave him that just made his insides squirm with warmth. It was because of this feeling that he never gave Cho a proper chance. Never gave anyone a proper chance, really.

No one but Ron, that is. For Ron, he left himself wide open. He dropped clues, he gave hints, tired everything he could think of to get himself noticed in the way Ron never seemed to notice him. No, Ron only had eyes for Hermione. At first, this was simply a fact. It was how things were supposed to be. But it did not take long for Harry to want a change. And the only way he could conceive of doing that was by having a little help and using a little magic. He knew very well that love potions were forbidden at Hogwarts... and he knew that what he created could technically fall into that category. But as long as he thought of it as just a little potion that could help things along, it didn’t feel quite as bad as it really should have. After all, he’d broken nearly every school rule already. If he had to break just one more for the object of his affections to suddenly see him as a possible lover, than so be it.

Of course for Harry, things never went as well as they were supposed to. He had gone to Hogsmede when not allowed and tormented Malfoy from under the invisibility cloak only to have it slip off and be found first by Snape on his return to the castle. He had won the Tri-Wizard tournament only to be transported directly to Voldemort and nearly killed. He had escaped from Hogwarts to the Ministry of Magic in order to save Sirius just to have Sirius follow him there and die needlessly anyway. And this time, well, he’d made the potion with care and perfection, and devised a plan to make Ron drink it. However, it wasn’t Ron who drank it. It was somebody else.

Harry and Ron reached the castle and headed to the Great Hall for dinner. Ron said he was starving. Harry, however, did not have much of an appetite. He sat moving peas around on his plate with a fork and trying to keep the gravy pooled on top of his pile of mashed potatoes from running out from the nice valley that had been made for it.

"Harry, is something the matter?" He looked up to see Hermione looking at him, half suspicious and half sympathetic. "Not coming down sick, are you?" She sat close to Ron, so close that she was nearly sitting in his lap. Ron ate with only one hand, as one arm was around her shoulders. As such, he couldn’t cut his pork chop, and she had to lean over and do it for him, giggling. If that wasn’t enough to make Harry sick, he didn’t know what would be.

His gaze shifted from them to the others sitting nearby. Next to Ron was Dean Thomas, who seemed relaxed and thoroughly enjoying dinner as he talked animatedly to Seamus Finnegan who sat beside him. Across the table were Neville and Ginny, who seemed to have become inseparable as of late. They were talking about something, too, and hungrily. Everything seemed so very normal. Much more normal than it should have been, given the circumstances. For if Ron had not been the one to drink the potion, someone else must have. And Harry had very little idea as to who that someone might have been.

"Harry?" Hermione prodded him again from across the table.

He looked up just in time to see Ron pull a piece of pork from the end of Hermione’s fork and, grinning, turn to give her ear thank you nibbles. Harry’s stomach churned at the sickly sweet sight. "I’m fine," he replied coldly and promptly rose. He tossed his napkin onto the table over his still nearly full plate. "Just not hungry." And with that he headed up the stairs to the Gryffindor common room.

The common room was virtually empty, as most everybody was downstairs at dinner. Harry took a spot in a squashy armchair by the fire and quickly curled up into it, his head on one of the armrests. He gazed into the fireplace. It looked as though it had recently been given fresh wood enough to burn through the night. Harry smiled, thinking of how proud the house elves were to do such good work for the students unseen. "Oh if only one of the house elves had taken the potion instead," he whispered to himself, rubbing his hand against his forehead. The potion wasn’t supposed to work on nonhumans but even so the house elves, and Dobby in particular, adored him so much already that the potion would have made little difference. But had it been a house elf, the elf probably wouldn’t have left the empty goblet behind as was the case.

But as it was, the potion had been set out in his dormitory room, on the big table they all shared, which was right beside Ron’s bed. To be sure Ron drank it Harry had placed an irresistible charm on it, making the first person to see it immediately feel compelled to drink it to the very last drop. Then Harry had gone down to the common room and, to send Ron up, pretended to have forgotten a needed book. As far as Harry knew, Ron had been the first one in the dormitory to enter after the potion had been left. But if that were really the case, Ron would be hanging off his arm instead of Hermione’s right now. No, it had to have been one of the others. But which one, he wasn’t sure.

With a sigh, Harry plunged a hand into his robes, fishing around in his pockets for a moment or two. Finally he extracted a small bit of parchment and a quill. Snuggling up in the chair he got himself into a position where he could write. And with a deep breath, he began to make a list of names. Everyone who frequented their dormitory room was a suspect of course, though conceivably it could have been anyone from first year Jacob Gilli to Professor McGonagall. It took a lot of thinking, but soon he had a list that contained every single person who had access to the Gryffindor common room, with the major suspects at the top, namely his dormmates, and Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore at the bottom.

Then Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to remember all he could about the evening of the incident. He remembered three first years playing exploding snap in the part of the common room for hours. He remembered Lavender and Pavarti giggling in another corner over some magazine. He remembered a whole lot of fifth years and some third years coming up from the library quite late. And he remembered Hermione had been one of the last to return to the common room that night and one of the last to go to bed. Harry opened his eyes, repositioned the quill in his hand, and began crossing off names.

By the time he was finished, he had a small but manageable list of names left. Harry quickly scanned the list to double-check and count. "Nine," he said out loud. "Nine possibilities. Wait..." He crossed Ron off the list with much reluctance. He didn’t really want to admit it, but if Ron really had taken the potion as he was supposed to, Harry wouldn’t be in this mess now. They’d probably still be in the locker room together. It was difficult for him to look upon Ron’s name scratched out, but he knew he had to eliminate him as a possibility. "Make that eight." He quickly regarded his wristwatch. It was not quite seven o’clock yet. Plenty of time to go from one candidate to the next and figure out if they were the one to take the potion or not.

Problem was, he wasn’t entirely sure how to go about figuring it out. He couldn’t just walk right up and say ‘Hey there. By any chance did you happen to drink that illegal love potion I put out on the table for Ron?’ That wouldn’t do at all. He would have to come up with something creative, but the only thing he could possibly imagine was to see if they seemed attracted to him. They’d seem overly interested with him. They’d stumble around their words and actions. And when he made an advance, they’d take it without hesitation. Harry knew he’d be making a fool of himself, but he saw no other choice. He’d have to get each of these people alone and make a pass at them. And the one who jumped at him was the one under the effects of the love potion, finding him or her self uncontrollably and unmistakably drawn to Harry.

Knowing the subtleties of love was not, however, Harry’s forte. If it had been, Ron would already be his and there would have been no need for a love potion in the first place. Harry sighed, looking over the list of names for a moment as he tried to think up ways to come on to his fellow Gryffindors. The problem was, if he used any one of them too blatantly or more than once, people might talk. They’d figure he was desperate or sex starved... neither of which was at all far from the truth, but they didn’t need to know it.

Before Harry had a chance to think further about the matter, Seamus and Dean walked in, talking about something or other and Harry seized his opportunity. "Hey, Seamus, can I see you for a minute?" he called over, hoping he sounded casual.

Seamus motioned to Dean that he’d be just a moment, then hurried over to Harry. "Sure, Harry, what’s up?"

Now that he had the opportunity, Harry wasn’t exactly sure what to do with it. "Er..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You see I have this friend..." Seamus looked confused. This was not a very promising beginning, but it was too late to start over now. "Who fancies you, see? I just... well, I said I’d feel you out, you know? See if you were in the position for a new romance or if-"

"Look, Harry," Seamus said with a sigh. "I’m flattered, but tell your friend I’m really not looking. You see..." he leaned in close, cupping a hand to his mouth. "I don’t know if you noticed, but Dean and I’ve been something of an item lately. We don’t want to spread it around because you know how Pavarti and Lavender can be. One hint and the news will be all over the school. But, really, Dean’s all I need right now." He pulled back. "Tell your friend I’m flattered just the same. But I really am happy with what I’ve got. Couldn’t want anything more." He patted Harry’s shoulder a little harder than normal and bounded up the stairs after Dean. Dean, from the sound of it, had been waiting for him in the stairway because there were playful growls that drifted down just before their dormitory door shut.

Harry sighed, sitting back in the chair. He’d just started this and already he felt defeated. Everybody had someone except for him. Seamus and Dean had each other. Ginny had Neville. And Ron... Ron had Hermione. Harry groaned. It just wasn’t right. He and Ron were perfect for each other. He was practically a member of the Weasley family already. Ron had been his best friend and cared about him through everything since the very first day. He just couldn’t imagine not having that when they left Hogwarts. But it looked now as though Harry was doomed twice over. Not only had he failed to win Ron but someone else was secretly lusting after him, and it clearly was not Seamus. He sighed again and crossed Seamus’ name off the list.

Harry knew he had to go talk with Dean later, but assumed he would get a similar reaction from him. Until then, he would have to target everyone else on the list. The room slowly filled up as students returned from dinner. Harry tried to pretend he was doing his essay for Defense Against the Dark Arts for a while when he was really scanning the room for the other six names on the list.

One of them was Euan Abecrobie, a small second year boy with prominent ears. He came into the room and settled in a chair beside his friend Kevin. Kevin had been one of the many at Charms club during the incident, Harry had reasoned. But Harry was unsure about Euan’s whereabouts when the potion had been left sitting out. Harry was almost positive Euan wasn’t the culprit considering the young boy had no reason to be in his dormitory room. But he wasn’t going to cross his name off the list just for that.

Harry got up and crossed the room, fumbling with his paper and quill in hand as he walked over. He still hadn’t worked up something good to say, but he soon found he didn’t need anything this time. As he neared, the toe of his shoe caught on a bump in the carpet and he stumbled forward, dropping his quill to the floor but catching himself before he fell along with it. Euan and Kevin both looked up at him, pausing in their laughter supposedly to be sure Harry was all right. Harry took a deep breath, turned his back to Euan, and bent over to pick up the quill. Although he had his rear towards Euan, the young boy took no notice of it and instead turned back to his friend and resumed their laughter. While not noticing Harry’s rear was obviously not the clearest sign that there was no attraction, it was certainly a good start. He turned back, smiling as pleasantly as he possibly could. "Hi Kevin. And hi Euan," he said, his voice getting a bit more song-like and dreamy when he spoke to Euan. "How are things going?"

"Hi Harry," said Kevin with a smile, barely looking over.

"Hi Harry. We’re doing just fine," Euan replied nonchalantly, barely distracted from his conversation as well.

"So, Euan," Harry went on trying, "I was wondering-" Harry was about to break in with some absolutely brilliant line Something with the sentiment of ‘I’ve got an extra chocolate frog for you if you could spare a kiss’ but with the humor of ‘Is that a wand in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?’ But he was cut off before completing his pass.

"If you don’t mind, Harry, we’re in the middle of something. Thanks." Euan sounded much more annoyed than in love. Seconds later, they had dropped back into their conversation, and Harry was left standing awkwardly to the side and not one bit closer to finding the identity of the student who must be lusting after him. He was rather glad to cross Euan off his list, however, as the boy was young. Harry didn’t want anyone that young madly attracted to him in any way, shape, or form.

Harry turned to go back to his chair, but saw that it had already been claimed in his absence. So instead Harry took a spot at a table not too far away from the fire. He got out his books and a few pieces of parchment, pretending to do his homework while he still continued to pour over the list, checking to be sure he had eliminated only those he could account for in other places that night.

He spotted Robert Bowers coming down from the dormitories and made for him straight away, hastily stuffing his things back into his bag. He intentionally bumped shoulders with the young boy, then pulled back, trying to look embarrassed. "Oh! Sorry!" he exclaimed, recovering himself and putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder to help steady him as well. "Guess I should have looked where I was going. I was just..." he paused for a brief moment, wishing that he’d spent the time going over absurd pick-up lines that carried no consequences if there were such things, instead of looking at the list over and over again.

"No sweat," Robert said, shrugging casually. He was tall for a fifth year, with round cheeks and bright blue eyes. "I should have looked where I was going, too. I had my eye on Cayln." He grinned and pointed the best he could without actually pointing, which amounted to nodding his head to the side where Cayln Grey, another fifth year, stood talking with friends.

"Oh," said Harry, noticing that their physical contact wasn’t doing anything for Robert either.

"Think she’ll go out with me if I ask her?" Robert asked nervously.

Harry thought this a most impertinent question. How in the world was he supposed to know? People were always asking him things like this, as though he knew them well just because they knew him. Then again, he did still have his hand on Robert’s shoulder. "I dunno. Won’t know until you try, right?" Harry managed. In his head it had sounded like a good thing to say, though it sounded a little cheesy when he heard himself say it out loud.

"Oy, you’re right. Thanks!" Robert said, his grin widening. "Think I might actually do it tonight." He patted Harry’s upper arm in appreciation. Then joked, "And if this works, I’ll invite you to our wedding." He took a deep breath and walked away, keeping his eyes focused on Cayln the whole time.

Harry sighed. Yet another dead end. He supposed deep down he was happy Robert Bowers didn’t fancy him. He didn’t exactly like the idea of some random person lusting after him in secret while he was secretly lusting after Ron. This whole relationship thing was just much too complicated and didn’t make any sense whatsoever.

"Harry!" Harry turned to see Hermione bouncing a little as she waved her hand over her head and the heads of people around her. She sat down at a table on the side of the room while Ron expropriated two more chairs. "Over here!" she called to him, assuming he’d just arrived on the scene himself and needed a place to sit and do homework.

Reluctantly he headed over. He wanted to be with them, of course he did. They were his best friends, after all. But he had much more important things than school work to do tonight. Three down and five to go, as it were. Though he was pretty sure about Dean so really it was half and half. Which meant he really just had Neville, Ginny, and the Cooper sisters to really worry about now.

"I’ve finished with my Arithmancy and you two still have your Divination homework, so I thought we’d all start with that transfiguration essay Professor McGonagall assigned. How would that be?" Hermione always sounded so happy when she discussed the prospect of finishing homework, and it always made Harry a little more frustrated than he would be normally. But he nodded and mumbled something about it being a good idea, and pulled the necessary books back out of his bag.

He was only half paying attention to the work, and the fact that Ron and Hermione were sitting a little closer to each other than was needed was much too distracting. Harry thought it might be childish to scoot his chair closer to Ron so he stayed put, feeling confused and depressed and not at all in the mood to write an essay about the side-effects of advanced transfiguration methods on living beings. His hand paused halfway through a sentence about the possibilities of disrupting a plant’s ability to photosynthesize while in another form, as he looked up and out across the room yet again. He was trying to will any of the others on his list to come into the room at that very minute and keep him from finishing. Or at least will Ron and Hermione away from each other a little more. Though, sadly, the sight of them together was starting to seem normal to him.

"Harry, are you certain you’re not sick?" Hermione asked. Harry snapped his head back towards her. "You’re looking awfully flushed."

"I said I’m fine. Just drop it. I have something on my mind that I’m trying to work out is all." Hermione nodded and gave a soft smile, apologizing for bringing it up.

Ron gave him a sympathetic look. "We’d be happy to help, Mate. Sure there isn’t anything we can do?"

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Nah, it’s all right." He spotted Neville walking down from the dormitories and taking a seat at the table on the far side of the big circular tower common room. "Need to go. Be back soon," he said quickly before darting over. It wasn’t until he was nearly on top of Neville that he realized he still hadn’t worked out what to say. So far he’d managed to muddle through but he was all out of brilliant on the spot ideas. And he couldn’t pretend to bump into Neville or something when he was sitting so out of the way so as not to bother anyone.

"Oh, hi Harry," he said, looking up to see Harry there. "Hey, don’t bother going upstairs any time soon. Seamus and Dean are going at it."

"Yeah, I know," Harry said, wondering why and how Neville knew this when he’d only just been told it by Seamus today. "I mean, I saw them go up together just a little bit ago."

Neville nodded. Then, cheerfully, he broke into small talk. "So have you done that essay for Transfiguration yet? I’ve got the part about the plants of course, and reptiles and birds... but I’m having trouble with small-to-large mammals."

"Ah..." Harry rubbed his hand against the back of his neck. This wasn’t going precisely as planned. In a flash Neville had managed to swing the conversation away from sex and towards transforming rats into teapots. Harry had little idea how to swing it back again without sounding too strange. "I haven’t done the essay yet, Neville."

"Great!" he said brightly. Beneath the table he kicked the chair across from him and it scooted out an inch or so. "You can join me and we can work on it together."

If Harry wasn’t getting any work done under Hermione’s influence, he was sure not going to get any done with Neville as a study partner. Besides, he had a more pressing thing to work out still. However, he wasn’t getting anything from Neville in the way of signs and that required sticking around a little longer. "Ah... I was actually just coming by to see about something... I didn’t mean to-"

Neville frowned. "Oh, you were trying to brush me off," he said, looking down at the table. "Sorry, thought you were interested in conversation. Didn’t mean to bother you."

"Neville..."

Neville lifted a book onto its edge and opened it to a random spot before slouching in his seat and burying his nose in it so he was nearly invisible. "You don’t have to pretend to be nice to me if you’ve got other things to do, Harry." He looked up, his soft blue eyes gazing over the top of the advanced transfiguration text. "And you don’t have to pretend that’s not what you’re doing. I can count a dozen times when you’ve done that to me in the past. Back in first year when you and Hermione were out and I thought I’d heard you had a dragon but you wouldn’t tell me the real reason... or in third year when we were both stuck here on a Hogsmede weekend but you kept trying to shake me... or--"

"I’m sorry!" Harry pleaded. For the first time that day, his mind was on something other than the love potion. Unfortunately, it still wasn’t on anything good. "Look, it’s not you. It’s just that I’m--"

"You’re busy," Neville replied. "Too busy for me. It’s all right, I understand." His eyes showed that he was hurt, but that he was being honest. "I just wanted you to know that you don’t have to make up excuses every time. I know what you’re doing. It... it won’t hurt my feelings just to come right out and say it." Neville’s eyes flicked back down to the book again.

Harry sighed and wished he’d thought about what to say before he came over. He wished he hadn’t brushed Neville off all those times. "Hey." Harry looked over to see one of the third year boys. "Are you using this chair?" he asked Neville.

Neville looked hesitantly up at Harry, shook his head, and seemed about to tell the boy he could take it, when Ginny bounced over. She grabbed the back of the chair. "It’s taken, sorry," she said with a smile. The boy continued on in search of another chair, but Ginny looked up at Harry, "That is, unless you were planning on..." she gestured towards the seat.

"No," Harry shook his head. "Go right ahead. I was just leaving. But, ah, if you need help with the essay, Neville, Hermione and Ron are working on it. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind." And with an apologetic look towards Neville, he turned to leave. Halfway across the room he looked back at the table where they were both now sitting. Neville was still hiding his face behind the book, and Ginny reached over, pulling the book down to look him in the face. She had a cheerful expression, compared to Neville’s still rather disappointed one. But after she said something Harry could not make out, and glanced Harry’s way very briefly, Neville started smiling as well. After a few more words from her, Neville was practically laughing. And then Ginny lifted herself out of her chair, leaned across the table, and kissed his cheek. Harry sighed. He pulled out his list and quill, and scratched off their names as well.

When he turned, he found himself practically face-to-face with Dean. "Wanted to talk to you for a second while Seamus is in the shower," he said, pulling Harry over to the wall so they could talk freely. Harry went willingly, as he needed to talk with Dean as well. "Seamus says some friend of yours has the hots for him?"

Harry was a bit shocked at the sudden question. "Oh, ah..." He groaned inwardly again, knowing that he really should have come up with something better. He knew he’d get himself in trouble if he kept this up. First Neville was feeling hurt and now Dean was confronting him.

"Who is it?" Dean asked seriously.

"I... I can’t tell you," said Harry nervously. "I’m sworn to secrecy," he said with a stroke of inspiration. After all, everyone would trust Harry Potter to keep a secret.

Dean narrowed his eyes suspiciously and leaned in closer. "This friend of yours... it’s not you is it?"

Harry panicked, shaking his head frantically. "No! Of course not!"

"Good," he replied coldly. "Well you just tell this friend who fancies him that he’s taken, all right? I’m happy with him and he’s happy with me. We don’t want anything else right now. Got it?"

Harry nodded with the same enthusiasm. "Got it. Sorry."

Dean gave a final nod to signal that it was taken care of, then turned and headed back up the stairs. Harry gave a deep sigh and leaned back against the wall. He ran his hand through his hair as his heartbeat slowly returned to normal. He made a mental note not to mess with either of them again while they were a couple. He also crossed Dean’s name off the list, certain Dean would have taken the opportunity to confess his undying love for Harry if he’d been the one to drink the potion. As it was, he only had eyes for Seamus.

Harry sighed again, shaking his head. The only ones left now were the Cooper sisters. He was actually somewhat sure one of them had been elsewhere at the time, but not sure enough for his liking. Not seeing them anywhere around immediately, Harry returned to his seat at the table with Ron and Hermione and pretended to care about the essay. He looked back over at the table on the other side of the room. Neville was alone there again, scribbling something down on the parchment, then scratching it out and writing something else down. Ginny seemed to be no where in sight, when he scanned the room.

Harry tried to distract himself with the assignments, even looking over Hermione’s potions notes to try and get into something at least. But he was constantly distracted. Every loud voice made him look up to be sure people weren’t staring lustfully at him. He imagined hearing his name all the time, but realized it was just the word "carry" or "hairy" or something of that sort. His nerves were on edge. It had to be one of the Cooper sisters. He’d tried all the other possibilities already. It had to be one of them. But the suspense was killing him. He couldn’t even concentrate on what to say when he saw them.

With a deep breath to calm his nerves, he looked over at Ron and Hermione. He wished he could ask them what to say. Hermione would know how to find out if a girl liked him without actually coming out and asking. Ron would probably offer to go right over and ask for him. But that just was the problem. He didn’t want Ron thinking that he liked someone else. This was something he’d just have to do for himself.

"Honestly, Ron. How many times must we go over the types of stars? Our sun is not going to go super nova." 

Discouraged, Ron scribbled out something on his paper. They weren’t even doing transfiguration any more. They’d moved on to astronomy already. Harry quickly reshuffled his books, having no idea what type of star the sun was but not really caring. He tried to look busy, tried to look as though he cared. But between two of his books sat the list, which was now down to two names. And that was weighing on him too hard to ignore it.

The sisters, Amelia and Melissa Cooper, entered the room not too long after, surrounded by a bunch of third and fourth years. Harry couldn’t stand the wait any longer. He had to know which it was, and he had to know now. He sprang out of his seat.

"Oy, what’s wrong?" Ron asked.

Harry paused in his pursuit, unable to refuse a question Ron asked. "Um, forgot a book upstairs. Be right back." He tore across the room, breaking up the group in his haste. He took a deep breath and found it was much easier to talk with them considering he wasn’t actually interested in them. "Amelia, Melissa, can I speak with you a moment?"

They both giggled and nodded, and broke away from the rest of the pack. He pulled them to the side of the room, about where Dean had led him not a half hour before. "Look," he said, plowing forward. They were both beautiful girls. Amelia was a sixth year and Melissa a fifth, and both had long curly brown hair in ringlets down to their shoulders. "I... I heard it from a reliable source that one of you has a crush on me." They exchanged looks. "And it’s all right, really. I just wanted to know which it was so we could have a little talk about-"

For what seemed like the hundredth time that evening, he was interrupted again. "Harry," said Amelia. "You’re such a sweet guy. Of course we like you. Just not... in that way."

Harry’s eyes widened, and he turned to Melissa for confirmation. She gave it to him with a sympathetic smile. "I’m going out with Jeremy," she said with a shrug. Then, at the look of devastation on his face, she grabbed his forearm, "Oh, but Harry, you really are a sweetie. I’m sure there’s someone out there who likes you. It’s just..."

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. "Not either of you."

They both shook their heads.

"And you’re sure one of you doesn’t have a secret desire to jump me right now?" he asked with a joking smile, though deep down he was dead serious and desperate for the answer.

"Sorry, Harry," said Melissa.

"I’m sorry, too," Amelia echoed, the same sympathetic looks on their faces. "But no."

Harry sighed. "No, it’s all right. I just wanted to ask. Thanks." He let them go back to their group of friends and fell back against the wall again with a groan. He shut his eyes as he worked it over in his mind. That was it. The whole list. And not one of the possibilities seemed the least bit interested in him, let alone attracted to him. He had no idea what to do now or where to go next.

He wished he had never made this potion. All he had wanted was to give Ron just a little push, but everything had gone wrong. This was what he got for trying to trick his best friend, who was perfectly happy with someone already. He wished he’d never even thought up the idea. He wished he hadn’t been so rude to Neville, and wished he hadn’t given Seamus and Dean a reason to be worried about someone breaking up their relationship. He wished he could just crawl into a little hole and forget altogether about wanting someone to want him. After what he’d done, he didn’t deserve it anyway.

"Harry Potter!"

With his eyes closed, he could almost believe it was Mrs. Weasley standing there. He opened one eye in trepidation. "Hello Ginny," he said softly.

She seized his arm and dragged him over to the staircase so they could have a private chat. He was starting to grow tired of private chats by now, and just wanted to curl up and die and never find out who in the world drank the potion. But as she was pulling him over, he had the thought that maybe she was doing so because she drank it and wanted it to be private when she declared her undying love for him. He grinned and let her pull him anywhere.

"We can’t go up to my room," he said, as she started up the stairs.

"I know," she said shortly. "Seamus and Dean are still up there together."

Harry sighed. Did everyone know then? Had he been the last to find out they were a couple?

Instead of taking him up the stairs, she sat him down on one of the lower ones. And as soon as she did, she said, firmly, "All right. Explain yourself, please."

He looked at her, baffled. "I’m sorry?"

"You’re going around flirting with people, telling them you fancy them. I mean, Melissa Cooper, Harry? Where did that come from?" Correction. She sounded exactly like her mother now.

"Is it that obvious?" he asked, biting his lip.

"Well, no, not exactly," she said, easing up a little. "But I notice these things. And I’d like an explanation if you please."

Harry sighed. "Look, really it’s nothing. I just..." he wanted to explain, but didn’t dare. Ginny was her own person, but she was loyal to her brother. And given that she’d had a crush on Harry her first year, Harry wasn’t sure how she’d feel about Harry and her brother doing the things Seamus and Dean were. "I don’t know," he finally said, hanging his head and holding his hands over his face. "I don’t really like them. I didn’t mean anything by it, really," he said, muffled through his hands.

"Good," said Ginny. She pressed her hand gently against his back and then patted a few times.

Tingles of realization passed through him. Yes! She was glad because she was jealous. And she was jealous because she really did want him for herself and she couldn’t stand to see him with anyone else. She took the potion. She had to be the one. He lifted his head, a look of triumph on his face. "Ginny!" he exclaimed.

She pulled away at once, holding her hands up. "Oh no!"

"What?" he asked quizzically, not daring to believe he was wrong again.

"You’re not going to hit on me now, are you? Because I didn’t mean it like that. I like you, Harry. Just not like that any more."

Harry froze, his heart tearing. He had been pulled one way or the other all night. Now he just wanted to know, just wanted this whole search to be over and done with for good. He buried his face in his hands again, not wanting to look at her or anyone else for that matter.

But he felt her hand again on his back, patting gently. "You’ll find what you’re looking for when you stop searching for it. Don’t worry, Harry. Someone out there likes you, I promise you. You just need to open your eyes and your heart." She gave his back a final strong pat, then rose and walked down the stairs, leaving him alone again with his thoughts.

Ginny’s words had been both reassuring and strange. He wasn’t sure what to make of them, really. He wanted very much to believe her, but the more he thought about it, the more he felt that if Ron really liked him, he would have made some sort of move by now instead of going out of his way to date Hermione. And he had to admit they did seem right for each other, even when they fought. But he couldn’t imagine wanting anyone else but Ron, hard as he tried.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes and leaned his head to the side, against the wall. Maybe if he just sat there long enough, something would happen. Maybe the person who took the potion would seek him out. Maybe he would fall asleep and wake up in his bed to find that the last several days had all been just a dream.

"Oh!"

The sound made him open his eyes. It was only Neville. "You scared me, Harry. Didn’t expect to see you sitting there."

"Sorry," Harry said, pulling himself up onto his feet with reluctance. "I was doing some thinking. Guess this isn’t really the best place for it."

Neville shook his head and fumbled with the large stack of books and pieces of parchment in his arms. "Anything I can help with, Harry?" he offered, sounding like his cheerful, oblivious, normal self. It was almost as though their words earlier that evening had been forgotten.

But Harry shook his head back. "Wish you could. But thanks for asking, Neville." He headed down the stairs as Neville headed up towards their dormitory. Seamus and Dean emerged from it with excellent timing, bounding down the stairs with great grins on their faces. Harry wished he could look that happy, too, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to smile again about anything until he figured this whole mess out, one way or another. He looked back up the stairs and Neville was still in sight. "Hey, Neville?" Neville turned and looked down. "Did you figure out that bit in your essay or did you still need help?" He was sure that helping Neville out would make him feel a little bit better.

Neville gave a soft smile along with his reply. "I figured it out. I asked Hermione, actually. She cleared my confusion up right away."

"Oh," said Harry, nodding, almost disappointed that he needed need Harry’s help after all. "Well that’s good."

Neville nodded back and started to turn, then quickly called down. "But thanks for asking, Harry."

At the sound of words he’d just said, himself, Harry gave a bit of a smile. He turned and headed back down the stairs feeling just a little better. He thought he might actually get a little bit of work done, tonight. Goodness knew he wouldn’t be getting much sleep with the unknown identity of the potion drinker still hanging over his head. Returning to Ron and Hermione, Harry flopped into his chair and picked up his notebook.

"So where’s the book?"

He looked up at Ron, confused. "Book? What book?"

"You said you were going to get a book, but you obviously didn’t bring one back with you. Why’s that?" Ron gestured towards Harry’s arms, which had been empty upon his return. Hermione followed, looking a bit suspicious but keeping out of it for now.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck and coughed to buy himself an extra few seconds of time. "Oh, yeah, couldn’t find it. Must have lent it out or something."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, as though not believing anyone would give away something as important as a needed book. But she remained silent again.

Harry was glad. He didn’t need more on his mind at the moment as he dove into his essay for transfiguration and managed to plow through it much more quickly (second try). However, with all the time wasted that night, he was the last one in the common room that night. Ron and Hermione both volunteered repeatedly to stay with him and help finish, but he looked forward to time alone and told them both to get some sleep. Oddly enough, they both listened to him and left.

Harry sat, curled up in one of the squashy armchairs in the common room, one hand holding his stomach, the other holding the list. It had been hours since everyone else had gone to bed, but he didn’t feel much like sleeping. In the stillness and silence of the common room, the full weight of the problem hung upon him. Every time he thought about getting up, he felt too sick and stayed down. It was easier not to go up and sleep in a bed that was so close to Ron’s bed. Harry really didn’t think he could handle that just now. So he stayed down in the common room, hoping against hope that some brilliant idea would just pop into his head. The only thing that did, however, was that the only way he’d figure it out was to tell the truth and straight out ask who drank the potion.

He heard footsteps coming down the stairs behind him, and barely turned his head, recognizing it was Hermione. Quickly he closed his eyes, pretending to be fast asleep.

"No good, that," said Hermione, pulling another armchair close in front of the fire and sitting down in it. "I know you’re awake. What’s the matter? Why can’t you sleep?"

Why must she ask such questions so late at night? Would he still be sitting in the common room if he could sleep? Harry shook his head and crumpled the scrap of parchment into a tight ball, clutched in his fist.

"I knew it!" she said as triumphantly as if she’d just found the answer to a difficult homework problem. "I knew you were sick. You look terribly pale. You barely touched your dinner. Do you have a stomach ache?" she asked, and when he nodded, she reached over and pressed her palm against his forehead.

"Not that kind of a stomach ache," he clarified. "Look, Hermione..." However many times he worked out what to say in his head, it never sounded right. Besides, he knew exactly what she’d say when he told her, and he was sure it would only make his stomach ache worse. "I’ve just... well, I’ve done something terribly stupid is all."

She nodded and sat back in her armchair, folding her hands in her lap. "I see."

Before she could ask precisely what it was, Harry began pouring it all out to her. "I’ve had this crush on this... someone... and it’s the last year at school and it’s my last chance and I had to do something so I... well, I made a sort of love potion." It hurt slightly less to say it than he thought it would, but the expression on Hermione’s face made up for that.

Her frown was strong, defined. "Oh Harry!" she sighed in disappointment. "Why-ever did you do that? You know perfectly well they’re illegal at Hogwarts."

"I know!" moaned Harry with regret. "And I wish now I’d never done it. Wish I’d never even entertained the idea. Oh, Hermione, it’s all gone wrong."

Her arms crossed over her chest, she puffed up against the rule-breaking. "I shouldn’t wonder. Love potions are terribly tricky, Harry, which is one of the reasons they’re forbidden." And Harry had never been a master potions maker, at least not when it came to performing in Snape’s class. "I expect you left out a key ingredient? Or got the proportions mixed up? Does she hate you instead of love you, now?"

"Your confidence in me is overwhelming," Harry muttered. "But no. If you must know, I think I got the potion correct for a change. I checked and double-checked it."

Hermione looked confused. "Well then, what exactly’s gone wrong?"

Harry bowed his head and buried his face in his hands. "I don’t exactly know who drank it... but it wasn’t the person I wanted. I know that much."

Hermione succeeded in restraining a laugh, but only just. "Oh... oh Harry..." he said, trying to sound sympathetic. She knew the situation was not the best, and that he shouldn’t have been making an illegal love potion in the first place, but it was also rather funny in a terribly ironic sort of way. He’d been so desperate that now some mystery someone was madly in love with him. "No idea who it could be?" she asked, having to clap a hand to her mouth to hide a smile. Luckily he was still staring into his palms and did not see.

He shook his head dejectedly. "I made a list..." He pulled out the crumpled piece of parchment, smoothed it out, and handed it over to her. He was so embarrassed already that he didn’t get any worse as she laughed to see names such as Albus Dumbledore on there, though crossed off.

"Why, you’ve crossed off every name here," she said, turning the paper over to be sure she hadn’t missed any startling revelations Harry might have had on the other side.

"Out of all the people with access... and all the people who weren’t elsewhere... I tested them all. Every single one. And not one of them acted any differently around me. I gave them means and opportunity. Left myself wide open. Flirted as best I could." Hermione sniggered at this, though tried to cover the noise with a cough. "And no one took the invitation. It just doesn’t make sense. If they were under the influence of the potion, they would have been lusting after me, unable to contain themselves. And yet, they all acted just like normal."

Hermione sighed and shook her head. She reached over and eased his hands down from his face, then slipped the list into a hand. "Harry, how much did you read about love potions and spells?" Harry shrugged. There hadn’t been much he could get his hands on, even with clearance into the restricted section of the library. And he couldn’t have written to Fred and George for help, given that Ron was their brother and they were sure to find out what Harry had intended the potion for. "Well it’s clear you did your research, but you failed to read one important fact about them."

Perking up a little, Harry sat up in his seat. He was ready for Hermione to say that they wore off quickly, or that there was an easy tracking mechanism. But instead, she said, "If someone who already loves you drinks it, there’s no change."

Far from feeling reassured, a shocked look crossed Harry’s face. "You mean that there’s someone who already loves me?"

Hermione nodded. "And if that person was the one to drink the potion, he or she won’t be acting any differently towards you. If the person kept it a secret before, it would still be one after the drink."

Harry closed his eyes with a soft whimper. Then there really was no way he could tell who it was. The only thing that he knew was it still wasn’t Ron, and that was really the only person he wanted it to be. Wasn’t it? The idea of being with someone else suddenly didn’t feel quite so bad.

"Harry, I’ve a question," said Hermione, approaching it carefully. "Why didn’t you just tell the person you like that you like her? Why go through all of this trouble with a love potion?"

His eyes closed, Harry took a few moments to think this over. It really would have been easier to go up to Ron and confess his feelings. Then Ron would have at least had a choice. He deserved that much. "The person’s with someone else," Harry explained. "I thought... I thought it was the only way I’d be noticed."

He felt Hermione reach out and take his hand, squeezing it comfortingly. "If you were really that sure she wouldn’t want you, it sounds like she’s very happy with what she has already."

The knots in Harry’s stomach twisted tightly, and he made him feel worse to admit it, but he nodded back in agreement. He was sure now nothing he could say would change Ron’s mind. He really was happy with Hermione, and he shouldn’t have done anything to destroy that happiness. "Think I want to be alone again," he whispered.

She understood. "Not going to do anything stupid like drown yourself in the lake, are you?"

He opened his eyes to look up at her and shook his head with as much genuineness as he could muster. Harry wasn’t precisely sure what he was going to do, but he didn’t need Hermione hovering over him trying not to laugh at him while he did it. She had helped a lot more than he thought she would, at least. She had kept the lecture short enough, given the severity of his actions. And she had comforted him without pressing him for the details he didn’t want to give.

When he thought about it, she really was a great person and a fantastic friend. If he and Ron couldn’t be together, he was glad he’d found someone as wonderful as Hermione to be the object of his affection. She really did seem to make him happy in a way Harry realized now he never would. And if she cared about Ron half as much as she seemed to care about Harry, he knew Ron was indeed a lucky man. He felt much worse for trying to break up his two best friends, instead of just coming to the conclusion that he should be happy for them and move on. In a way, he was almost glad Ron hadn’t been the one to drink the potion. Though he still wished he hadn’t brewed it and set it out in the first place.

As Hermione started to make her way back to bed, Harry called after her, "Hermione?" He leaned forward and looked around the tall back of the armchair at her. "Thanks."

She smiled and nodded back at him. "Good luck, Harry. And try to get some sleep. You look exhausted. You can figure things out in the morning."

He groaned softly as he heard her footsteps head up the stairs to the girls’ dormitories. Though he knew it was an important detail to be made aware of, the truth was now he had no idea who it could be and no way of finding out. The drinker of the potion was suddenly the least of his worries. The guilt he was feeling about having made the potion was overwhelming. He almost felt the need to march right up to his dormitory and apologize profusely to Ron. Not only that, but there was someone out there who really did love him and want him. And this someone was apparently content never to act on such feelings. He couldn’t imagine who it might be. If Ron obviously didn’t want him, and it wasn’t the influence of a love potion, he couldn’t imagine why anyone would want him.

Of course, the idea was intriguing as well. The pain of realizing he would never have Ron wasn’t quite as bad as he thought it would be. He had never really known he feeling of being wanted, really wanted. If someone really wanted him like that, he was sure he wouldn’t mind giving up on his dream of having Ron. But if this person was content to lust after him in secret, Harry felt he didn’t have much hope of figuring this mystery out. "This is hopeless," Harry muttered to himself, curling up into a tighter ball and closing his eyes. "Utterly hopeless. Compared to this, fighting Voldemort is a piece of cake."

Harry woke the next morning, feeling a bit stiff and awful to have slept in his clothes. It was early yet, with absolutely no sounds wafting down from the dormitories. With a deep breath, Harry collected himself and headed up to the bathroom. Assuming he didn’t get a sudden urge to drown himself under the spray, he was sure he’d feel a lot better after a nice warm shower.

He entered the bathroom, expecting it to be as empty and silent as the rest of the tower currently was. But there was a sound of water running from the showers, and a warmth of steam told him it had been running for some time now. He walked over slowly, not wanting to sneak up on one of the younger students by surprise. But a familiar dirty blond-haired head was visible over the side partition of the door-less stall. It was only Neville.

Neville was standing with water rushing down upon him, leaning on one of the walls of the stalls. Harry thought for a moment to call hello and good morning, and hope that Neville was still as cheerful as he had been later last night, despite their words earlier, when Neville spoke instead. And the words stuck in Harry’s throat. Neville’s back was to Harry, his eyes tightly closed against the pouring water, and yet he unmistakably opened his mouth and whispered, "Harry."

"Yes?" he replied, without thinking about it. But then he realized Neville had not been talking to him. Why else would he have said Harry’s name, though? Harry froze, dumb-struck. Had Neville somehow heard his approach? Had Neville somehow sensed him?

Neville slipped on the wet tile floor, his body slamming forward into the wall with a wet thud and a yelp from Neville. As Harry rounded the side of the stall to be sure Neville was all right, he saw that Neville hadn’t been washing, but attending to something else during his shower. Neville grabbed his towel and flung it around his waist, and he flushed a bright crimson in the cheeks which had nothing to do with the temperature of the water still coming down from the shower head. "Harry!" he gasped, at the sight of him, not at all the way he’d sounded just moments ago when speaking the same word. This time it sounded angry and choked, when before it had been soft, airy and blissful.

"Sorry," Harry said, backing up a little to give Neville some room. "I didn’t know anyone was in here. It’s so early."

"I always come in here early." Neville quickly stopped himself and swore strongly at his poor choice of words. His whole face was growing red and he turned it away, resting his forehead against the wall. "I... I mean I’m up early and take a morning shower before anyone else is up." He winced again, and shook his head. Everything he said seemed to come out very wrong. His fist clutching his towel around his waist tightened in frustration.

"Oh, I’m sorry to interrupt you then." Harry stood there a moment, watching as Neville and his towel got wetter. His green eyes, knowing full well they should not, traveled down Neville’s plump body to his waist and saw that Neville was still quite in need of his morning shower. And, once spotting this, he knew that he should leave. But something held him there, commanding him to stay. Forcing him to speak. "Neville..." he said, looking back up to the young man’s face, eyes tightly closed, face screwed up.

"Don’t say it, Harry," Neville whispered into the wall. "I don’t want to know."

"Know what?" asked Harry, confused.

Neville swore again, and then muttered something about his Gran washing his mouth out with a bar of magical soap. His voice was shaky, uncertain. "I don’t want to know how much you heard just then," he said quickly, as though it was the only way he could get the words out.

Harry shrugged. "Only my name, really."

Neville swore again, and hot tears in his eyes mixed with the shower water, leaving Harry oblivious to their presence as well. Neville’s free hand wiped beneath his nose as he sniffled.

"Look, Neville, there’s nothing to be ashamed about," Harry said, still feeling compelled to stay. Neville looked terribly hurt about this, and after the night he’d had, Harry knew a thing or two about feeling awful.

"I’m not ashamed," he replied with another sniffle. "I just..." he opened his eyes and risked a look over at Harry. Harry looked back, giving him a reassuring smile. This was something all the boys did, in the showers, in bed, where ever. "I didn’t want you to find out this way," Neville whispered, still looking right into Harry’s eyes as he spoke.

"Find what out?" Harry asked, confused again. Perhaps it was the little sleep he had received. Or perhaps the worry still upon him. Whatever it was, he wasn’t really following where Neville was going with this. But Neville’s soft eyes left his for a moment and looked down at the towel revealingly. Harry’s gaze followed, looking down for the third time, and suddenly he managed to put it all together.

"Neville!" Harry exclaimed, stepping back and slamming into one of the ends of a stall partition. "You were thinking about me when you were having a wank!" Neville nodded, going very pale indeed. "That’s why you said my name!" Neville nodded and sniffled, running the back of his hand beneath his nose again. Something powerful stirred in Harry’s chest, first as a dull ache, and then as a sharp, light fluttery bounce. "You fancy me!"

Neville looked away, still blushing furiously. "You don’t have to make fun."

"I’m sorry!" Harry laughed, shaking his head. "I’m really not laughing at you," he said. "I’m laughing at me. How long have you felt this way?"

Timidly, "Three or four years?" Neville answered with honesty, though still blushing and not smiling at Harry’s laughter. Neville focused on a spot on the wall and worked his eyes over it as he tried to ignore the laughing. "I guess in a way, ever since I met you."

Harry was trying hard to control himself, but the relief and shock and excitement were all flowing through him too strongly now. "Neville, please, you must tell me- did you drink the goblet that was sitting out on the table last night in the room?"

Neville looked shocked at the question, but nodded. "Yeah I did. Tasted a little funny, actually. Don’t remember why I drank it, but I know I did." His eyes grew white and his face pale against his red cheeks. "Why? What was in it?" He began to look panicked.

"Nothing you need to worry about," Harry reassured him, his laughter finally dying away. He shook his head, hardly believing this. After a night of worry, scheming and heartache, the answer simply jumped out at him. He gave a short laugh. "Ginny was right! As soon as I stopped searching, I found what I was looking for." He paused a moment with a sudden thought. "Ginny," he said, confusion crossing his face. "Wait, Neville, aren’t you and she a couple?"

It was Neville’s turn to look confused. "Ginny? No!" He shook his head, droplets of water breaking from the ends of his short hair as they were bombarded from above. "Ginny’s a wonderful girl, but she’s a girl." He made a face. "I don’t like girls in that way."

Harry let out a deep breath, though not quite realizing why he felt quite so relieved to hear those words.

"Lots of young gay boys have a girl friend they confide in. Ginny’s mine. She’s been really, really nice to me through all this."

Harry smiled, remembering how kind Hermione had been to him this evening despite his stupidity. It was hard when one’s trusted girl friend began dating one’s object of desire. "Neville," said Harry, treating the subject carefully, though he was quite anxious to hear the answer. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

Neville shrugged. "There’s a lot of reasons, Harry, not just one. It’s been difficult lately. Everyone seems to have someone. Lavender and Patrick. Seamus and Dean. Hermione and-"

"Don’t say it," Harry interrupted, looking away, not wanting to hear.

Neville looked over sympathetically. "I know you have a thing for Ron." Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. "Yeah, of course I knew that. And no, I didn’t tell Ginny. All she knows is that you have a thing for someone and it’s one of the reasons you’re out of my reach. When the person you want wants someone else, you tend to notice, though. Bet you knew Ron loved Hermione before he even knew it himself."

Softly, "Yeah, but practically everyone knew that before Ron figured it out."

Neville chuckled, "Good point. But at least I knew you were a poof, too, and I could hope that maybe one day you’d notice me. I knew you wanted him. And I couldn’t make a move knowing that." He paused to wipe his hand against his face. "Not that... not that I could actually make a move." He sniffled and gave a weak smile. "I couldn’t expect you to want me more than him, I mean." He gave a nervous laugh. "Who in their right mind would?"

Harry watched him for a few moments more, as though taking him in for the first time. Gentle eyes, dirty blond hair, round cheeks, bulges here and there, but soft curves of muscle as well. "Open my eyes..." Harry whispered. "And my heart."

"What’s that?" Neville whimpered, rubbing at his eyes and pretending as though it was only water from the shower running down his face.

"Something Ginny told me yesterday," Harry muttered. He took a deep breath and pushed off the wall, starting forward towards Neville in the stall. He grabbed one of Neville’s shoulder’s to hold him in place, and then his opposite cheek to brace his head.

Neville tensed with worry. "Harry..." he said, sounding uneasy but curious.

Harry slid beneath the shower with Neville, blinking as water hit his face. "I want to kiss you, Neville... that is if you’ll let me?"

Neville blinked, as though waiting to be sure he’d heard right, and that Harry wasn’t going to take back the offer. Then he gave the slightest, most hesitant of nods. Harry leaned in, tilting his head as though he were an old pro at this. Their lips met, slipping a bit in the water, but finding each other as their eyes closed and they savored the moment. Their lips pressed firmly for several seconds before they pulled back almost at the same moment.

"There," Harry said softly, grinning. He pulled Neville’s hair back from his face. "How was that?" He’d never thought to ask that before, but this time he felt he really wanted to know. Out of the few kisses he’d had before, it was this one he really cared about.

Neville slowly grinned back. "Too short," he breathed.

"Oh yeah?" Harry replied, his hand finding Neville’s cheek again and stroking it as he leaned in again. "We’ll have to see what we can do about that, then." And they kissed again. Their lips moved this time under their own volition, parting, pressing, progressing to that next stage. Somewhere halfway through, Neville’s arm found the small of Harry’s back. And Harry pushed forward, tugging a bit on Neville’s bottom lip at the end. He pulled back, panting. He’d forgotten that he was supposed to breathe through his nose during a kiss. But with the water from the shower and the sensations rushing through them at the feel of Neville against him, the thought had been far from his mind.

"More..." Neville murmured before opening his eyes, and flushing at the realization that he said it out loud. He retracted his hand and dragged it through his hair nervously. "Not... not that you have to," he said softly. His eyes darted to the side, as though he wanted to look away, but somehow felt drawn back to Harry’s deep green eyes. "I know I’m no prize. Can’t imagine you wanting me."

Harry gave a laugh. "Don’t say things like that right after a kiss. I want you, Neville. I wouldn’t have kissed you if I didn’t." He reached a hand down and started pulling at and gathering his robe, trying to get it off. "Would you help me with this? It’s heavy from the water."

Neville sprang into action, and the two managed to get Harry’s robes off, along with his shoes and socks, and then his underpants. Neville could not resist the sight before him, or the touch as Harry’s hand reached over, stoking his slightly pudgy side and releasing the towel around his waist. They stood for a moment in the stall, looking at each other, giving the other time to back out.

"What... what about Ron?" asked Neville.

Harry shook his head. "I’ve already given up on him. I want him to be happy with Hermione. And I’d like to try to make you happy, too... because I think you could make me happy." Neville blinked. "We’ll go slowly," Harry soothed him.

Neville nodded cautiously back, though seeing Harry shiver. He reached forward and pulled Harry back under the warm spray of the shower. Harry closed his eyes as the water hit him right in the face, and he felt Neville’s hands and then arms around him, holding him tight and warm. Never before could he remember feeling so safe and so wanted. Neville kissed his cheek, and then his lips again, and Harry kissed back, forgetting to breathe this time as well because of the unexpected, sudden, but enjoyable movement of tongues.

When the kiss ended, Harry ran his tongue down Neville’s neck, eager to taste more of him. They pressed closer to each other, shifting a few inches to the side instinctively as the felt the pleasure that came with each cock pressing against the other’s thigh. Harry gave a bit of a startled gasp at how very warm and inviting Neville’s thigh was against his crotch.

"H-Harry," Neville whispered, his mouth finding Harry’s ear and his pale face working into the mad tangle of wild black hair. "D-don’t thrust like that against me unless... unless you want me to..." He turned his face into the back of Harry’s head, scared to say the words. His fingers flexed and grabbed at Harry’s shoulders and back and sides, trying to take in the feel of the young man.

Harry hadn’t realized he had been thrusting, or moving at all, in fact. He froze at Neville’s words, realizing one hand was on one of Neville’s arse cheeks and the other on Neville’s side. His head was turned to the side and resting against Neville’s shoulder and chest. He was the perfect size, the perfect height. And the feelings racing through him were fantastically perfect. His body told him he should start thrusting his pelvis forward again. He wanted to feel it rub against Neville’s soft, smooth, water-slick skin. But Harry held back because of the words.

Neville bit his lip. "It’s just that I’ve never done... I mean, I didn’t expect anything like this and I was taking a shower to..."

Harry understood. It was hardly possible for boys of their age to wake up and not feel the need for a wank and Neville had been halfway there upon his arrival only minutes ago. "I know," Harry whispered back, raising his head to look a blushing Neville in the face. "But I want you to. I want to feel you in my hand, against my body." Neville seemed to need more convincing. "I want to do it with you."

With a loud, helpless whimper, Neville buried his face in Harry’s shoulder. "Touch me then," he said, his grip on Harry’s sides was gone in place of arms wrapping around him. "Because I don’t want to wait any more when you say things like that to me."

Harry grinned and began pushing forward again. Neville did the same, and there were a few moments when they were jerking around awkwardly before they managed to find a common rhythm together. Once found, however, they could not stop. Harry’s hand slid down to Neville’s crotch, searching for his cock and finding the side of it. The touch was so intense that both boys began moving faster, up and down, grinding themselves together. Harry began stroking what he could and Neville groaned with pleasure, thrusting his pelvis forward with a desperate, violent motion. Somehow Harry knew he wanted more and forgot his own raging hard-on for the moment as he turned to the side at an angle that gave him more room to touch Neville’s parts. His palm was curved and his stroke strong, and it took barely a minute before Neville tensed against him, fingers digging into Harry’s side and shoulder, and his moan muffled against Harry’s neck.

They stood still for while after, letting the water clean them both as Neville caught his breath and Harry held him tightly, running a hand through his hair again and kissing his forehead. "Was that all right?" Harry asked so softly Neville could barely hear it above the rush of the water.

Neville nodded weakly, nuzzling into Harry. "Your turn," he murmured. "And I know you want to go slow but you can, you know, go in me if you like."

"Neville!" Harry swallowed hard, eager yet quite reluctant.

"It’s too soon, isn’t it?" he said quickly. "I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I’m sorry. We can stop."

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "No, I want you, Neville. And after touching you like that especially. I just don’t want to hurt you and I’ve never... I don’t exactly know what to do." Harry almost wished now that he had known about Seamus and Dean earlier. Then he could have accidentally walked in on them and taken notes or something. He knew the general idea, of course. He had fantasized about Ron enough times for that. But fantasizing and doing were two very different things. And the feelings he was feeling for Neville right now were much different than those he’d felt about Ron.

Neville lifted his head off Harry’s shoulder. "Just go easy. Do what feels good to you. I’ll tell you if it hurts too much."

Harry still looked reluctant. "But what if it hurts you and I can’t stop? Or what if--"

Harry was silenced by Neville’s kiss, which brought with it not only a bit of tongue but Neville’s hand at his crotch. "I want you in me," Neville said when the kiss had ended. "I’ve wanted this for so very long. I know you won’t hurt me."

With great enthusiasm, Harry kissed him back, then pushed him forward, against the back wall of the stall, covered in tile. His cheek against the wall, Neville looked back at him as he felt Harry’s hands slide over him and rest upon his arse. Harry coughed and closed his eyes, feeling his way in at first, then opening one eye to help get into the right position. The water was making him slip around, and Neville wasn’t holding as still as he might have liked. He took a deep breath and closed both his eyes as he took the plunge. Neville was a tight fit, but warm and inviting, just as his thigh had been. And Neville did not complain for an instant that Harry was unwanted, so he continued.

Harry began thrusting slowly, but went stronger and faster in no time, slamming himself into Neville, who was pressed against the wall. The water still rained down on them, though Harry was going in and out of the stream with each thrust out and in. Neville grunted and winced, but said nothing. Instead, his sounds made Harry feel better, as though Neville was enjoying it just as much as he was. Harry had a hand against the tile wall to help brace himself, but slid it up and over to find one of Neville’s. Harry’s fingers raced over Neville’s knuckles, and laced together with Neville’s fingers. They squeezed hands tightly as Harry’s thrusting hit its crescendo. Harry gave one final push and fell against Neville with a shout and some shaking.

When he finally pulled away, Neville held him up, helping to steady him against one of the walls. "You all right?" Harry asked weakly, when he opened his eyes to see Neville. "I didn’t hurt you too much, did I?"

Neville smiled and shook his head. "How... how about you? Are you all right?"

"Oh, I’m excellent," Harry sighed, closing his eyes again, as though he could still feel himself inside of Neville. He hoped that feeling wouldn’t go away for a very long time, even as the remnants were washed down the drains.

There was silence for a while, as both boys rinsed themselves off more thoroughly. Then Neville piped up, in his usual small, uncertain voice. "I know you’d rather have Ron, but I hope it wasn’t so bad with me."

"So bad?" Harry asked, almost amazed that Neville would say such a thing. "Of course it’s not so bad. Neville, I’m lucky. I’m honored. To be able to have you be the one who fancies me, the one who wants me." Harry searched for Neville’s hand again and picked it up, linking fingers again. "I wanted you just then. No one else. My only thought was you- all of you. Every inch," he added, seeing that look of self-consciousness flicker in Neville’s eyes and knowing too well how it felt. "Every bit. And I want you more."

"More?" Neville asked, his face going an even whiter shade of pale. Not from fear or apprehension, but from disbelief. "You mean it?"

Harry nodded emphatically and kissed him gently, sweetly. He was getting the hang of these kisses, he thought, as Neville sighed and rested his head against Harry’s chest and shoulder. Each kiss was a little different, and meant a little something different as well. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Neville, hugging the young man close to him.

Harry kissed the top of Neville’s head. Then he reached over and finally turned off the shower. The sudden lack of noise struck them both, and made Neville look up. "Should I get us some towels?" he volunteered, nodding his head towards the end of the room where the big bin of towels sat fluffed and folded overnight by the house elves.

With a nod, Harry released him. Neville hesitated, comfortable against Harry and as though he did not want to leave this moment behind.

"I’ll be here when you get back," Harry said with a smile of reassurance. Neville grinned back before disappearing around the corner of the stall into the steam they’d filled the room with. Harry sighed again as he leaned sideways against the wall, closing his eyes in thought. The love potion he’d finished and set out not two days before seemed trivial in comparison to this. It had gone wrong in every way possible, and caused him nothing but worry and grief. Yet had he not done it, he might never have known about Neville. And he might never have known what it felt like to be wanted, really wanted, above everything and everyone else.

Harry felt a towel wrap around him and without having to look he knew both who he wanted to have brought it as well as who had actually brought it. And, finally, those two were the same person. "Thanks, Nev," he whispered as he felt Neville and the towels rub against him in comforting warmth.