Conniption
\ kuh-NIP-shuhn \ , noun;
A fit of hysterical excitement or anger.
"Calm yourself down! Honestly, it isn't as if panicking will help the situation!"
Taking a shaky breath, Neville nodded in agreement with Ginny's comment. "You're right," he supplied after a slight hesitation. "Of course you're right."
"I'm always right," crowed Ginny with a sly smile. She twisted in her seat and threw a companionable arm around her Neville's neck. "Besides, I wrote a lovesick poem for him and we're still friendly. Nothing to worry about…."
Neville snickered, remembering said poem from its many recitations in the boy's dormitory by Seamus. "'Eyes green like a fresh pickled toad…'"
Ginny elbowed him sharply in the side, cutting off his mocking commentary. "I'm trying to be helpful here!"
"I know," Neville sighed, offering her a timid smile. "But Ginny—I didn't just write him a poorly constructed poem…. I wrote him a bloody love letter! Might as well have proposed marriage!"
"I'm sure it's not as bad as all that." Ginny patted him on the back neatly before ruffling his hair in a way she knew was sure to annoy him. Anything to help him shake this melodramatic mood!
Grunting, Neville leaned away from her hand and combed his hair into place. "It was your idea anyway. I blame you."
"Now come on! I told you to express your feelings by writing them down—in a journal or something! Not in a bleeding letter that you send out in the post!"
"You should have been more clear," sniffed Neville.
Ginny didn't dignify him with an answer, though she did stomp on his foot hard.
"Oi—the post! Reckon Mum's inviting you to stay for the summer," Ron mumbled between bites of sausage and toast as a tawny owl dropped a small stack of mail on Harry's plate.
Shaking the egg off of an unfortunate letter, Harry nodded as he recognized the familiar cursive script of Mrs. Weasley.
"In August," Harry told Ron with a grin.
"Brilliant mate! We'll get some Quiddich going." Satisfied that the summer before their final year at Hogwarts would be entertaining, Ron turned back to his food.
"Harry, who is the other one from?" Hermione, previously hidden behind her Arithmancy book, was point toward a small envelope on the edge of his plate.
Harry blinked at it in surprise. "There's no sender." When he had opened the envelope, he was even more surprised.
Harry,
I love being your friend. But I can't be honest with my myself if I didn't admit that I don't just want to be your friend. I want much more than that.
I want to make you happy. I want to comfort you when life is hard. I want to stand by your side when things fall apart. I want to see your smiles and know that I put them there…
I know that this is news to you—I've hid my feelings for so long that I've become an expert. But I can't hide this any longer.
I love you, Harry. And I'm selfish enough to hope that I can hear those words from you some day.
Yours
"Harry? What is it?"
"Nothing," Harry replied, feeling his breath catch at the suspicious look on Hermione's face. Already his face was heating up with a slow burn…
When Hermione's attention was taken over momentarily by Ron's atrocious table manners, Harry chanced a quick glance across the Great Hall, seeing if he could spy his admirer.
He noted briefly that Neville and Ginny were absent from the Gryffindor table—he wondered vaguely to himself when that had happened—but otherwise didn't notice any suspicious activity. Harry hummed in curiosity, folding up the letter to discuss with his friends later.
"He knows, he knows, he knows!" Neville was pacing the floor of the boy's dormitory, Ginny situated snugly on his four-poster.
"You didn't sign it, Neville—it'll be fine!"
"It's my bloody handwriting!"
Ginny hesitated, biting her lip in consternation as she attempted to calm her friend. "…he isn't all that observant?"
Neville didn't both responding. As the two exchanged grim glances, one thought was on both of their minds—Hermione Granger.
Flopping down on his bed beside Ginny, Neville sighed in resignation. "I'm doomed!"
Best friend that she was, Ginny patted his arm consolingly. "It was nice knowing you."
He spared her a glare before turning over and crushing his face to his pillow. Maybe if he couldn't breath….
"That won't help anything," Ginny said irritably, pulling the pillow from beneath his head. "Honestly, this isn't the end of the world. So he knows you like him—so what?"
"Love him," Neville corrected morosely.
"Right." Ginny rolled her eyes good-naturedly, snuggling down to her best friend's level. "He would be lucky to have you, Nev."
"Glad I have you, Ginny." Neville's response was slightly muffled by the bedsheets, though the sentiment was heart-felt.
His statement was also audible enough to be heard by one Harry Potter, entering the dormitory to witness what appeared to be an intimate moment between two of his friends. Blushing, Harry ducked out of the room before he could be spotted. How embarrassing!
The next day Neville waited for the inevitable blow-up when Harry put two-and-two together and realized that his fag of a friend was in love with him. He panicked in as subtle of a way as possible, slinking away from Harry in the corridors, clinging to Ginny's side during meals and avoiding looking in the direction of the Gryffindor trio at the end of the table…
Two days later and Neville began to wonder if he had overreacted. Harry didn't seem any different, though he was a tad gruff with Ginny (Neville wondered guiltily if Harry expected the love letter to be from her based on their rocky history), and Neville allowed himself to breath a little in relief.
Five days later, Neville was Zen enough in attitude that he didn't even flinch when Harry sat next to him at breakfast. By the end of breakfast, however, Neville's mellow disposition was gone.
"You want me to do what?" Neville asked with no small amount of anxiety.
"Help me find out who sent this letter," Harry replied, waving the parchment in question beneath Neville's nose.
"I don't think I'll be of much help, Harry." Neville bit his lip, eying the letter dubiously. Why did these things always happen to him?
"Please? Hermione won't help me—she says I have to figure it out on my own—and she won't let Ron help either."
Harry was pouting and Neville did his utmost to resist the lure of saying yes…
"Alright."
Neville needed to work on his will power.
"Brilliant! Let's go!"
Ten minutes later found Harry and Neville bending their heads over a table in the Room of Requirement consulting Harry's notes.
"Here's what I've got so far," Harry said, gesturing to the first line. "It has to be a student because it was delivered by a school owl-"
"Could be a professor," Neville interjected, doing his best to throw Harry off the right track.
Harry froze, his face turning distinctly green-tinged. "No. Just no."
"It had to be said," Neville consoled, pleased that he had distracted the other.
Shuddering in disgust, Harry brought his quill to rest on the paper. "Come on then, think of students it might be—"
"Er—Parvarti? Lavender?"
"Right," Harry began noting the names. "Padma too, I suppose—maybe Daphne Greengrass? Though she's a bit young…"
The next few minutes passed quickly, Harry and Neville tossing out names of girls and commentary.
"Well that covers the girls—let's list the blokes now. Ahh- Justin Finch-Fletchley? Terry Boot?"
Neville, in shock, failed to reply. Harry glanced at him curiously in the sudden silence. "What's the matter?"
"Do you really think it might be a guy?" Neville finally asked with hesitation.
"Might be," Harry supplied. "Does that bother you?"
"More like: does it bother you?"
"Not really," Harry said with a grin. "It's not about boy or girl for me—every person is different, you know? I'm equally disgusted by Malfoy and Bulstrode."
"They're both Slytherin—"
"You get the idea! Malfoy and Greengrass then."
"She's a Slytherin too…"
"Shut it!" Harry stuck out his tongue and turned back to the list. "Come on—help me, won't you?"
"Alright…"
An hour and forty-six names later, Neville was exhausted. Harry was tallying up the names, humming and crossing one off occasionally before he cursed.
"Bugger! We forgot the other seventh-year Gryffindors!"
Neville blinked in surprise. "Do you really think that's necessary?"
"Might as well be thorough. What do you think of Dean?"
"Um…?"
"Do you think he likes me?" Harry supplied impatiently.
"'Loves,'" Neville reminded him. "The letter said 'love,' not like."
"Right." Harry eyed him oddly, but the moment passed and Neville let out a breath.
"I don't think he does."
"Ok—Seamus then?"
"No—he and Lavender are seeing each other…"
"Hmm, well it's not Ron. And it's not you, so... that's it!"
Neville blinked. "Harry? This sounds stupid, but how were you so sure when you said it wasn't me?"
"Because you're with Ginny," Harry replied, matter-of-factly.
"Oh."
"He thinks what?"
"Calm down, it's not that big of a deal…"
"He thinks my gay best friend—who is in love with him—is slipping it to me, and this isn't a big deal?"
Neville twiddled his thumbs, searching for an appropriate answer. "Um.. no?"
"Neville!" Ginny sighed, flopping back on the bed with him. "Are you really content never telling him how you feel? If he thinks you're with me, then nothing can ever come of it. How do you know he couldn't feel the same for you?"
"He's not gay," Neville insisted stubbornly, but a doubtful wince passed over his face when he remembered Harry's investigative list.
Ginny noticed and elbowed him sharply in consternation. "He's not gay—oh sure!"
"He's not!" Neville protested hotly.
Ginny eyed him suspiciously, before the truth occurred to her. "Oh—he's bi!"
Neville harrumphed to himself, shifting his body away from hers. "Maybe."
"Neville," Ginny said gently. "You need to tell him. You can't hid behind me the rest of your life. You need to live."
"I live," Neville interjected with a distinctive pout on his face.
"You go through the motions," Ginny corrected. "But you don't invest yourself—you're so afraid of getting hurt."
Neville didn't respond, but allowed himself to be enveloped in a hug.
"Give him a chance to see what I do, ok?"
Neville took in a shuddering breath. Ok. He could do this… maybe.
Neville was not Harry Potter. He did not thrive on confrontation, getting everything out into the open or merlin forbid—expressing feelings. Neville liked hints, subtlety, dancing around a subject until he was vaguely understood—anything to avoid having to explain himself while people stared. (It was a little known fact that people always stared at Neville when listening to him—Ginny called it politeness, Neville called it uncomfortable.)
According to his nature then, Neville attempted to cast hints as to his disinterest in his best friend and his interest in the savior of the Wizarding world.
"Oh Ginny," Neville would say at lunch one day, "you are such a good friend." The word 'friend' was said loudly and in the direction of one Harry Potter. The twelve people between him and Harry cast confused glances Neville's way.
"I think that it was written by a boy," Neville would tell Harry in regards to the letter, ducking his head to hide his flushed cheeks.
"I've always fancied green eyes," Neville would mention nonchalantly to Lavender Brown, who had drawn the short straw in Potions and ended up his partner, hoping that his whisper would carry to Harry's table behind them.
At the end of the week, Neville was beginning to lose hope in his powers of subtle suggestion. Ginny noted that she wasn't sure he had ever had powers of subtly suggestion. Neville quite rightly ignored this comment.
Week two dawned and with it a new plan for telling Harry of his feelings. Neville was going to walk straight up to him and…. erm, say hello. Then—
Neville shook his head to clear any remaining doubts. No! He was going to be a man about this and just tell him. Nodding in resolution, Neville started up the stairs, hoping to catch Harry in the dormitory before dinner.
He did indeed catch Harry—though quite in the nude, changing after a shower. Neville found his eyes tracing the trail of an errant waterdrop—down, down, down…
Harry cleared his throat, tightening his grip on a small white towel. "Hey Neville," he greeted with a hoarse voice.
"Hi," Neville responded, frozen in the doorway.
"I just need to—" Harry gestured at the robes laid on his bed.
"Right, right." Neville turned to leave Harry in peace to get dressed, but paused in his steps a moment later. Now or never.
"Wait!" Neville strode across the room, head down in embarrassment, fists clutched at his sides. "I need to tell you something, Harry. I wrote that letter. I love you. I was afraid to tell you, but I can't hide it any longer!"
There was a long pause, until Harry shifted and said, "I know."
Neville's eyes shot up from the floor to focus on the other boy. "What?"
"I've known since a few days after I got the letter, Neville," Harry explained.
"How did you find out?"
"Hermione recognized your handwriting and told me when she saw I wasn't making any headway."
Neville sighed to himself—of course. "I'm sorry, I'll go away now. I don't know if I can move rooms, but I'll ask McGonagall and I'll stay away from you at meals-"
"Neville! Why would you do those things?"
Surprised at Harry's outburst, Neville said with a blank stare, "Isn't that what you want?"
"You silly sod." Harry's voice was warm as a smile gently curled his lips. Neville thought he had never seen anything more beautiful. The kiss that followed felt like the most natural thing in the world.
When their lips had parted, Harry traced a finger down Neville's cheek where a blush was spreading.
"I love you too," Harry said with a grin. "But I'd also like to get dressed…"
"Ok," Neville breathed. As he left Harry, his own smile was blinding. It was just like Ginny said—there really hadn't been anything to worry about.