A/N: A note: Please remember that this is a triad fic. The story summary indicates that "Slash happens" and everything. So, if you're still reading and slash is a problem for you . . . um . . . stop.

Got it? Good. Okay. So, to get y'all off that cliff I left you on… I'm really sorry it took me so long to get back to this. Family vacation that left me absolutely enervated. Not in the Rowling way, either. Forgive any lack of sneak peeks on this chapter, please! I'll try to write ahead in future. No more vacations are planned for a bit. ;-)

CHAPTER EIGHT

BETWEEN MEN & A WOMAN

Neville felt his heart sort of freeze as if it had been hexed for a few moments after he had been goaded—silently, from within—to ask Harry if he had ever liked men.

It was a question Neville had only recently had cause to ask himself, but he reckoned Harry would have examined his own preferences long ago, if only because he was raised by two men in a committed relationship.

Harry stared at him, dragging his hands through his nearly shoulder-length hair. "It's always been Hermione," he whispered. "But . . ."

Neville felt an ache start to build in his chest, but he persisted. "Honestly, Harry. I would have thought you'd have gone there, with Sirius and all."

With a snort, Harry seemed to relax a bit, stepping closer to Neville and the gate to Hogwarts. "I don't know a whole lot about people my own age, I admit, but how many kids think about their parents having sex?" Neville couldn't control his wince and Harry rested a hand on his arm. "Sorry, Nev. I didn't mean—"

"No, it's okay. I get it." Harry hadn't dropped his hand, so Neville decided to cover it with his own as he kept after this conversation. "Only Hermione?"

"Well, yeah." An owl winged overhead, its passage audible as it wasn't too far above them, and Harry looked up to follow its flight. Neville smiled a little; he couldn't help it. Hermione had put the idea in his head—the idea about being interested in Harry—and it seemed as if he always had been. He couldn't take his eyes off of him. The way the other man's eyes tracked the bird, the subtle shifts of the lines of his face, the curiosity and appreciation, all of that was there in those moments of silent watching. "She was," Harry continued, slowly bringing his focus back to Neville's face, "the only one, you know? Since that birthday in France, anyway. Like you said, she wasn't twelve any longer at that point and even though I didn't go, I don't know, perving? Perving over her as a fourteen-year-old—not since I was about that age, anyway—still, her words and letters and what she had to suffer with because of me—" His eyes narrowed and his grip tightened and, somehow, Harry was holding his hand, fingers laced in a silent bid, Neville supposed, for comfort. "So, yeah."

Neville focused on their joined hands. "So, my letters didn't inspire such heroic devotion, eh?" he asked with a purposeful laugh. He had to know, but he also had to be friends and that friendship he and Harry had—both through owl post and what had built since he'd come back a couple of months ago—was the most important thing.

"That's not what I meant at all. I was just trying to answer your question." Harry's voice dropped and slowed. "But about liking a man? If that man was you? I could, yeah, consider it."

Neville's smile sort of exploded on his face; he could feel it as he grinned and felt the ache and cold within his chest leave him without a trace left behind. "You could, eh?"

Harry had a grin of his own when he looked up once more. "I could." Even in the darkness, a challenge gleamed in the famous emerald green eyes as Harry stepped further into Neville's space. Their hands were still joined, their faces not quite on the same level, but close as Harry seemed to study him from the closer proximity. "I really could."

Nerves thrumming, Neville decided that being a Gryffindor was working for him so far, so he kept with it. "Good," he murmured, bringing his free hand to Harry's shoulder and urging him just that half-step closer. Harry's eyelids dropped and his lips parted, which sent a jolt of sheer excitement through Neville's body. Oh, he adored Hermione, absolutely. She did this to him as well. Smiling, he sent her a mental salute. She had been right on the Galleon regarding his inner inclinations.

He kept his eyes open as he brushed Harry's lips with his own. Harry didn't, though. He closed his eyes and welcome the kiss with a startled sort of sound that made Neville hold quite still for a second. But then, Harry reached for him as well, tentatively dragging his hand up Neville's arm until he cupped the back of Neville's neck.

How long did the kiss last? Neville had no idea. The owl was out of sight when he lifted his head and Harry's eyes were still closed. "Yeah," Harry whispered. "I'm considering it."

Chuckling with relief as well as a sort of confirmed delight racing under his skin, Neville rested his forehead against Harry's. "Good. Me, as well."

"But, but what about Hermione?" Harry stiffened and moved back a pace, touching the gate with his bare hand.

The gate swung open—it was magically keyed to open to Hogwarts staff—and Harry half-stumbled sideways. Neville passed through, the wards of the school reaching out to him and touching him in a familiar way; he'd been on staff long enough for this to be a familiar ritual. "Hermione? Well, it was her idea, actually."

"Oh. But what about the two of you?"

"Not exclusive, remember. And . . ." Neville turned to briefly run a hand over Harry's head, wanting to hold him for a moment, to feel him again for just one more kiss, but— "And I think we should tell her."

"Tell her what? That we kissed? Do you guys, well, do that?"

Laughing, Neville asked, "What kiss? Yes, Harry, yes we do."

Harry pushed out an exasperated breath. "If you aren't exclusive, do you keep one another, what, updated?"

"Dunno; never happened before. But it's only fair. That is, if . . . if you want to?"

"Kiss you again? Uh, yeah." Harry shoved him with a shoulder as they strode slowly up to the main entrance. "But would you also, erm, be seeing her? I don't know . . . if I'm okay with not being exclusive. And," he blurted out, as if the words sort of exploded from him, "I was just thinking about kissing Hermione earlier and I don't know that that has entirely gone away." Agitation was etched into this features, perceptible even in the clear darkness.

They had reached the doors and Neville stopped, turning to catch Harry by the shoulders. "Hasn't gone away for me, either, mate. So . . . let's catch Hermione and . . . talk. Yeah?"

Nodding, Harry blew out a breath. "Yeah. Because that's not scary at all."

"Says the Chosen One."

"Says Basilisk's Bane."

And just like that, the tension that had been weaving a tangible web between them since just before the kiss unraveled, leaving Neville quite relieved to be able to walk into Hogwarts with no one the wiser.

"What is the matter with you?" Hermione made a face at Neville, smiled at Harry, and pulled them toward the wall behind the head table as soon as Minerva dismissed students after breakfast on Sunday morning. "You're both . . . did a student prank you? With an itching hex or something in your socks?"

Their seats were actually on the arm of the table to the left of the Headmistress, not facing the students head-on, but at an angle. So the wall behind them was solid and provided no possible way for anyone to spy on them. Still, Neville wasn't surprised when Hermione tossed up a wandless Muffliato. "The pair of you are acting like, like third years wanting to ask someone to Hogsmeade for the first time." Her own words apparently lit a candle in her brain, though. "Cor! You've gone and done it, haven't you?" Cinnamon eyes shining, a grin as wide as a river on her face, Hermione reached for each man's hand, wiggling her brows as she clearly saw that Harry's face was practically on fire. Then, she gave Neville a look. "You all right?"

"Pardon?" Neville checked her face for clues, found none, and then glanced at Harry, who was still blushing fit to light a room.

"You know I was hoping you two would, erm, that?" They were surrounded in their own sound-protected bubble, and he could only focus, for that moment, on her face, her bright happiness, the buoyant air that seemed to even infuse the curls of her hair. "Right? Harry?"

Neville darted a glance about the Hall, seeing how a few people were eyeing them. Miss Chambers looked concerned and he wondered if she were worried about Professor Granger's safety or something. Septima had actually turned her entire body to study them, which made Neville nervous. Would she make an arithmantic matrix about them?

Harry blew out a breath and nodded with a surety of purpose that brought a grin to Neville's face. Hermione's smile grew wider and she leaned in and hugged both of them. Neville clung to her a bit, reassuring himself that yes, he still felt as much for her now as he had before he'd kissed Harry.

She kissed his cheek lightly before pulling away. "Right, then! I'm so happy for you, truly," she gushed, face a bit pink for reasons that Neville didn't wish to speculate upon. "So," she went on, her face easing into a serious aspect as she focused entirely on Harry, "I want to know something."

The other man's blush had faded somewhat as Hermione pressed his hand between both of her own. "What, Hermione?"

"Why did you want that scene we enacted? I never got the chance to ask you how it worked."

Harry bit his lip for a moment and glanced about. "Right. You should know. Right. Can we, like, go to a room or something?"

"I've got a meeting with the Muggle-borns this morning in my classroom," Hermione said. "We can go there, though, if you want. The meeting isn't for an hour," she added after checking her watch.

Feeling Septima's eyes on them the whole way out, Neville led the trio from the Great Hall and down the myriad corridors and such to Hermione's classroom. Passing students acknowledged them with smiles and the occasional wave, but the three professors were largely ignored, which was just as well. Neville thought Harry looked tense.

Once inside the room, Hermione shut the door and warded it with a Colloportus and her favorite Muffliato charms. With a wave of her arm, she invited the men to sit whilst she perched on the edge of her desk at the front of the room.

Harry claimed one student desk whilst Neville claimed the one next to him so that the three of them were able to talk without a lot of gawking about to maintain eye contact. How do we do this? he wondered as Hermione adjust the faded cuffs at her wrists and as Harry fidgeted in his seat. Hermione is thinking . . . of couples, and I'm thinking more. I am. Haven't seen a triad since the Weasley twins married Angelina Johnson, so . . .

Maybe I should ask for advice? From Fred and George? Merlin, no . . .

His musings were interrupted by Harry's uncomfortable throat-clearing. "Right. So. Hallowe'en wasn't the first time I've dueled Tom Riddle," he began, his eyes fixed on his folded hands on the desk where he sat. "He's a master Legilimens and, though I'm proficient with Occlumency, I am not strong enough to keep him out indefinitely. Severus is, but he had to play his role as well, so we came up with the idea that he would 'capture' me to present to his master." He looked up and watched Hermione as he continued. "If I acted drunk, or at least a bit incapacitated, jealous and unprepared, the idea of Severus capturing me when so many others in Riddle's, well, entourage?, had not been able to do so over the years would be more believable. Which worked, I guess." He smiled a bit and looked—well, Neville didn't know how he looked, precisely. Embarrassed? Thankful? Shy? All of the above? "I really appreciated the advance notice that everything that night was a lie, Hermione. I don't know how I could have managed to uphold even rudimentary mental shields if, if that," he said, his voice thickening as he indicated her left arm with a wave of a hand, "if that had been real."

Hermione's gasp launched Neville to his feet; the need to support her right then was uppermost in his thoughts. Harry followed suit and the wizards met in front of Hermione, each taking one arm, though Harry was staring at her sleeve rather than her face.

Neville could only see her tear-filled eyes, and he couldn't help but remember.

"Mister Longbottom! Neville!" The silvery wisp of a feline Patronus had flown into Neville's suite of rooms at Longbottom Manor. "Miss Granger's been attacked in her home. Please come to St. Mungo's as soon as may be."

Of course, Neville had heeded the call of his Head of House and had dashed down the corridor to the suite of rooms where his grandmother slept. Within minutes, they were dressed and at St. Mungo's in London, and Gran had certainly made sure they were in Hermione Granger's room without delay.

Hermione hadn't even noticed, though. The room was private, as Professor McGonagall had seen to it that she was undisturbed. His Head of House was seated next to the hospital bed, distraught as she endeavored to get a response from an awake but otherwise unaware patient. Hermione was lying still on the bed, eyes open but unseeing, tears sliding ceaselessly down her pale cheeks.

One of her arms lay above the bedclothes, bandaged.

"What happened, Minerva?" Gran had whispered, going around the foot of the bed to reach McGonagall's side.

"It was out of a nightmare," McGonagall said, her voice rasping. "Death Eaters, You-Know-Who, Lestrange . . .at Miss Granger's house. Her parents . . . they, the Death Eaters, took their time . . ."

Neville felt his heart stop for a momenta she grabbed Hermione's free hand. He'd only just turned sixteen, but he knew he loved the girl and he would do anything for her. "Hermione? It's Nev." He squeezed her hand, oh so gently. "I'm so sorry. I'm here and I won't go away, all right? I'll keep you safe, now."

"Too late," she muttered, the tears still dripping from her face to the pillow under he head, making tiny splashes, the fabric was so saturated at the point of contact. "Nev . . . they're dead. Mum and Dad." She turned her head to look at him, then, and he saw the endless emptiness in her eyes, the same expression he knew he exhibited when he had had a particularly difficult visit with his parents, right there in St. Mungo's. "They said it was to punish me . . . for being a Mudblood." With a feeble effort, she lifted her arm.

Following the motion, he saw that his professor and grandmother were listening likewise. Minerva McGonagall cleared her throat. "Bellatrix . . . carved the word into her arm."

Neville swore, then, under his breath, with words his grandmother would normally have chastised him mightily for. That night though, she merely nodded, agreeing with him.

Neville never wanted to see his Hermione look so lost, ever again, and he made plans to make sure she would be protected for the rest of her life.

That morning in her classroom at Hogwarts, Neville saw the echoes of that horrible night in Hermione's eyes and he nodded, lifting one of her hands to his lips and pressing a reassuring kiss to her fingers. Tell him, he mouthed to her, the words silent but clear for all that.

She inhaled raggedly and, with a determined tilt to her chin, unbuttoned the cuff and sleeve on her left arm. "I said everything that night was a lie, Harry. That morning, remember?"

Harry's fingers trembled as he followed the path of Hermione's sleeve up her arm. He froze when the "d" in "Mudblood" became visible. His breath caught in his throat as he managed to rasp, "Hermione . . ." Sorrow, shock, and hurt flared in the bright green gaze as Harry shifted his focus to Neville and then back to Hermione once more. "But you, you said—"

Hermione nodded far too rapidly before moving to take both of Harry's hands in her own. "I know. That morning I said everything that night would be a lie. And then, that night, I lied—"

"We lied," Neville asserted, coming to stand so that he could wrap one arm around her shoulders and one around Harry's. "We lied, Harry. So that you would be upset, as you specifically asked for, but also so that you could tell yourself it wasn't true, what you saw."

Hermione leaned a bit further forward. "It's what you wanted. And it worked, right?"

"Yes," Harry whispered, eyes on the hands that held his own. "It worked. He plowed through my mind, found what you said, mocked me just as Severus and I had planned. Underestimated me . . ." Lifting his head up, he met Hermione's eyes again. "And then he killed me."

"We never meant for that to happen," she whispered back, face pinched in distress.

"And you never meant for me to find out about your arm, either?"

"Not, not right way," she admitted quietly.

Neville kept his arms around the both of them, but also kept his silence. This was about their relationship; a relationship that he was more and more sure he wanted with each minute that went by. What happened to Hermione whilst Harry had been kept away had affected her entire life, though, and the pair of them needed to work it out. He knew this, because he and Hermione had had to talk things over almost to death, once upon a time. Hermione was, as everyone knew, a great talker.

"Damn it, Hermione!" Harry's words were off-putting, perhaps, but Neville was encouraged to note that neither let go of the other. "How can I, it was all my—"

"Harry, no."

"Yes! How can you even stand to look at me?"

"You didn't do this to my arm. You didn't kill my parents," she murmured. "You're my friend, Harry. You always have been. I told you, when you save a girl from a troll, it makes an impact for life."

Relieved to see the small smile on her face, Neville leant in to drop a kiss to her temple. Harry, after a moment's hesitation that Neville entirely understood, did likewise, on her other temple. "Good," he whispered against her cheek.

Neville saw the other man swallow, watched a blush suffuse his face, moving up from his throat, and he silently urged him on, thinking, Kiss her, Harry! C'mon, mate!

As if he heard the wordless encouragement, Harry nudged Hermione's head a bit, sliding his own lips towards hers. Neville heard nothing in the room at that moment save the hopeful pounding of his own heart. No one seemed to even be breathing as he leant in even further, still encompassing the other two in his arms, somehow.

"Harry," Hermione whispered. "I thought—"

"Didn't you—?"

"It's okay," Neville murmured at the same time.

With a gasp, Hermione jerked away from them, moving quickly around to the other side of her professorial desk, cheeks flaming and eyes wide. "Sorry."

Harry slid out from under Neville's arm and Neville sighed. Loudly. "Well, that went all pear-shaped."

"Neville?"

"Hermione, it's okay, love."

"But . . ."

Harry shook his head. "I—I need to, to get in touch with Sirius. I'll, erm, see you later, yeah? I'm on table-duty for lunch. You?"

Hermione nodded, Neville, shook his head. But before Harry could leave, Neville did one more thing. He caught up with Harry at the door to the classroom and, in front of Hermione, caught the other man's hand. "Hey."

Confusion darkened Harry's eyes. "What? Here?"

Gryffindor courage, Neville reminded himself. "Don't you want to?"

After darting a glance to Hermione, Harry's confusion became more clear, but he was also smiling a little. "Really?"

"Oh, please," Hermione whispered, the longing in her words carrying softly to them.

Somehow, both men chuckled and drew close enough for their mouths to meet again. Harry tasted like coffee with sugar, and he was much more sure of himself as they deepened their kiss.

"That is so hot," Hermione murmured, still staying at her desk. "Finite incantatem," she added, so that the door would open and their speech was no longer obscured.

"It really is," Neville added. Harry shook his head, but didn't deny it.

"We need to talk some more," Harry murmured. "But first, I need to talk to Sirius."

"Right. See you tonight?"

"Professor Granger?"

"Percy! Come in!"

Neville and Harry moved a step apart from each other by mutual, unspoken consent. Yes, they wanted to explore what was between them, Neville knew, but neither were ready for anyone else to know about it.

Except Hermione.

After they paid the courtesies to the visiting man from the Ministry, Harry led the way to the corridor. "Thank you, Nev. Thank you for taking care of her, for everything. When I was, was fighting and dying and all that?"

Neville winced and made to wave off the gratitude. "It wasn't for you, Harry."

"I know, but on Hallowe'en night? Knowing you would be with her, when I was, was gone, helped me a lot. Made it easier to go, you know?"

"Merlin, Harry. I don't even want to think about that night."

"Nor me, but—"

"Enough. For right now, all right?"

"Tonight?"

"Tonight."

A/N: Thank you for reading! I appreciate all of you. I do not at this moment have a peek into the next chapter, but I will tell you there is a lot of . . . talking. Because folks need sorting, no?

And on the topic of sorting, Neville puts great stock in being a Gryffindor. What Houses are you in, Readers? Pottermore sorted me to Ravenclaw, but cross-house sorting sent me to Slytherpuff!

I will try to have the next chapter out later this week.