i apologize for missing this week's installment. life things, and all that jazz. thank you to lynxzpanther for the reviews. i hope you forgive me for not responding to them individually.

saturday, 20 march, 2010. 2:06pm.

I sat there stewing for a while before finally getting up and performing the simple spells needed for cleaning up, only breaking one plate in the process. …I'm getting better at this.

--- --- --- (chapter begins)

It wasn't long afterward that business cropped up that made having to think about the breakfast incident float off into the distance. Being an auror isn't that great or posh a job as some used to think. It's exciting at moments, yes, a burst of adrenaline when first engaging in duels with the enemy, but so much of our work is hampered by paperwork. Documents about our orders, procedures and fuckall red-tape. Bureaucratic runaround.

I could live without the danger-induced adrenaline and soul-numbing boredom between, thanks.

Anyway, once we were working, it was easy to forget the tensions in our group--we have to rely on each other for each other's safety as well as our own. We're one of the closer knit teams that way. We sometimes split into other teams, or are temporarily joined by others for select missions, but we stay at our core as a group.

There's never a day that goes by that Harry doesn't have one of us by his side at all times.

I know it both relieves and annoys him when one of us wordlessly joins him whenever he leaves headquarters--it bothers him that he can't ever go someplace without his 'escort', but it gives him peace of mind knowing we care enough to do it despite his incessant carping on the subject.

Harry had an errand in Diagon Alley later the day of our argument, and I was the only one with nothing to do, so became his unofficial escort for the day.

I tagged along as we walked some distance away from HQ, apparating just behind the Leaky Cauldron. There are several entrances closer to Diagon Alley, but Harry has some kind of sentimental attachment with the bricks. I let him tap in the sequence, knowing I'd never remember the combination, even if I wrote it down on my hand.

We spoke nary a word as we walked through the bustling streets to various shops on the way, and I finally couldn't take much more of the unnaturally strained silence.

"Just say it, Harry," I snapped, anger barely checked that he was taking the silent treatment so far.

"Say what?"

His tone was clipped and artfully distracted, and he refused to look at me, which would never have happened had he not been furious with me.

I stopped in my tracks, tugging his sleeve to force him to do the same, and his gaze snapped down to the offending hand wrinkling his robes before his glare snapped to me, a shrugging slap had my grip flying off.

"This," I ground out between clenched teeth, wounded by the slap to the hand more than I'd have liked to admit.

"Why are you being so hostile?" I demanded, pride forcing the pain in my voice to remain deeply hidden.

He brushed out the wrinkles I'd left with an arrogant air, one I knew far too well from having seen the same from Malfoy.

"I am not hostile," he replied, tone lofty.

"The bloody hell you're not," I retorted, arms tightly crossing my chest as I frowned.

His eyes flashed, and I knew I'd succeeded in provoking an honest response.

"Thanks for telling me about your fucking crush on the one Draco Malfoy, Deatheater heir! I'm supposed to be your friend, but you never tell me anything!"

My eyes were dangerous as I narrowed them, hissing, "It's always about you, isn't it, Harry? All this shit is just about your wounded pride over some stupid misunderstanding. Well, guess what…my friend you may be, but my life doesn't revolve around fucking Harry Potter."

His face blotched as though I'd physically hit him, the obvious, unveiled wounds in his eyes sucker-punching me in the gut.

"Excuse me for presuming I'd ever mean as much to you as you do to me," he quavered, turning and continuing on without me.

I stared after him, dumbfounded into non-action until I abruptly lost sight of him in the crowds. Scurrying to catch up, I hurried off in the direction he'd gone and happened upon him standing not too far away, sheepishly waiting for me to show up.

We stood there for a few moments, unable to look at each other in our embarrassment. He fidgeted about nervously, eyes constantly scanning everyone casually passing by, and repeatedly shoving his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with a forefinger.

"Look, Nev, about what I said…," he began awkwardly, but I bluntly interjected.

"You're possessive, Harry."

He blinked at me before demanding, "I'm what?"

My gaze steady, I calmly replied, "Possessive. You're so afraid you'll lose the people closest to you that you become frightfully possessive."

His eyes widened a bit, and I gentled my tone, "But it doesn't matter, because no matter what, you're my friend. …Besides, I don't have a crush on Malfoy, I don't have time to think about any blokes, period. So…no worries, yeah?"

"Scary," he muttered, staring at me.

"…Eh?"

"It's like…you looked in my head and poked about a bit when I wasn't looking," he admitted quietly, and I smirked.

"I don't have to, you always wear your heart out on your sleeve. A terrible poker player, just as Dean always said."

"Oi, that's rich, coming from the bloke who can't even remember how to get a full house! Or any of his passwords. Or most incantations. Or even what he's managed to forget…again," he teased, and I submitted to the abuse, glad we were back to being normal again.

At one point, we stopped so he could get Hedwig some more owl treats, and I perused the pets offered while waiting. Trevor died before seventh year, and I really haven't had the heart to get another pet. Most likely, I'd forget to feed it and end up killing it within a week. Really, Trevor survived on no merit of my own.

"See something you like, Nev?" Harry quizzed curiously, light glinting off his glass as he walked up beside me, his wand giving the sack in his hand a flick so it'd shrink down to fit in a pocket.

"Not really. I'm a jinx; you know that," I replied, tone wistfully morose even as I shrugged off the question.

"Hm."

The sound wasn't really one of agreement, but before I could think to pursue the topic, we were walking from the shop, the bangle of bells following us out.

"Why bells?" I mused distractedly, and Harry smirked.

"Deuced if I know," he replied with some humor.

He's used to my absentmindedness, how my mind goes off on tangents without rhyme or reason sometimes. I mean, we've only known each other for seven years.

"Harry, our birthday is next week," I suddenly announced, and saw him reflect upon it a bit.

"So it is. Did you need to do some shopping?" he asked curiously, puzzled as to why it'd garner any sort of fanfare.

"Have you forgotten what we're doing that day?" I harshly whispered, and saw understanding bloom in his eyes.

"Fuck, I did forget! …How is it you remembered before me?"

I let the remark slide past without comment, even though I felt oddly affronted to do so. "Lupin's still doing it, right?"

He nodded, and I questioned, "How can he keep it secret from the press?"

He shrugged.

"Oh, so you don't care so long as it gets done," I asked, rolling my eyes.

"Yeah, that sounds about right," he teased, but then sobered a bit, "I trust him, Nev. He knows how to do things, and isn't above cheating the law to do it."

Something led me to believe Lupin might have done things for Harry in the past that weren't entirely legit, and I chewed my lower lip into painful sores as we finished up the rest of Harry's errand.

-

I approached Hermione for help making Harry's birthday present, knocking lightly on her open door just a few evenings past the argument. She was sorting out clothing on her bed, hands occupied as she turned and smiled, face brightening with genuine warmth.

Hermione was never too busy to listen to me in school, even though I knew she always had better things to do with her time, but it's a kindness that made all the world to someone like me.

Even today, she gestured with her chin to come into the room, so I did, gently shutting the door behind me for in case Harry were to walk by. My action made her pause, confusion in her eyes as she finished up with the soft jumper in her hands.

"Do you think you could help me make something for Harry for our birthday?"

Her answering smile was easy, eyes bright with avid curiosity.

"I could try, anyway. What did you have in mind?"

"Chocolates."

She blinked; "Chocolates."

I nodded, fiddling with the sleeve of my shirt. "That muggle kind he likes. I want to make it myself, you know? The kind in the little shapes, or on sticks."

She remembered the kind I meant, the ones she'd brought back from a muggle store some time ago. Harry had liked the chocolates on sticks best, hoarding them all for himself--that's the only time I've ever seen him so reluctant to share. Even still, I was successful in coercing some off him, smuggling one to Ron as he'd failed to do the same.

"Oh, he'll love them! And they're so easy to make, we can do it in the kitchen under an hour, easy! Only…I don't see how we could make them in secret, like."

She was excitedly enthusiastic, and my uncertainty melted.

"He's gone all day with Ron tomorrow. Duties for the ministry, he said."

"Brilliant! We can make whole batches, with flavorings and everything!"

I had to grin at her enthusiasm, glad that she approved of the idea. I thanked her and slid from her room, leaving the door open as I'd found it. A giddy smile spread across my face as I thought about how Harry would react once I'd handed the chocolates to him.

"Conversations you don't want anyone else to hear?"

Ron's dry voice startled me, my hand stuttering to my wand before I realized it wasn't some kind of ambush…well, one from enemies, at any rate.

The tall redhead stood in his doorway, arms crossing his chest as he leisurely leaned against the frame. I turned to better face him, but any kind of explanation stuck in my throat, leaving us staring at each other for a few long moments.

His mouth turned grim, and he suddenly demanded, "What do you see in him?"

There was curiosity in the clipped tone, and it threw me off, an inelegant grunt popping from my throat in my surprise.

"That prick, the fucking ponce. What do you see in him?" he repeated, face and voice hardening as his eyes turned dark. "…He's Malfoy for fuck's sake, the fucking ferret boy! The bloody bastard, cold and malicious and general, all-around, stuck up arse. Don't you ever think of Harry?"

His voice rose throughout the tirade, my blood boiling at the increasingly accusatory tones, my magic beginning to rise up, a tingling spill that coursed against my skin and clothing.

"Ron, what's wrong with you?" Hermione reprimanded sharply, now standing in her own doorway, knuckles white where her hand gripped the doorframe.

"Seriously, 'Mione, the wanker just pisses about, don't give a flying fuck about other people's feelings…it's no wonder he's in love with that prick. Malfoy's an arse, and I'd personally curse him dead at the slightest chance!"

Color drained from my vision, the world becoming various blacks and grays, my sight narrowing down in a tunnel of anger, centered upon one specific person.

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up."

My voice came out deep and menacing, as if it had to travel up from my toes, and some internal echo of the statement spewed from a protesting portion of my awareness, telling me to stop before someone got hurt. I should have listened.

"Draco is my friend."

Ron's eyes were wide and afraid, pupils contracting with fear, and since when have I been close enough to see the change? Pressure on my forearms, fingers scrabbling and gripping them tight as someone attempted to loosen my death grip on Ron's shirt. There was also a pulling from my back, pulling me away from where I had Ron pinned against the wall, my knuckles applying brutal pressure against his shoulders.

An anxious voice cut through my hazed mind, my name yelled as someone's hand forcibly yanked against my left shoulder, breaking my grip and my line of sight. Still filled with bloodlust, I jerked towards Harry with the intention of hurting him, but the sight of his astonished eyes behind skewed glasses only caused a scalding, hot tear to slide down the side of my face.

I glanced back at Ron, clearing eyes finally taking in the entirety of his cringing and wincing form, and my fists unclenched. I backed away from the entire scene, my gray gaze back on Harry, seeing him shake his head but unable to listen to his unspoken plea not to go.

I swallowed, hot acid etched in the back of my throat, but my attention was drawn down to my tense hand. It was twitching, my pinky spasming beyond my control, and I clenched it shut once more, turning and walking back down the hallway until slipping into my room.

I left the lights off as I stood just inside, staring down at my increasingly twitchy hand, the spasms beginning to spread. Strengthening tremors started in my lower back and moved to my chest, every hair on my body standing erect as tiny bumps washed over my body.

I pulled the shirt from over my head, bunching up the material before dropping it down to the floor, my palm coming to my chest and resting just over my heart. My muscles twitched like the flank of that hippogriff in third year, bothered by flies during Hagrid's lessons. I could feel each spasm like a tiny heartbeat above my deeper one, could feel all my hair standing on end, the nipple beneath my palm hardening enough to ache.

It wasn't entirely painful, but decidedly disturbing as I began to shiver from my full-body tremors.

The door opened behind me with a faint twist of the knob, and I heard it shut completely once more. I knew who was there with me, and felt ashamed of how I'd acted, of losing control so completely. Harry's softly thudding footfalls were the only noise in the room as he approached, my face still turned to the darkness.

"He's not hurt…just a few bruises, he's had worse. There's…there's no need to cry, Nev," he muttered awkwardly, but I turned my face a bit so he could see I wasn't crying.

"Then why…." His eyes went to my jerking shoulders, but then he saw me more clearly, stepping closer and putting a hand out to gently touch my skin.

Almost immediately on contact, he jerked backwards, as if I'd bitten him. He stared at the tips of his fingers in wonder, rubbing them together, as if testing the viscosity of some liquid.

"It's your…magic," he whispered, awed.

"What?" My voice came out hoarse, and his eyes met mine.

"Your magic…you called it up, only, it doesn't know where else to go."

Even as he stated this, his hand again went to my skin, fingers splayed and his palm scalding me. His breath exhilarated upon contact, mouth parting as his other hand quickly joined the first.

He was almost reverent as he gasped, "Your magic, I can't help…it's addictive. All I want to do is touch it…."

He moved even closer, and I could do nothing but watch as he pressed his palms even more firmly against my chest and side. Wherever he touched, my spasms faded, as if he could sedate the magic's effect…or was drawing it out into himself.

Either way, it felt amazingly good, a relief.

Harry's glasses clattered to the wooden floor, and his now-bare face pressed against my skin as well, ear and cheek nestled at the base of my throat. The itching of my skin dimmed with his presence, and my breathing slowed as his accelerated.

I was unprepared for him to abruptly yank away, his fingers fumbling the open shirt from around his shoulders before working at his undershirt, quickly peeling it too, leaving him bare from the waist up. Before I could ask what he thought he was doing, he'd pressed his entire front against me--hot, so very hot.

Despite the fiery heat of his skin, it spread a soothing chill across my own. Every inch of flesh he could manage was plastered against mine, his arms curling around my back. He was an aloe balm to a burn, and my arms went around him as well, helping to pull him even closer.

Harry gave off a sharp sigh, and maneuvered my unresisting body over towards the bed, the mattress finally hitting against the backs of his thighs and just below his…I am not thinking of Harry's arse at a time like…ok, yes, I am.

I didn't have long to think about it before he sat down and began scooting backwards, and as he wasn't about to relinquish his grip on me anytime soon, I was forced to follow. Our bodies wriggled until Harry ended up lying completely beneath me, panting from exertion--our legs were left sticking off the edge of the bed, both of us too tired to try crawling any further.

Whatever the situation was, it wasn't sexual in nature.

Looking down at his face, I realized my color vision had come back, because I could make out the green of his eyes. They were glazed over, as if he'd been dosed by a strong spell or potion. I don't know where the notion came from, but I took advantage of him by leaning down and capturing his parted lips with my own. He responded without thought, opening and demanding I do the same before he abruptly broke the heated kiss, breath harsh against mine.

"Can't breath, Nev…."

I realized I was too heavy for him, and flushed, rolling off to the side even though he still refused to let me go. So we lay that way instead, facing each other on our sides, with Harry's knee foisted over mine.

My spasms had completely tapered off by the time my eyes slid shut and I surrendered to sleep.

-

My awakening was gradual, a slow seepage back into consciousness. Just as slow came the memory of what had happened the night before, a small frown puckering my brow as my eyes slit open to take stock of the current situation.

Light was just barely filtering in through the window and dimly illuminated my bedroom, and Harry was no longer clinging to me, although our legs were still slightly entangled. He lay on his back, facing away from me with his arm slung lazily across his stomach--even as I watched, his fingers twitched against his skin as he slept. It was difficult not to stare, to take in the sight of twin, tan nubs, at the dusting of hair down his abdomen. At the faint scars he's gained over the years, faint but easy to spot if you were looking.

I've never had the opportunity to stare at anyone like this before, and especially not Harry--he's always been a bit shy about being naked, even around the dorms.

My aching body finally demanded I get up and release the kinks of sleep from my back and neck--I was careful not to disturb Harry as I slid from the bed as noiselessly as possible for me. Faint pops awarded my stretching efforts, especially as I twisted to the side with a final snap.

The wood floor was a bit chilly beneath my feet as I shuffled over to the closet, only to be brought short by my shirt from last night getting caught around my foot, nearly tripping me. A quick scanning glance around revealed the rest of Harry's outfit, as well as his glasses. Sighing inaudibly, I set about picking everything up and depositing the lot on the bed before continuing to the closet.

My reflection caught my attention, its greeting more rambunctious than usual before it took a moment to size me up, a predatory set to its face. And then, as if suddenly liking what it saw, it gave me a shyly playful grin and brief wink. And if that hadn't been disturbing enough in its own right, my reflected self now approached the limit of the mirror, palms pressed flat against the barrier as it attempted to peer around me.

I turned to see what it was looking at, but only saw Harry. He was still asleep and now facing this direction, and I was puzzled as to what my reflection could be so excited over. When I turned back, I was met with its wide grin, glowing approval for the type of relationship it seems to have assumed existed between Harry and myself.

Even my reflection thinks I'm dating him.

"Shut up, you!"

The smile faltered, but didn't answer me back. The mirrors at Gran's were always too vocal in their opinions, but I've yet to meet one that talked here.

"Nrngh."

I turned back to the bed at the sleepy mumble, Harry rubbing at an eye before propping himself up on his elbows. He was disorientated and bleary as he blinked at the window, hair flat on one side of his head before knowing fingers ran through and made it spring back to life. He sat up a bit more, propped up by one palm as he lazily scratched his abdomen, fingers stroking against the indention of his navel. Afterwards, he rubbed fingers across eyes, clearing them of moisture, before ending the whole routine with a silent yawn and brief sniff.

He finally looked around and spotted me watching him, but as he hadn't yet put his glasses back on, he couldn't see much. I saw his eyebrows pull together and knew he was probably trying to recall what'd happened last night, especially when he looked down and touched his bare chest.

My cheeks burning, I turned back towards the closet, soundlessly pulling out a clean shirt and slipping it over my head before turning around. His glasses were now perched on his nose, and he stared at me while holding his shirts in his lap. The silence was comfortable, and I knew he didn't regret or blame me for what had happened last night at all.

We stared for several minutes before he finally slid from bed and pulled the open shirt on over his shoulders and back, bunching the undershirt into his fist. Another hand swiped through his unruly hair once more as he walked towards the door, pausing as his fingers closed around the handle.

We shared one more long glance, and he offered a soft and friendly smile before slipping out the door.

When I finally turned back to the closet door, I was met with the sight of my dejected reflection, puzzled by its accusing glare before it proceeded to pout. I rolled my eyes and continued changing for the day, heading for the door before remembering I'd left my wand by the bed and mumbling a curse as I went to pick it up.

Harry's door was still shut when I passed by, so I continued on to the kitchen.

Breakfast was a solemn affair, none of the usual chatter to break the tense silence but for the clinks of silverware against dishes. It was easy now to see the bruises encircling my forearms, forever just past the corner of my eye and reminding me why they were there.

It was easy to see how everyone else was hyperaware of their presence, as well.

I didn't notice I was blankly staring at Ron until complete silence fell down around my ears, alerting me to the fact that everyone else had stopped eating as well. Ron stared holes into his plate, ears and neck red with unease. I jerked my gaze away with a flush, managing a soft stammer of apology while he made a indistinct noise, hand coming to worry at his mouth.

"Last night…I didn't mean…," I said, and he finally looked up, gaze holding mine a moment before drifting away again.

"I wasn't at my best, either," he ventured, and I couldn't stop the involuntary snort that escaped me. Great way to exacerbate the issue, Neville.

His eyes again met mine, now clearly flashing with anger.

"I mean it though, every word."

My eyes narrowed, not missing the sharp glare Hermione shot Ron, a quick admonition for him to shut up.

"I'd never forgive you or anyone for killing him," I stated, and he sneered.

"Why do you protect that git?!"

"Because he's my friend."

"Would you kill me for hurting him, then? Huh? For scarring his pretty face?" he challenged.

"I just might!"

"Oh yeah? And what would you do if Harry died, huh? If I let him die, what would you do?! Where's your bloody loyalty to him, huh, what would you do?"

He seemed pleased that the color drained from my face during his statement, but was shocked when I jumped to my feet and leaned forward, hissing into his face, "I would slit your throat while you slept."

I left then, knowing everyone was gaping at my back, but nobody attempted to stop me as I walked from the room, magic again seething across my skin.

Intent only on purging the negative emotions and magic from myself before I did something else to hurt myself or others, I never noticed where my feet carried me through the house. It was only as I finally paused in my rambling down a particularly dusty, unused hallway that I realized I was hopelessly lost.

I don't understand how I could be so lost, but everything was seen through a haze, making every turn and corner seem unfamiliar.

Looking first one way, and then the other, I finally heaved a loudly frustrated sigh and slumped against the wall, letting my head thump back against the plaster. Dirt and flakes came off and floated down onto my head, causing me to cough and try to rub it free of my eyes, the dust instilling a harsh note in my throat. Still blind, I slid down the wall until I hit the floor, moisture streaking my face as I tried to cleanse my burning eyes. I sighed once more, an barely audible sigh of defeat, and my eyes closed, gritty and itching from the dust.

"I'm always so lost," I stated, voice harsh and rough in the silence around me.

I decided I'd sit there until things made sense again…if ever.

---

"See how it's starting to melt?"

I stood at Hermione's elbow, intently observing her motions as she stirred the creamy confection.

"When do we add one of these?" I asked, fingers ghosting against the various vials spread out on the counter, labels telling of the different flavors.

"Soon, I think. Which should we use first?" she asked, looking at me.

I studied the vials intently with a small frown, somberly contemplating each in turn.

I finally chose one, touching its stopper as I declared, "This one. Harry liked raspberry best, because he wouldn't give me one until I groveled for it."

She picked up the vial, studying it thoughtfully before saying, "I hope you're right. I just think he liked the mint ones better."

I shook my head, "He ate those first because they're his least favorite."

"I thought that meant he liked them best."

"No, he saves the best for last," I stated firmly, taking the spoon and stirring the mostly-melted chocolate.

"How do you know that?" she asked, a bit put out.

I shrugged; "He's done it that way for as long as I can remember."

"Good memory," she teased, and I pinked.

"You know I'm practically a squib, my memory is worse than my magic."

Her hand found my forearm, gentle warmth against my skin.

"You're not a bad wizard, Neville, and you're always improving. You held your own in the Department of Mysteries, didn't you, you and Harry?"

My blush deepened, though my gut twisted at the reminder of what happened.

"I guess so. Thanks, Hermione," I replied, embarrassed.

Her fingers gave a light squeeze to my arm before pulling away.

We ended up making quite a lot for Harry, shaped into various molds and flavorings by the time we ran out of chocolate.

I waited until we were cleaning up before asking the question that had bothered me earlier, "Why does Ron dislike me so much?"

Whenever there's any tension in the house, it's almost always between Ron and myself, though there are the other small quibbles now and again amongst the others. She froze for a second, staring at me before relaxing with a heavy sigh.

"He doesn't dislike you, Neville, he actually thinks you're quite keen on some things. He's just rather protective of his own."

"His own?" I pressed, and she bit her lip before responding.

"Ron is highly loyal to the people closest to him, doggedly so to those he considers his own. His family, his house, his friends. Before though, his 'friends' were just me and Harry. But now…now you're part of the circle too, because you're so close to Harry.

"You're our friend, Neville, don't get me wrong, but you've always connected more with Harry than the two of us, and it worries him. He doesn't know how loyal you are, not for sure. You're attached to Malfoy, the son of a known Deatheater, and he's probably already an agent for Lord Voldemort. So, he worries your loyalty could become jeopardized, because he knows you'll be pulled in two directions eventually."

I stewed on that a while, seeing the logic, and how painfully accurate it all was.

"And, well…." She bit her comment off, obviously changing her mind, but I moved closer.

"Well…?" I prompted, trying to catch her eye but failing.

"What is it?!" I pressed sharply, fingers finding the material of her sleeve and clenching up in agitation.

She huffed a bit before admitting, "He's sure you're going to hurt Harry, because sorry to say, but you don't have too great of a record in love and relationships, Neville."

Heat swept across my face and neck as I stammered, "Ridiculous! We're only friends!"

She made a soft noise in her throat; "Yes, you've said so before."

I stared at her incredulously, surprised to see some kind of melancholy on her face before she shifted away from me, my fingers falling from her sleeve.

"Anyway, that's just how Ron feels, and you know Ron…," her smile was strained, but I nodded and let her pretend the subject was closed.

I was stunned though--he thinks I have romantic intentions on Harry. Why does everyone always assume we're more than we are, than we have ever been? And even if…even if…I loved Harry, I know the situation is impossible.

Even I'm not so optimistic that I'd naively believe one or both of us won't die before this is through.

Anything I have with Harry would be deep, something lasting, not the light courtships I had in school. If I had that kind of emotional relationship with him, if I had someone to love, to love me, after everything else in my life, I'd die if left alone again. And for Harry, if our roles were reversed? He's a wreck. My death would destroy him completely. Although I refuse to think I'm going to die, I won't pretend the possibility doesn't loom in the distance.

There's no reason for Ron to agonize about me and Harry, there's nothing to agonize over.

A/N: until next time.