Title: Neville Longbottom and the Slytherin Chaser
Author: Starling Siren
Email: starlingsiren@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Category: First Time / Romance / Humor
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Neville Longbottom / Warrington
Notes: Written in response to a post made by a member of Gardener's Delight Slash mailing list. Post #457 at
Summary: Neville Longbottom finds romance in an unlikely match during his sixth year at Hogwarts.
Warnings: SLASH (male/male romance). No graphic content beyond kissing.

"And you said yes?" Ron asked incredulously. His eyes were almost falling out of his head, they had grown so wide.

"Was I supposed to say no?" Neville squeaked, collapsing into the chair Hermione pushed underneath him just in time.

"No, Neville," Lee shook his head. "When one of those Slytherin gorillas wants to have a little chat with you, you're supposed to run."

"Come on, give him some room," Hermione pleaded, trying to get the crowd of boys to back away. "Let him get his breath back." She tried to fan Neville with a thick book, but managed only to envelop him in a cloud of dust.

Coughing, Neville tried to escape out of the circle. He just wanted to crawl into his bed and forget this day ever happened.

"Come on Neville, tell us what happened after," Seamus said, blocking the way to the stairs.

"Yeah, come on Neville, spill," Ron echoed.

Neville sighed in defeat. They wouldn't leave him alone until he told them, and he might as well tell them everything in one sitting.

"Then he slapped me on the back -- hard -- and said he'd wait for me in the Entrance Hall at 7."

There was a short silence.

"You mean he didn't laugh like a hyena and try to hex you for taking him seriously?" Ron demanded.

"No," Neville shook his head, "he just walked off."

"Well you don't think... you don't think he was serious? Do you?" Hermione asked, addressing the others more than Neville.

There were a number of snorts and a little nervous laughter. While everyone was distracted, Neville used the opportunity to escape into the stairwell.

He collapsed face down on his bed, burrowing his face deep into his pillow. He hoped no one would follow him because he just wanted to be left alone.

"Aw, come on Neville," Ron's voice said. "I'm sure it was just some stupid joke. Just stay out of their way for a while. Heck, that's good advice any day." He snickered at his own joke.

Neville didn't move. Maybe if he ignored Ron, he would go away.

"Just trying to help," Ron said huffily after a few minutes of silence.

Neville lay still until the need for air forced him to roll over or risk being smothered. He stared up at the ceiling.

When one of the over-sized Slytherin Chasers had cornered him in the stands after the Slytherin vs. Hufflepuff match, Neville expected to come out of the encounter with boils covering most of his body, slugs bursting from his mouth, or any of a dozen afflictions that he had suffered during similar confrontations in the past.

Neville didn't even know the boy's name. All he knew was that he was a year ahead, and his Quidditch position. And that he was a Slytherin. And that he was positively huge, with a barrel chest and thick muscular arms and a square face.

Only the Slytherin hadn't hexed him. Hadn't even touched him, really. He just stood there, blocking Neville's escape.

And he'd talked.

Neville hadn't heard half of what the Slytherin had said, because his heart had been beating like a drum and he was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane.

He'd heard enough though. He definitely understood when the Slytherin said in that gruff voice of his, "Will you go to the dance with me?"

Neville had stared at him, and he knew he couldn't say a word because his throat had gone as dry as a desert and his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Only he must have said it, because a voice that sounded suspiciously like his own frightened yelp had said, "Yes."

The Slytherin had grinned from ear to ear, barring his teeth like a rabid dog, and slapped him across his back almost hard enough to send him sprawling in the dirt.

"I'll wait for you in the front hall at 7," he said.

Neville almost collapsed into a quivering heap when the Slytherin turned to leave.

"Don't forget now -- at 7!" the boy called over his shoulder.

Neville could only nod helplessly. His legs were shaking so badly he couldn't get back to the castle until nearly an hour later.

Neville groaned. His stomach hurt. His head hurt. He would hurt less if he had been hexed.

What was he going to do? What kind of sick joke was it, and why had he been picked as the victim? The Slytherins considered him beneath them. Too easy a target. Except Malfoy, but he had it in for anyone with any connection to Harry Potter, no matter how minor.

Why him? Why was it always him? Couldn't he even go to a Quidditch game without some catastrophe befalling him?

Being asked to the Valentine's Day dance by a Slytherin certainly qualified as a full-blown catastrophe in Neville's book.

He'd planned to catch up on his Transfiguration homework while the others were at the dance. You needed a date to go, and of course Neville didn't have one. He had sat out every dance since his fourth year. He'd taken Ginny Weasley then, but of course now that everyone knew he didn't like girls, he couldn't expect to repeat the experience.

Neville knew of only four other boys with his preference. Justin Finch-Fletchley of Hufflepuff was going to the dance with Terry Boot of Ravenclaw. Graham Summers and Owen Cauldwell, both of Hufflepuff, were going together. Neville didn't know any of them better than to say hello when passing in the halls. There was no one in his own House. And it had most certainly never occurred to him to look toward Slytherin.

So until this afternoon, Neville had been quietly planning his solitary evening, while all around him his friends were choosing dress robes and trying out dance steps.

Now it seemed more likely he would be spending a solitary evening in the infirmary. Whatever the plot against him was, Neville didn't see any way of escaping his fate.

He never even considered that he could hide out in Gryffindor Tower. No; it was better to face whatever was coming, it would be over quicker that way.

Neville turned toward the wall, shutting his eyes tightly.

"Are you coming to dinner, Neville?" someone asked; he thought it might be Colin.

"No," Neville said.

There was no answer, but he heard footsteps going down the stairs.

Finally alone like he had wanted, Neville found that he couldn't enjoy his solitude. He tossed and turned in the bed, and finally sat up.

It wasn't going to help anything to miss dinner. And since it was probably one of his last meals, he might as well enjoy it.

He left the dormitory, walking slowly and carefully down the deserted hallways, alert for any movement or sound. When he had to pass the staircase leading down to the dungeons, Neville shut his eyes and ran, expecting to be grabbed any second.

He wasn't. He made it into the Great Hall, a little breathless and flushed, and took his customary seat at the edge of the table.

His back was to the Slytherins, but he could see some of them reflected in the big shiny salad bowl in front of him. He couldn't see the boy who had accosted him; the two Beaters were blocking his view of the rest of the Quidditch team.

He managed to finish his meal, but every time there was any sound behind him he couldn't help but shiver.

Dumbledore rose to make announcements, causing a hush to fall over the Great Hall. Everyone turned to look at him.

Everyone except Neville. He dropped his head into his hands and tried not to hear.

"...to ensure that tomorrow night will be a grand success," Dumbledore finished at long last.

Neville was the first of his table to get up and hurry toward the door. He didn't even notice the crowd of Gryffindors following him.

"Neville! Hold up!" Ron grabbed him by the sleeve.

"Come on man," Lee said, "show us which one it was."

They were all looking expectantly at Neville, and he realized that they wanted him to point out the Slytherin he had encountered earlier.

Neville searched the crowd. It was hard now that many students were getting up and moving about.

"That one," he pointed. "The one behind Pansy."

Everyone stared, craning their necks.

"That's Warrington," Ron said. "He's the Slytherin Chaser. Are you sure it was him?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Neville said glumly.

Everyone was so busy staring at Warrington that Neville was able to slip away without anyone noticing.

He made it all the way up to the seventh floor before he realized that he didn't want to spend the rest of the evening in the common room.

He turned around and started back toward the staircase, but saw that a crowd of students was coming. Left with nowhere else to go, he ran down the hall, hoping to find an empty room.

Rounding the corner, Neville almost collided with Professor Lupin.

"Careful, Neville," Lupin chided, "running in the hallways is against school rules." But he was smiling. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

Neville tried to look nonchalant; difficult when his face was burning.

"I thought I'd go to the library."

"The library?" Lupin repeated. "You won't find it down this corridor."

Neville hung his head.

"Why don't we step into my office and you can tell me what's bothering you," Lupin said, taking him gently by the arm.

Neville allowed himself to be led into Lupin's office. He usually enjoyed being there. Sometimes Lupin tutored him. Sometimes they just talked. After Professor Sprout, Lupin was his favorite professor at Hogwarts. But this time he felt like a condemned prisoner, sitting on the hard bench with his eyes glued to the floor.

Lupin sat down in a chair across from him.

"Did something happen to upset you?"

Neville found his story spilling out of him. Lupin sat and listened in silence until he was out of words and breath.

"What am I going to do?" Neville wailed.

"Well," Lupin began cautiously, "I think the only thing you can do is go to the dance with Mr. Warrington. There will be many chaperones; I doubt you will be in danger."

Neville resisted the urge to snort. None of the professors seem to have any clue about the dozens of times he'd been hexed, shoved, insulted, or mocked.

"This is your chance to attend the dance," Lupin continued. "I'm sure you won't be obligated to remain by your date for the entire time."

Neville was quite sure of that, too. He expected his "date" to be suitably far enough from him that no one would be able to point the finger at him when Neville's unconscious body was discovered.

Lupin was still going on and on about the dance, and how all the staff had worked hard to make it especially spectacular. Neville tuned him out.

"Give it a chance Neville, you may be surprised," Lupin finished, standing up and opening the office door.

Neville gladly escaped back out into the hallway. He'd thought Lupin, of all people, would understand. But Lupin was fair to everyone; even Slytherins who didn't deserve it.

Give it a chance! What was Lupin thinking?

To make matters worse, Harry and Ron caught sight of him as he left Lupin's office, and forced him to return to the common room.

The atmosphere seemed charged with expectancy. Neville noticed people looking at him with unabashed curiosity.

He groaned, realizing what was happening.

His House mates were taking bets on what would happen to Neville the following night.

Some friends, Neville thought to himself, watching as Lee wrote something down on a piece of parchment, snickering. Neville turned away when another boy approached Lee to whisper something into his ear.

Somehow Neville managed to got to the dormitory. He was so drained that the moment he fell into bed he felt that he would never be able to move again.

No one came after him. They must have been too busy with their new source of amusement.

The last thought Neville had that night was the fervent wish that morning would never come.

It did, of course.

He woke up to the sound of the breakfast bell; he had overslept. He stumbled into the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, he was met with his own pale face and large, misery-filled eyes.

Taking a deep breath he forced himself to stand a little straighter.

He was a Gryffindor. He would not cower in the dorm room. This was another bad hand fate had dealt him, but wasn't he used to it by now?

He didn't make it in time for breakfast. His stomach was rumbling by the time he took his seat in the Charms classroom.

Lessons were light. Only Professor Snape would have been unrelenting enough to make them continue with their usual lessons when the dance later that night, and luckily Neville didn't have Potions on his schedule that day.

The hours passed all too quickly. Lunch was a blur; despite Neville's growing hunger he couldn't eat a thing. His last class that afternoon seemed twice as short as usual. At dinner Neville managed only a few bites; the endless chatter around him served to remind him every time after time of what was coming.

As soon as dinner ended, everyone hastened back to the common room.

"Will you help me with my hair?" one girl said to another, pushing past Neville to be the first one through the portrait hole.

"I hate my robes," a boy whined. "Why did they have to be purple?"

Neville paused to look at the commotion around him. There was very little time to get ready.

He blinked, suddenly hit with the realization that he had to get ready himself. He couldn't go to the dance in his school robes.

Then he remembered that he did have dress robes. His Gran had bought them for him the previous year. Neville ran up to the dorm to find them, hoping they would still fit.

They did.

The robes were dark red, quite suitable for a Gryffindor. There were six gold buttons down the front.

He hated to ruin them the very first time he wore them.

"Would you like me to help you with your hair?" Hermione asked when Neville came back down to the common room. "It's sticking up all over."

Neville allowed her to fuss over him. He knew it was her way of trying to distance herself from the enjoyment her friends found in Neville's situation.

He didn't see why it mattered what he looked like, but when she was finished he had to admit he liked the result; his hair looked sleek and it wasn't falling messily over his forehead anymore.

Neville was the last one out of the common room. He couldn't help dragging his feet as he trudged down the many staircases. For once, there weren't nearly enough of them.

At first he thought he had escaped the worst. Couples walked past him through the wide doorway, and the crowd in the Entrance Hall began to thin. Neville hung back, holding on to the banister as though he needed it to keep him standing.

Neville was heartened by the sight of Slytherin couples already dancing in the Great Hall. The ones that passed him had ignored him entirely. As long as they were all in there, then he was safe out here, he reasoned.

Then he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned toward it, dread already filling him.

Warrington was lumbering toward him, the rabid-dog grin spread thickly over his face.

Neville fought down the desperate urge to turn and run in the opposite direction.

"Nice robes," the Slytherin said, his grin stretching out his lips grotesquely.

Neville waited for the expected insult, but other boy said nothing more about it. The silence between them hung uncomfortably, or so Neville thought; the Slytherin seemed oblivious to it.

They were the only ones left in the Entrance Hall.

Suddenly Warrington stepped closer and shoved his arm practically under Neville's nose. Neville shuddered and would have leapt back if not for the banister behind him.

"Shall we?" Warrington asked, tossing his head toward the light and sound flooding through the doorway in front of them.

At first Neville couldn't for the life of him figure out what he meant, but slowly it dawned on him that the Slytherin was waiting for him to take his arm.

He did so, reluctantly, slipping his hand into the crook between Warrington's thick forearm and massive bicep. He allowed Warrington to steer him towards the Great Hall.

He was keenly aware of many eyes on them as they entered; some dancing couples stopped dead and stared openly, while on the outer edge of the dance floor Neville saw a group of Gryffindors with mouths ajar.

When nothing more interesting happened than Warrington continuing to drag Neville toward the center of the Hall, most returned to what they had been doing.

The music was loud and pounding; Neville's ears were ringing with it. Conversation seemed impossible, he only saw Warrington's lips move.

"What?" he shouted over the noise.

"Do you want to dance?" Warrington shouted back, leaning so close that Neville felt his warm breath against his ear.

Through his shock, Neville must have made some kind of motion with his head that could be mistaken for an affirmative nod, because Warrington grabbed him around the waist and then they were spinning along with the music.

Everything was a blur around him; the sparkling lights overhead, other couples dancing next to them, and Warrington's face all twirled crazily. All Neville could do was try to keep up.

The music slowed and softened abruptly, signaling the end of the dance.

The boy next to them asked his date if she wanted refreshments. Since Neville had found himself staring helplessly at Warrington, wondering what in the world was going to happen next, he said the only thing that came to mind.

"Um... do you want to get something to drink?"

"All right," Warrington said, and followed close behind Neville as they made their way to the opposite end of the Hall.

There was a crowd surrounding the refreshment table. Neville poured punch into two glasses, trying not to spill.

"Neville?" someone called.

Neville turned toward the speaker. "Oh, hi, Harry," he said, a nervous laugh escaping.

"Are you all right?"

"Sure," Neville lied. In reality he wanted to crawl under the table and hope his date didn't see him do it.

A girl pushed between them, and Neville lost sight of Harry. Sighing, he made his way back to the dance floor.

It was even more uncomfortable this time, with nothing to distract him from Warrington. He tried to look interested in the people around them. He caught sight of Seamus, Ron, and several others whispering and staring. All of them looked dumbfounded, and none of them looked happy. It looked as though he had disappointed them by not being half-way to the infirmary on a floating stretcher.

"So..." Warrington began, but his voice trailed off.

Just then the music started again, and the Slytherin looked visibly relieved.

The feeling wasn't shared by Neville, who found himself crushed against Warrington's chest as the slow music flowed around them. It was possibly the most uncomfortable position he had ever been in.

He couldn't figure out what to do with his hands. Finally he settled them on Warrington's muscular arms. Perhaps that was mistaken for encouragement because after a few minutes Warrington lowered his chin to Neville's shoulder.

With Warrington's hot breath on his neck and his arms in a vice-like grip around his waist, Neville hoped fervently that the dance would be a short one.

Unfortunately, it appeared to be the central slow dance of the night.

After the first few minutes, Neville had no choice but to relax his cramping muscles.

Really, this wasn't nearly as bad as any of the things he had been imagining since the previous afternoon. Uncomfortable... but not bad, comparatively.

He saw Ron and his date glide by; the girl oblivious with her eyes closed and her head against his chest, but Ron staring goggle-eyed at Neville. Neville felt something akin to amusement. At least he wasn't the only one for whom the evening wasn't going according to expectations. He couldn't even imagine what his dorm mates were thinking.

The song ended. Neville wondered if Warrington was aware of that fact, since the other boy made no motion to let go of him.

"Want to go outside?" Warrington whispered huskily into his ear.

Desperate to escape his suffocating grasp, Neville agreed without thinking.

A number of couples had had the same idea, but the Hogwarts gardens were spacious enough that Neville saw no one as he and Warrington began to walk down a narrow path between two hedges.

Neville was regretting his agreement almost as soon as they had walked out the doorway. It seemed to him that Warrington had a very determined look on his face, and that could only mean one thing.

It looked like his friends were going to get their laugh after all.

"So..." Warrington said, apparently ready to try a conversation again. But after a moment's pause he seemed to give up.

They walked on, leaving the safety of the castle farther and farther behind.

To Neville's discomfort, he felt Warrington's hand close around his. In the cold night air it felt like a hot iron against his skin.

"Some night, huh?" Warrington said suddenly. "Look at the stars."

Neville eyed the stars suspiciously. "Yeah."

"Are you taking Astronomy?" Warrington seemed to jump at the subject eagerly.

Neville nodded.

"It's my best class."

Neville didn't know what to say to that.

"What's yours?" Warrington asked a few minutes of dead silence.

Neville was nearly startled out of his skin. "What?"

"Your best class."

"Oh," Neville said, relaxing again. "Herbology."

"Really. What's your plant?"

"My plant?" Neville repeated.

"Your plant for your special project. Last year I grew Fireweed."

"Uh... Dittany."

They lapsed into silence again.

There was a bench, and Warrington pulled Neville toward it. They sat down.

The silence stretched until Neville squirmed uncomfortably.

"It's getting late..." he began.

"Yeah," Warrington sighed. He seemed to be finding the stars particularly interesting again.

Far behind them, the music started up again. Neville looked over his shoulder, trying to determine if they were expected to return to the castle. Maybe someone would come and find them.

When he turned back, Warrington's face was a mere centimeter from his.

Then it got closer.

Having never been kissed before, Neville was horrified by the sensation of hot, moist lips closing over his. His first impulse was to pull away as fast as he could, but the Slytherin's arms had snaked behind his back, keeping him in place.

It was the longest minute of Neville's life as Warrington mashed their lips together, hard enough to bruise.

They broke apart, both panting.

"Wha--" Neville began, though at that point he felt utterly incapable of speech.

Warrington grinned wider than Neville thought possible. Then he pulled Neville in for another sloppy kiss.

"Ten points from Hufflepuff, Branstone. And twenty from Ravenclaw, Ackerley, for that disgusting display," Neville heard a familiar voice drawl icily from behind the hedge. Two pairs of feet scampered down an unseen path.

Warrington didn't seem to notice any of it. His hands had now wandered from Neville's back to an unmentionable place much lower.

"Longbottom!" Snape had come around the hedge, looking ready to pounce.

Neville and Warrington broke apart. Neville's face flamed scarlet.

The expression on Snape's face turned to puzzlement.

"Warrington?" he asked, and his tone was entirely different from just a moment earlier.

"Sir," Warrington said sheepishly.

To Neville's complete shock, Snape walked past them without another word.

Looking after him and then back at Neville, Warrington shrugged and raised one thick eyebrow as if in amusement.

To Neville's dismay, he couldn't bring himself to wish Snape had stayed.

He tried to sort out his muddled feelings.

On the one hand; this had to be the strangest night of his life. On the other; he was no longer terrified of being hexed and left for dead under a bush. On the one hand; being so close to Warrington was sending his survival instinct into overdrive. On the other hand... it wasn't, he realized. If it had been, he would be trembling and stuttering. He wasn't. What did that mean?

As for Warrington, Neville wasn't sure what to make of him. He was typically Slytherin; forceful and rough. Only... a typical Slytherin wouldn't be just sitting next to him on the bench, looking at him.

Now that Neville was seeing him up-close, he found that Warrington was actually kind of handsome.

In a Slytherin sort of way! Neville hastened to add.

And a kiss was a kiss, wasn't it? It had been Neville's personal embarrassment that he had never been kissed, and his friends never let him forget it.

Which was why he didn't resist when Warrington's lips connected with his for the third time.

Warrington seemed emboldened by both Snape's disregard of their forbidden dallying and by Neville's pliancy. He pushed his tongue into Neville's mouth.

Neville wasn't sure what to make of it. His own tongue kept getting in the way as Warrington's explored his mouth.

It was wet, and sloppy, and warm, and... not really all that bad.

The way Warrington's hands were roaming over his back and sides wasn't entirely bad either.

It occurred to him that it had grown awfully dark.

Then he realized that at some point during all of this, he had closed his eyes. But even after realizing it, he kept them closed.

They broke apart only when they both needed air.

Warrington was staring at him in a most peculiar, appreciative, way. It made Neville flush, but a different kind of flush from the ones he was used to. Until then, he hadn't even known there was more than one kind.

"I think you boys better return to the Hall," a voice said from behind them, startling them both.

Lupin was looking at them with one eyebrow raised quizzically. He didn't look angry so much as puzzled, much like Snape.

"Yes, Sir," Warrington said, regaining his wits first. He grabbed Neville's hand and pulled him to his feet.

Minutes later, Neville was recovering his composure by the refreshment table.

"Neville? What were you doing out there?"

Neville turned and faced Seamus. The expression on Seamus' face amused him for some reason.

"Use your imagination," he said, not knowing where he found the daring.

He smirked at the other boy's wide-eyed shock, and turned away.

The rest of the night seemed to pass quickly enough; they danced once more and Neville let Warrington go on and on about Quidditch, since the subject did not require more than a few nods on his part. Before he knew it, he was seeing people leaving the Great Hall. Soon they were one of only a few couples left on the dance floor.

The clock struck; Neville wasn't sure what the time was. With a wave of his wand Dumbledore dimmed the light twice, signaling the end of the dance. The remaining couples headed for the door.

Neville and Warrington stopped in front of the staircase down to the dungeons. They were the only ones left in the front hall.

Warrington looked over his shoulder quickly, then, seeing no one was around, leaned over and kissed Neville, his hand wrapping around Neville's head and tangling in his hair.

After a few moments they broke apart, both drawing in much needed air.

Warrington was looking at him expectantly, and Neville could think of only one thing to say.

"I had a great time tonight," he said. And meant it, he realized with some surprise.

Warrington's grin returned full force. "Me too. So..." Suddenly he looked very uncertain.

"Yes?" Neville asked. He didn't feel entirely comfortable standing in the deserted Entrance Hall, and he had a long way to go back to Gryffindor Tower.

"Will you come watch me practice tomorrow morning? We're playing Ravenclaw next week, you know," Warrington blurted out.

"Uh..."

Neville was torn. His first impulse was to say no. His second was to say yes. His rational mind was trying to remind him that watching the Slytherin Quidditch team practice was hardly his idea of a good reason to get out of bed two hours earlier than he had to. The irrational was still lost in the heated kiss a minute earlier.

"Yes," he said, surprising both himself, and, as evident by the way his mouth opened and closed soundlessly for a few moments, Warrington too.

"Great! I'll see you in the stands then." Warrington gave him a rather rough slap on the back, and before Neville could think of a reply, he had ducked into the stairwell.

For a few moments Neville stood absolutely still, staring into the darkness where the Slytherin had disappeared. Then he turned away slowly and began the long climb to the seventh floor.

He didn't know how he was going to explain this new development to his House mates.

Neville was so lost in his thoughts that he was surprised to find himself standing in front of the Fat Lady, who was waiting for the password with an impatient look.

Suddenly Neville felt his face stretching into a grin nearly as wide as Warrington's.

A lot of people were going to be losing galleons tonight.