Chapter Text
Neville had tried, unsuccessfully, to smother himself with his own pillow. If he pressed it hard enough over his face, maybe he could block out the world—and more importantly, the mortifying memory of what had just happened during training.
But it was useless. His heart wouldn’t stop hammering against his ribs. His skin still burned with the phantom feel of Harrie’s body writhing against him, tangled together in that bloody plant. Her hips shifting against his had sent a bolt of dread and hunger straight through him, right down to his cock, and no amount of suffocating himself with cotton was going to erase it.
He groaned into the pillow, desperate to will the images away. He tried—Merlin, he really tried. He thought about his grandmother yelling at him. About Dumbledore wearing a frilly dress. About thousands of spiders crawling over his skin. Anything that might smother the heat coursing through his veins.
But his mind betrayed him at every turn.
Because he could still hear it—that sound. That tiny, involuntary whimper Harrie had let slip. Soft. Fragile. The kind of sound he would never expect from her, the bravest, boldest person he knew. It had nearly undone him.
And then—fuck—her expression when she realized his size. The way her eyes had gone wide, pupils blown black, her lips parting, tongue darting out to wet them as though she couldn’t stop herself from peeking. That look alone was going to haunt him for the rest of his life. Not to mention when she actually verbalized to him that he was big... he nearly came in his pants right there.
It had been over an hour since then and his cock still hadn’t come down.
Neville tossed and turned, his head throbbing from the lack of blood in his brain because every last drop had abandoned him for his groin.
For a fleeting, reckless second, he imagined what might have happened if she’d leaned in—if their lips had brushed, if he’d been bold enough to close the distance. His pulse spiked violently, a rush of terror and yearning clawing through his chest. But no. That was insanity. Harrie was perfect, radiant. She’d never want him like that.
Thank Merlin she’d pulled them free of the plant when she had—before he’d done something stupid like actually kiss her.
He rolled to his side, curling in on himself as if folding in half could relieve the aching strain in his trousers. It didn’t. Heat still licked through his stomach and chest, his breath coming in shallow pulls, his fingers twitching with restless need.
“Merlin.” He muttered hoarsely at his own pants, glaring down at the bulge. “Why do you have to be like this?”
His hands hovered uncertainly. He’d fought so hard to keep control, to will it away, but the pressure was unbearable, his body refusing to listen. He knew then that resistance was pointless.
With a quick glance toward the dorm door, he yanked his curtains shut and cast a silencing charm for good measure. His pulse hammered as he slipped his hand beneath his pajama waistband, finally pulling himself free. The air felt cold, almost too much, and he let out a shuddering sigh as he gave himself a firm stroke.
“Oh, fuck…” He groaned, his thumb swiping across the wet tip, smearing the precum already beading there.
The memory of her sound—her delicate whimper—rushed back in, vivid and unrelenting. He gave up fighting it and let it guide him instead. Let himself pretend, just for a moment, that maybe she had wanted him too.
His strokes grew faster, rougher, his other arm resting behind his head as his eyes squeezed shut. Harrie’s lips filled his thoughts—how would they feel wrapped around him? Warm and wet, he imagined. Would she be strong and sharp in the bedroom, like she was around everyone else? Or would she melt in private, just for him? Call his name sweetly, give him more soft noises as she took his cock in every way imaginable.
His balls tightened, hips jerking upward for more, the tension unbearable. He let out a broken whimper of his own as the wave crested and broke.
He came with a deep groan, streams of hot release spurting across his fist and stomach, his whole body shuddering with the force of it.
For a long moment, he lay there, chest heaving, letting the ache drain out of him. The tension melted into something softer, less consuming, until at last he could breathe again. With a muttered cleaning charm, he cleared the mess away, rolling onto his side and dragging an extra pillow into his arms. He buried his face into it, pretending for one foolish second that it was Harrie.
Tomorrow, the guilt would gnaw at him. He’d remember the accidental grinding, the humiliating erection, the fact that he’d wanked himself raw to the memory of her little sounds.
But right now, the shame receded, replaced by the heavy pull of sleep.
* * *
Harrie looked around Potions class anxiously.
She slid into her usual spot beside Ron, drumming her quill lightly against her notebook while her gaze darted toward the classroom door. Students shuffled in, voices low and hushed, books and cauldrons clattering as they claimed their seats. Harrie’s eyes flickered over each face, but the one she was searching for never appeared.
“Where’s Neville?” She asked, trying to sound casual, though the tightness in her voice gave her away.
Ron stretched with a yawn so wide it seemed to crack his jaw. “Still asleep when we left. I gave his bed a good kick, but he just lobbed his pillow at me.”
Harrie frowned, gnawing on her lip. Still asleep? That wasn’t Neville. He was the reliable one, the one always on time, sometimes even early. Something about the empty chair across the room made her stomach twist.
Was he still upset about last night?
She shifted uncomfortably, pretending to copy down the instructions Slughorn had scrawled across the board, though her quill barely touched the parchment. She kept glancing toward the door, half-expecting him to rush in, hair mussed, cheeks pink, muttering apologies with that sheepish grin. But the minutes ticked on, and still—no Neville.
Was he avoiding her? The thought made her insides clench. She tried to dismiss it, but the memory of last night pushed in like an uninvited guest—the awkward closeness, the way their bodies had tangled, the heat of it all...
“Did he say anything last night?” She asked finally as they began their Wiggenweld potion.
“Merlin, Harrie, I’m not his secretary.” Ron muttered, rolling his eyes. He paused, then sighed, the annoyance bleeding out of him. “Sorry. Just—rough night for me too. I should've taken Neville's lead and stayed in bed too."
Harrie raised her brows. “What happened?”
Ron hacked at his horklump mushroom with more force than necessary, his eyes flickering—unmistakably—toward Hermione across the room. Harrie followed his gaze. Hermione was unusually quiet, her shoulders tense.
“Oh no,” Harrie sighed “…you two had an argument. What did you do?”
“Why do you assume it was me?” Ron grumbled.
“Because I know you.” Harrie shot back, deadpan.
He faltered, then deflated with a groan. “Alright. Yeah. I did something. But it wasn’t a big deal—she’s blowing it out of proportion!”
“Ron…” Harrie leaned closer, giving him a look that brooked no nonsense. “What did you do? Tell me the truth and I’ll be impartial.”
“I may have… snogged Lavender Brown.”
Harrie’s jaw dropped. She clapped a hand to her mouth, fighting the urge to gag.
“Here we go...” Ron muttered, bracing himself for her dramatics.
“That’s disgusting! Did you rinse your mouth with bleach?” Harrie groaned, pulling a face. “Ugh, Ron, what is wrong with you?”
“She kissed me first!” He snapped, indignant. “She came over to congratulate me for making the Quidditch team, and—well—I don’t know what happened, her lips were on mine and then—”
“Wait.” Harrie cut him off, narrowing her eyes. “So, you kissed a vile girl. Why is Hermione mad about that?”
Ron winced. “She walked in on us. And I… sort of told her to get out.”
“Ugh.” Harrie scoffed, smacking his arm. “You are such a prick!"
“I know, alright?” He groaned. “It wasn’t my finest moment. But it was my first proper snog, I wanted to enjoy it for a little while longer.”
“Did you even apologize?” Harrie pressed.
“I tried.” Ron muttered, sulking. “She threw a book at me.”
“Good...I hope it was a heavy one.”
Ron glared. “You’re supposed to be impartial!”
Harrie only shrugged, biting back a laugh.
By the end of class, Slughorn dismissed them, and Hermione wasted no time grabbing Harrie by the wrist, tugging her across the castle and out into the courtyard. She looked restless, like words had been boiling inside her all morning.
“Did he tell you?” Hermione asked quietly, her voice almost breaking.
“Yeah.” Harrie sighed. “He’s such an idiot, Hermione. I’m sorry he was such a jerk.”
Hermione’s eyes dropped to the cobblestones, her shoulders hunching. Harrie could almost see the memory of Ron and Lavender replaying in her friend’s mind, each second carving deeper into her.
Harrie’s brow furrowed. “Are you mad at him or… hurt?”
“I don’t know.” Hermione whispered. “I just really hated seeing him kissing someone else, you know?”
Harrie swallowed hard. She did know. Not about Ron—but about Neville. When she’d learned he and Hannah had kissed before, done more than kissing even, it felt like heartbreak. The kind of heartbreak she wasn’t even entitled to.
“You like Ron, huh?” Harrie asked softly.
Hermione scoffed, shaking her head too quickly. It made Harrie’s lips twitch with a smile. She recognized that frantic denial—it was the exact same one she wore whenever anyone teased her about Neville.
“You’re not fooling me, Granger.” Harrie murmured, amused.
Hermione flushed, crossing her arms. “And you’re one to talk?”
Harrie conceded with a smile. “What if I told you something that might distract your thoughts about Ron?”
Hermione raised a brow. “What is it?”
“Last night during training…” Harrie leaned in, lowering her voice. “…Neville got hard.”
Hermione’s hand flew to her mouth. “WHAT?!”
Harrie’s grin spread wider, her heart racing as she nodded, panic and thrill mixing in her chest. “We were sort of tangled together, stuck. And then all of a sudden—” She flicked her gaze downward meaningfully.
Hermione let out a shriek that echoed across the courtyard. “Tell me more! What did he say? What did you say? Please tell me you didn’t make him feel bad—is that why he’s skipping class today?!”
Harrie shrugged, feigning innocence. “I may have told him that it was big.”
“You told him that?!” She seized Harrie by the shoulders, eyes bugging out. “Harriet Lily Potter! He’s probably dying of embarrassment right now!”
“I wasn’t mean!” Harrie said quickly, laughing. “I was just… being honest. It was really big."
“Did you like it?” Hermione asked, her grin sly.
Harrie froze—then nodded before she even realized it.
“Christ.” Hermione muttered, lapsing into Muggle slang, which only made Harrie laugh harder. "You better bring that boy some snacks or something as a peace offering. He's probably mortified."
"I will," she said, the idea had actually already been in her head "...but only if you agree to go easy on Ron. I think he feels really bad for treating you like that."
"He should." Hermione crossed her arms.
"No argument from me, I already told him that much. But you should at least give him the chance to apologize without throwing books at him."
"He told you about that?"
Harrie nodded, though a smile was still on her lips at the thought of it.
Hermione relaxed slightly and gave a long breath, staring back at the cobblestones. "Alright...I suppose I could let him apologize properly. But if he tries to downplay what happened, I can't promise that I won't hex him."
"At least promise to let me watch if that happens." Harrie laughed.
* * *
Neville skipped dinner and all of his classes, perfectly content to rot away in his bed under a cloud of shame and guilt.
The sun was sinking outside, streaking the windows in orange and gold, and he’d read through all his books, stared at the ceiling until his eyes burned, and stewed about Harrie so long that his head throbbed. He needed food—his stomach twisted angrily every time he shifted—but he was waiting for curfew. Then the common room would be empty. No witnesses. Just silence.
“Oi, Longbottom, you still alive?” Seamus’s voice carried through the dormitory doorway, breaking his wish for silence. “There’s a certain girl requesting your presence downstairs.”
Neville groaned into his pillow. He didn’t want to face her yet.
“Just tell Harrie I’m sick.” He mumbled, pulling his blanket tighter over his head.
“Harrie?” Seamus echoed. “No, it’s Hannah. She’s waiting for you.”
Neville sat up so fast his vision swam. “What?”
Hannah… here? Of all places?
Even when they’d been together, she had never once stepped foot into the Gryffindor common room. She used to wrinkle her nose at the noise, at Seamus setting off sparks in the corner or Dean sketching sprawled across the sofa, as if the chaos was beneath her. Their time together had always been dictated by her comfort—her quiet corners in the library, her sunny spot in the courtyard, her common room where everything was tidy and controlled.
So why now? Why here?
The thought curled in his chest, sour and sharp. It wasn’t just surprise—it was irritation. That she could walk into his world on her own terms, only after he’d ended things. That she could treat the space like a novelty now, when before it had been something to avoid.
Dragging a hand over his face, he stood and grabbed the first jumper he found. He tugged it over his head, not bothering with his hair. Let Hannah see him rumpled, half-dead. He was done trying to be perfect for her, maybe seeing him as he actually was would make her regret ever coming.
The common room was quiet when he descended—just a couple of younger years bent over homework and a fourth year dozing by the fire.
And there she was.
Hannah Abbott, blonde hair haloed by firelight, hands twisting at the hem of her jumper nervously.
“Neville...” She said softly, a smile tugging at her lips.
“Hannah." He said, voice rough. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”
Her eyes darted to the others in the room, then back to him. “I—I just needed to talk to you.”
“Okay.” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Let’s go somewhere private, then.”
She shook her head almost instantly, too quick to be casual. “No! Uh—right here is fine.” She plopped down on the couch, patting the cushion beside her with a little too much insistence. “Come on, sit.”
He hesitated, every instinct telling him to keep some space, but exhaustion weighed heavier. With a low breath, he sat, careful not to sink too close.
“Is something wrong?” He asked, because why else would she be sitting in front of him right now?
“You missed Astronomy today.”
He blinked, caught off guard by the concern laced in her tone. “Yeah.”
Her smile softened, eyes searching his face. “I just wanted to check on you. It isn’t like you to skip classes. Even when you’re sick, you still go.”
Neville forced a small nod, his throat tight. “I’m fine. Just wanted a day off.”
She placed her hand on his forearm, the touch light. “You must be under so much stress, Nev..."
The portrait hole creaked open behind them at that moment.
He didn’t turn, assuming it was another late night straggler. But Hannah’s smile sharpened—sweet on the surface, triumphant underneath.
“Neville…?”
His stomach dropped. Harrie.
He whipped around so fast his neck pinched, but he hardly noticed. She stood in the doorway, a tray of food balanced in her hands. Her eyes flicked from him to Hannah, pausing on Hannah’s hand still curled possessively over his sleeve. Harrie’s face smoothed out into something unreadable, like a defense was just put up.
“Hi, Harrie…” Neville croaked, his voice cracking halfway through her name. Bloody brilliant. “Um, Hannah was just—”
“Checking on him.” Hannah cut in, her tone syrupy, fingers giving his arm a deliberate squeeze. “I was worried when he missed class.”
He shifted, tugging his arm free from Hannah. “What are you up to, Harrie?”
“Couldn’t sleep. And I figured you hadn’t eaten, so…” She set the tray down on the table with precise care. “Here.”
Neville’s heart thudded. She had brought him food. Him. Fuck, why did that make his lungs stop working for a moment?
“That’s… really nice. Thank you.” He said softly, wishing he could reach across the space between them and tell her how much it mattered.
But Harrie didn’t meet his eyes. “It was Hermione’s idea.”
“Oh.” The word landed heavy in his chest, dragging it down. Of course. His throat felt tight. “Do you… want to sit with us?”
Before Harrie could answer, Hannah beamed. “Yes, Harrie, sit! I was just talking to Neville about his wellbeing... someone has to take care of him, he's been under so much pressure lately."
Neville blinked, whipping his head toward Hannah. “What?”
He hadn’t asked her to check on him, hadn’t invited her in, and now she was acting like she was the only one keeping him afloat?
Harrie’s lips twitched in that dangerous line that was usually reserved for Malfoy. “Sounds like you’ve got it covered. I'll see myself out." She turned and drifted toward the alcove beside the staircase. It was a small space with a narrow counter and an old kettle, tucked away for anyone who needed tea and didn’t want to bother a house-elf.
Neville instantly lurched to his feet to follow, panic sparking hot in his chest. But Hannah’s hand shot out, catching his wrist.
“Don’t leave!” She begged, tugging at him. Her nails pressed lightly into his skin, her grip more possessive than gentle.
He yanked back—voice sharper than he intended. “Look, Hannah, now isn’t a good time.”
Her practiced smile faltered for a split second, the warmth slipping away like sand through her fingers. “I came here because I care about you… and you’re running after Harrie? Again?!”
“Yes.” The word left his mouth sharp and clipped, leaving a sting in the air. “I didn’t ask you to come here.”
She recoiled slightly, a flash of hurt in her wide eyes. “Neville… I know we haven’t been on the best terms, but I—I still care about you.”
“You don’t even know me anymore, Hannah.” He said, his tone flat and tired. “I’m not the same person I was last year. I… I’m sorry, but I think you should leave. You didn’t want to be part of this space when we were together, so I don’t see why you’re here now.”
Her bottom lip quivered, a tiny, human crack in her composure. “But… you said we could work on being friends." She whispered, voice catching in her throat.
“I thought we could...” he admitted “-but I was wrong.”
She blinked, swallowing hard, then hesitated, as though weighing one last plea. Her lips trembled. “Before I go… can I at least have a hug?”
Neville let out a long, exhausted sigh, tension coiling in his chest. “Fine.”
She stepped forward quickly, pressing against him with the kind of closeness that made him instinctively stiffen. Her arms wrapped lightly around his torso, fingers brushing the small of his back, holding on as if anchoring herself.
Before he could move away, before he could even respond, she tipped her head up and kissed the side of his cheek.
Neville froze, staring dumbly as Hannah pulled back and slipped through the portrait hole, leaving a faint scent of her perfume behind. His chest felt tight, a mix of relief and lingering confusion pressing down on him. He didn’t care to linger on it anymore... he turned sharply and hurried into the alcove.
Harrie stood rigid by the kettle, foot tapping impatiently on the floorboards as steam curled from the whistling spout. Her hands moved with practiced efficiency, but every snap of her fingers and tilt of the cup carried a tension that made Neville’s stomach twist.
“Harrie—” He started.
“I’m fine. Just go back to Hannah." She said without turning, her tone clipped, controlled.
“I asked her to leave."
She didn’t acknowledge him with a response. Her eyes followed the faint wisp of steam as she adjusted the heat, the repetitive motion of preparing her tea almost meditative.
Without thinking, he reached into the cabinet and retrieved two cubes of sugar. Their hands brushed as he offered them to her—a fleeting, almost electric contact—but it made her pause. Her fingers lingered a fraction longer on his before she reluctantly took them. The corners of her lips pressed tight, like she wanted to hide the fact that Neville knowing how she made her tea pleased her.
She dropped the cubes into her cup with a soft plop. The spoon clinked sharply against the porcelain as she stirred, a sound that seemed too loud in the quiet alcove. Neville’s eyes flicked to her, trying to read the neutral mask she’d carefully plastered across her face.
“Did I upset you?” He asked, voice soft, tentative. “I mean… I know I did, but I’m not even sure how.”
She stiffened slightly, shoulders tensing, as if his question had nudged something fragile and hidden beneath her control. She didn’t answer immediately, just set the spoon down and let the quiet stretch between them, thick and charged, making Neville acutely aware of every small movement... the steam curling from her cup, the faint scent of herbs in the air.
Finally, she let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh. “Look, I just…” She turned fully toward him, eyes finally locking on his face—and froze.
Neville frowned. “What?”
Her gaze was fixed on his cheek. He could practically feel where she was staring.
Shit.
He lifted a hand, dabbing his fingertips against the spot. When he pulled them back, the smear of Hannah's pink lipstick gleamed accusingly on his skin.
Harrie set her teacup down with more force than necessary, the liquid sloshing over the rim. "You know what?" She laughed bitterly. "I don't even want tea anymore...I'm going to bed. Goodnight."
She tried to walk away but he grabbed her wrist, giving her a light tug. "Please, just let me explain."
"Forget it, Neville."
He felt his chest cave in. Forget it? Forget the way she was looking at him like he’d just betrayed her? Forget the way his own heart leapt even now, even in the middle of this bloody disaster?
He stepped forward despite himself, heart hammering in his chest, voice soft but insistent. “I just asked her to leave because I wanted to talk to you. She kissed me out of nowhere… and now I’m starting to think it’s because she wanted to upset you.”
“And why would it upset me?” She scoffed, voice sharp, though the tremor in her tone betrayed her. “I don’t care!”
Neville’s chest tightened at her words, the denial ringing hollow even as it left her lips. He could see it in the way her fists clenched at her sides, in the quick rise and fall of her shoulders as she tried to steady her breathing.
“You do care,” he pressed “…but for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. You’ve hated me ever since we found out about the prophecy, so I don’t understand why you’re so upset now about me and Hannah."
“Because I just am!” She shot back, heat flaring in her cheeks. “You realize she’s only throwing herself at you because you’re all everyone talks about now, right? You’re the second chosen one—of course she wants to get back into your arms!”
Neville ran a hand through his hair, frustration snapping through him. "Why does that bother you? You don’t even like me, Harrie!”
“Because I have some self-respect, Neville! Merlin, everyone is watching us. Our names are in the papers, people are talking, and you just let your ex walk into our common room like it’s nothing? That makes us both look bad."
“You kissed Rowan Finch last week—in front of the entire school! Did you care at all about how that looked?"
Her cheeks flamed bright red. “That was different.”
“How?” He demanded, stepping closer, voice rising.
“It just was!” She spat, trembling with emotion.
“That’s not an answer!”
“Because it wasn't Hannah, alright?!” She exploded, fists trembling now, knuckles whitening.
The room went still. Neville stared, breath caught, trying to absorb the sudden shift. “What does that mean?”
Her mouth opened, closed, panicked, and she shook her head. “It doesn’t mean anything. Forget it!”
“No." He said firmly, stepping closer, pulse racing. “You can’t just say that and pretend it means nothing. You can’t brush it off like it doesn’t matter!”
Her green eyes flashed, fire and fear mingling in their depths. “You wouldn’t understand!”
“Then make me understand, Harrie! I'm trying, I just want to fix this and you won't even tell me what I did wrong!"
For a long moment, she just stared at him, silent, jaw tight. Then she simply turned and stormed upstairs, slamming the door so hard when she'd gotten to her room it must've woken up all of the girls.
Neville stood there, hands hanging at his sides, heart still pounding. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to sort out his thoughts, but it felt like they were all tangled up. Her words, her expression, the look on her face—all of it lingered, just out of reach, and he didn’t know how to fix it.