October 2006
"It's terrible and I hate it. Why does he always have to sit across from me at staff meetings? Why does he have to have that stupid little smile he does whenever I try to say something funny? And don't tell me I'm actually funny. I'm not. He's pretending. To toy with me. He's pretending in order to mess with my mind."
David looks bewildered. "God, Neville. I've never heard you talk so fast. Or so madly."
"Well, it's driving me mad, alright?" I place my head in my hands. We're having tea on a Friday afternoon, the day after my fifth weekly dinner at Ron and Hermione's with the two of them, their children, and Harry. Harry. Harry, Harry, Harry—it seems that there's something of some kind going on with him, but it's impossible to tell for sure with someone so friendly as he is. "I have no idea if he's flirting with me, or he has any interest in me at all. Does he treat me differently, David? Differently from how he acts around you or, I don't know, Minerva?"
He laughs. "I seriously doubt he's interested in Minerva."
"You know what I mean."
"Honestly? I don't want to get your hopes up here, but yes. It's absurd, the way you dance around each other."
"How do you mean? Enlighten me. Because I obviously can't see it."
"Well, he touches you all the time." David reaches across the table and lays his hand on my arm. "Like this. 'Good story, Nev.'" He moves his hand to my shoulder and squeezes. "Or this. 'How's it going, Nev?'" He pulls my hand toward his lips and kisses it, loudly and theatrically. "Or, you know, that. All the time."
I laugh. "I don't think he's been kissing my hand much lately. Or ever."
"The other stuff, though, always, every meeting, every time I'm with you and we run across him in the hallways. And he's jealous of me, right? He kind of gets this look like, 'Oh, how terrible that he has this friend who's male and diverting attention from me.'"
"No."
"Yes! And then there's the nickname."
"Nickname?"
David rolls his eyes. "Have you ever once heard me call you 'Nev?' No one does that, Neville. Just him."
"Well, he always has. Since school."
"So maybe he was mad for you then, too."
"I doubt that. Oh, sod it. I don't even know if he's straight or gay or both or what. I should just get over it."
"There's no way that's going to happen."
"You don't think I'm capable of controlling my own emotions?"
"Frankly, no."
"Thanks."
He rolls his eyes at me again. "It's not a bad thing to be a genuine person, you know. Honestly, why don't you do something about it? And before you do anything about it, have you been sleeping?"
"Yes." I pause. "Wait, yes, mostly. Mostly I've been sleeping. I didn't last night, because I was working on lesson plans till 2 in the morning, and then it just didn't seem worth it, sleeping, since I hadn't yet gone over in my mind every distinct movement Harry made during dinner at Ron and Hermione's. Oh, did I tell you Rose can say his name now? She can say every letter of the alphabet now."
"That's lovely. Less lovely, the part where you're not sleeping. Just a minute here." David stands up and walks over to a cabinet in his quarters. I've got the same one. Rummaging through the cabinet, he comes up with a stoppered purple potion.
"Right," he says, sitting back down and handing me the potion.
"I thought that cabinet was for liquor."
"Of course you did. That's a nerve tonic. Neurcura, it's called, not that you'll care about that at all. I want you to drink half of it now and half of it before you go to sleep tonight. I'm not giving you any more than that, because it can be habit forming."
"I don't form habits!"
"I won't mention last year's licorice wand phase."
"You just did."
"Right, I did." David grins and shakes his head. "Really, Neville—should I call you 'Nev?'"
"I'd rather you not."
"Right. That's a special thing you've got going with him."
"You are the single biggest git I have ever met. And I've met Voldemort."
"Anyway, really, Neville, you just need to sit back and calm down and, next time Harry's about to put his hands all over you and tell you how funny you are, you say you're interested in him. OK?"
"OK. Sure. No, wait. I don't think I can do that."
"It's a good thing I like you so much. Otherwise I'd hate you for how incredibly thick you are when it comes to this."
"I was an alright boyfriend once. I made Anthony a garden. Have I told you that?" He shakes his head. "Well, I did. For his birthday. I convinced our landlord to let me use a tiny bit of the yard behind our building, and I put together all the greenhouse flowers and plants he'd complimented the most. And I set up a picnic back there, and I even made him lunch."
"You cooked?"
"It was sandwiches and crisps, but I did special order his favorite butterbeer. Rosmerta owed me a favor. He said it was the best birthday present he'd ever gotten. I wonder if the flowers are still alive."
David puts his hand on my shoulder. "You'd be a brilliant boyfriend for Harry."
"God, I hope so."
"Just do something, won't you?"
I knock half the tonic back and wash it down with chamomile. "I suppose it's worth a try."
