Neville is loitering outside the charms classroom when Harry walks out of it and hits him. An open-handed crack that snaps his head into the wall. He looks up, head cradled, stomach twisted, and Harry smiles.

Because I can, he says.

* * * * *

Harry is all about boundaries. Breaking them, worming his way into the centre until they rupture around him, meandering alongside, watching for an opening that always miraculously appears. Even keeping them, occasionally. Neville's not sure about this though. He thinks maybe the only reason Harry keeps within the law is so he can throw it in Malfoy's face.

But he could be wrong. He often is.

* * * * *

Neville has forgotten about the incident by the evening. He has. Really. So when he sees Harry in the library, his smile doesn't freeze, his muscles don't tense, he doesn't feel the sourness of bile knotting in his throat.

Hi Harry. His voice does not quaver.

A fist doesn't sink into the soft flesh of his stomach, he doesn't double over, wheezing quietly so Madame Pince won't hear.

And Harry doesn't help him up.

* * * * *

He wonders if Harry's put some sort of locator spell on him. He certainly seems to posses the uncanny ability of turning up whenever Neville's alone, in some deserted classroom for preference. Neville finds himself in a lot of them these days. So when Harry backs him into a corner he knows what to expect.

When Harry kisses him, it's worse. Sucker-punch to the head. There are no words, but Neville can feel them emblazoned across his forehead, his very own scar.

Because I can.

* * * * *

Are you all right Neville, they ask, perfunctory concern fluttering puny wings.

Fine, he mutters through a mouthful of bloodied bristles and foam. Is there any more toothpaste?

* * * * *

When they leave school, Harry moves in. He's out a lot. Neville lies on his (their) bed and wishes he'll get run over by a bus and come home. Harry, always contrary, does neither.

* * * * *

The night Harry leaves, Neville looks at (never into) his eyes. His reflection is blond with silver irises.

...why...

...how can you...

...you promised...

...I love you...

...don't...

...Why...

The scar does not fade.