Summary: In desperate need of money when his Gran sends an owl to tell him he will be receiving no more allowance, Neville applies to test some of the Weasley twins' latest products. Little does he know they are starting a new line directed towards a more adult audience, and consider him a prime subject for testing an aphrodisiac. Taken from Challenge #86 from Woobies of Destiny Harry/Neville fuh-q fest.

Disclaimer: not mine, although I've been looking into having my name legally changed to Rowling…

A/N: I'm sorry I haven't updated in a couple months. I got caught up in finals, and then the hols, and then classes started again, and I got sick, my beta got sick… Again, I'm sorry for the delay. But, this happens to be the longest chapter I've ever written. So be happy! Hells has been an incredible beta, and helped me so much. Thank you!

Chapter Three: È possibile che ha tendenze — omosessuali?

Neville's eyes snapped open. A stab of panic went through him for a moment because he was unable to remember when he closed them. He blinked and tried to clear away the heavy drowsiness pressing his eyes closed. Neville glanced around the class at the other students in various states of unconsciousness to reassure himself that he hadn't missed anything. He looked blearily up at Professor Binns, who was explaining the underlying factors in the Fifty Years War of the Grecian Merpeople, and the inclusion of Lobalug warfare. He remembered the Triwizard Tournament, and stared at his professor and wondered how he could even make merpeople sound boring.

With what remaining brainpower he possessed, Neville made the official decision to give up on paying attention to the lecture. He rested his head on his left hand, closed his eyes for a moment, and let Binns' monotonous voice carry him off to sleep once again. He was right on the cusp of true sleep when his head slipped off his hand, jarring him awake once more. He gave up on sleep for the moment, and looked lazily over at Harry. He really did look so much better since He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated. Without the anxiety and danger hanging over his head, Harry began to resemble a normal teenager. The purple smudges, which had taken up permanent residence over the past few years, were gone, detracting nothing from his bright green eyes.

A grimace grew on Neville's face. Oh God, he thought. I'm turning into a poof. Although he didn't want to, he couldn't keep himself from looking back to Harry's prone form. Harry's face was turned towards him, his head pillowed on his folded arms. His lips pouted slightly from his cheek being pressed into his forearms and a bit of drool was oozing out of the corner of his mouth. His eyes were obscured by his glasses sitting askew on his face, and his hair was as messy as ever.

Neville allowed himself a slight smile at the sight. He was wonderful.

He frowned and looked back down at his parchment, only marked with the heading of that day's lecture. Wonderful now, is he? You truly are a ponce, Neville, he told himself.

He didn't like Harry, he just… admired him. Harry was a great bloke. He was smart, brave, and a great Quidditch player. He worried his bottom lip and knew admiration didn't lead to fixated staring.

After dinner, Neville found himself once again in the library. He knew he needed to send the contract back to Fred and George soon, and just wanted to be done with it. Neville unfolded the letter, and after reading the note over once again, he stared at the small, blank piece of parchment attached to the note.

"Finite Incantatum," he said after a moment, tapping his wand to the parchment. The parchment grew in length, slithering off the desk and curling down onto the floor. After it looked as though it would not grow any longer, Neville looked it over on both sides, but it was still blank.

He frowned for a moment but said, "Aparecium." Neville felt a surge of pride as he watched the print appear on the paper, yet it turned to uneasiness as every possible inch of parchment was covered in tiny, cramped writing. He brought it up close to his face, and could only make out:

I, hereby bequeath my right for legal action against Mr.(s) Fred and George Weasley, in the testing of agreed substances, and forgo any medical attention forthwith …

Neville scanned the rest of the parchment, but as he went along the script became too small to read. What he could see at the bottom, however, was a place for him to sign his name. Neville bit and chewed on his lip, unsure if he truly wanted to do this.

Questioning whether he was signing his very soul away by agreeing to their longwinded terms, but unable to part with the chance of getting ten Galleons, he printed his name at the top and signed the bottom.

He stood up to leave, but remembered he needed to tell them when the next Hogsmeade visit was. He sat back down and hastily wrote out a note.

Fred and George,

Here's the contract, and the visit is on Saturday, November 29th. I was wondering, where and when do I meet you? What will happen after I take the potion? And what was all that writing on the contract I couldn't read?

Neville Longbottom
Scared shitless

He grimaced at his lack of backbone, but before he could ask any more questions, he tied up the note along with the shrunken contract. He considered removing the last comment, but figured they'd know he was, regardless of what he wrote.

The walk up to the Owlery was fraught with doubt for Neville. Five minutes after his first ascent up the final staircase to his destination found him halfway up, breath slightly laboured from walking up and down the stairs at least five times from indecision.

"Are you a Gryffindor or not?" he berated the wall he'd been staring at for the past few minutes. He listened as the question echoed down the stairwell. After a fortifying breath, Neville walked up the final steps, held out some bread he kept from dinner to coax one of the owls from their perches, and sent off the missive before he could change his mind.

Neville watched the owl disappear into the sun. To calm himself, he stayed and watched as the sun slowly came to rest in the distant hills, and the bright fire lit in the sky and clouds slowly cooled to glowing embers and then darkened until the white coolness of the stars dimly lit the sky.

Early the next morning, Neville rose in the predawn light and trudged into the boys' bathroom to shower. Eyes half open, his body went through the motions of undressing and walking into one of the stalls lining the tiled walls. He knew his way around enough that he usually forwent lighting the room. He turned on the spray, and waited a moment for the water to heat before stepping in. He put his face under the spray, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and turned and wet his hair. His eyes, accustomed to the darkness, allowed him to see the shadowy arches and supports of the ceiling and the steam from his shower rise and curl in the draught before dissipating. The only sound was the echoing splash of water against the tiles and the gurgling of the drain. Neville had always preferred waking before all the others to enjoy his ablutions on his own. While living with his gran, he always woke before dawn to do chores, and during school he kept the habit of rising early. It was only through his third year he occasionally shared the bathroom with Percy Weasley in the early morning hours, and he supposed that was when Percy didn't want to walk all the way to the Prefect's Bathroom on the fifth floor. From his fourth year on, however, Neville enjoyed his showers in solitude.

He took his time washing his hair and his body, mind meandering through thoughts of upcoming classes and what would be served for breakfast. Thoughts of being in the Great Hall led him to remember last week when Ginny rose from the bench, he caught a glimpse of thigh and a flash of underwear. A shot of heat coiled in his abdomen and sank down to his swelling cock. Ginny had great legs, he thought. His hands moved to cup his sac and trail lightly up and down his length, thoughts of shapely, Quidditch-toned legs being revealed slowly by a plaid skirt being raised making him pulse with need.

As a sort of challenge with himself, Neville always tried to last as long as possible and without making a sound. The latter was almost a necessity, and something Neville wished Seamus would consider being worthwhile, especially in the dormitory. At least twice a week Neville lay awake in the darkness trying to get the sound of Seamus' raucous heaving and squeaking out of his mind so he could get back to sleep.

He shook his head, and turned his mind back to task. Generally, he never heard any of his other roommates. Either they usually did their business in the showers like himself, or mastered Silencing Charms around their beds. It was generally obvious, though, when the curtains were the only ones closed in the room and it wasn't that chilly of a night, what one was doing.

Neville wondered idly what Harry sounded like when he wanked. Would he moan, or did he possess enough control that heavy breathing would be the only indicator of his actions?

Neville bit back a moan and quickened his pace as that particular thought made a spark of pleasure shoot from the base of his spine down the length of his cock. Suddenly a mental picture of Harry standing in front of him, his hard, flushed cock in hand, blazing green eyes staring into his own replaced any thought of shapely legs hidden by the folds of a skirt. Neville saw Harry's eyes behind his glasses, pupils dilated, his mouth hanging open, and breaths coming in and out in pants. Harry's pink tongue darted out and licked his lips, all the while keeping eye contact with Neville. Without any warning, Neville came with a shout. White bursts of light flashed behind his eyes as his release spattered against the tiles. Boneless and panting, he leant against the wall for support, and tried to calm his breathing.

He stared with wide, unseeing eyes at the wall as his come slid down the tiles and mixed with the water. What the hell was that? How did Ginny turn into Harry?

Harry's face. His lips. Harry's cock. He thought about Harry while he jerked off. Holy mother of Merlin! What the bloody hell was wrong with him?

I… I couldn't have…that wasn't…

The hardest you've ever come? You know it was.

What? It was not!

Stop deluding yourself.

"I like girls," he told the remaining trails of come on the wall. Their very existence told him differently.

He swore and beat his head against the wall.

At breakfast, Neville managed to push the matter out of his mind until Harry walked into the Hall, in the middle of a conversation with Ron. Neville felt blood creeping up his neck, burning his ears, and looked back down at his plate to calm himself. He tried to convince himself that nothing would give him away except exactly how he was acting right then. He took a calming breath, and continued eating. It wasn't as if anyone knew what he did that morning.

"Morning." Ginny sat down across from him and began helping herself to eggs and toast.

"Morning, Ginny," he answered. Neville watched as Ginny sipped her pumpkin juice and began a conversation with Dean, who sat next to her. Her red hair spilled past her shoulders, and her open robe allowed Neville to catch a glimpse of the outline of a breast straining against the white cotton of her shirt.

He brought to mind what it might look like uncovered, how the soft skin would feel against his palm, and the exact shade of pink of the nipple, darkening as it rose to a hard peak.

He raised his eyes to the blue morning sky and thanked whatever deity might abide there as he felt heat pool in his groin. He liked girls!

Relief washed over him in waves, allowing him an easy grin. He couldn't even bother himself with his pressing problem under his robes. Neville relished in the restricting pressure of his trousers; it only reinforced the fact that he wasn't gay! That fact, and not having a class for twenty minutes, made it all the more bearable.

Neville watched as the morning post arrived with a flurry of owls' wings. His relaxed and relieved state refused to let him become worried when a response from the joke shop came.

Neville,

Don't worry, my good man! George and I will take good care of you. The Hog's Head is the only establishment with an inn, so meet us in the pub at 5:00. We'd like for it to be later, but we remember McGonagall's pesky curfew. We'll tell you all you need to know about the potion when we meet, and don't worry your pretty little head about all that legal jargon. See you soon!

Fred Weasley
Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes

Some of his effervescent mood fizzled when he realised he hadn't got a clear answer from Fred, but kept it all in perspective. He didn't really expect the twins to be completely honest with him, and he would still get ten Galleons. And he wasn't gay!

For the rest of breakfast, Neville let the conversation wash over him, all the while repeating in his head in celebration, "I'm not gay, I'm not gay, I'm not gay!" What could be truly wrong with the world when Neville knew without a doubt for what side of the Quidditch team he played?

Neville's dreamy smile stayed plastered on his face as he turned to watch Ron, Hermione, and Harry get up and leave for their lesson. Harry stood, but stopped with a pained grimace. He put his bag back down on the bench, raised his arms over his head, and stretched. And stretched. Neville watched, smile frozen, as Harry, arms reaching for the ceiling, arched his back, pulling his shirt tight against his chest. His flat chest. His firm, flat, man chest, which held no kind of female breast that would explain why Neville was staring. Hands now on his hips, Harry let out a groan as he twisted his torso, eliciting small cracks and pops from his spine, and then twisted the other way.

"You alright, mate?"

"Yeah, Ron. My back's a bit sore, is all. Must've slept on it wrong." Harry picked up his bag yet again, and caught up with Ron and Hermione, who were waiting for him.

"See you in class, Neville," Harry said with a grin as he passed. Neville was incapable of forming a response, and helplessly watched the trio as they exited the Hall. Neville stared at the empty doorway, frozen, unable to breathe.

After a moment, he looked back up at the mocking, blue sky of the ceiling and wondered what he did to piss off whatever deity he previously thought favoured him. He scowled down at the dregs in his coffee cup for the cruel twist of fate.

"You might want to hurry up, Neville," Ginny advised. "Class starts in a few minutes." She drank the last of her juice, and put away a book she had been studying.

"Thanks, Ginny." Neville made a move to rise, but bit back a groan as his trousers pulled painfully tight against his renewed erection. He sat back down with a thud. Neville refrained from putting his head in his hands, but whimpered to himself, "I like girls."

Throughout the rest of the week, Neville spent his time attempting to convince himself of his own heterosexuality. He even tried to joke with Dean and Seamus about catching a bit of skirt, but their puzzled looks at his behaviour discouraged him from utilising that arena to reassure himself of his masculinity any longer. They were still giving him odd looks, he thought.

He was also unable to shake the image of Harry when wanking. Just the thought of Harry touching himself, twisting his own nipples, his hands trailing lower to fondle himself… made Neville come sooner and harder than he could even remember.

Harry certainly didn't help matters, either. Neville couldn't explain in words what it was he did, but it was all Harry's fault it was impossible not to watch him. Those thrice damned Sugar Quills.

Neville was rendered immobile for the entirety of their Charms lecture on Wednesday because of those Sugar Quills. Well, those, and Harry's lips, his teeth, and that tongue worrying, nibbling, and sucking on them. If Neville did not intrinsically believe in Harry's goodness, he would have thought he did it on purpose.

Neville let a whimper slip past in the otherwise empty bathroom as he rode out another orgasm induced by illicit thoughts including Harry, Sugar Quills, and edible ink, bracing himself against the shower wall.

"Hermione, can't we go now? We've got half of it done already, and it's not due until tomorrow afternoon!"

"Ron, stop whinging. You'll thank me tomorrow."

Ron silently mimicked her newest catchphrase, which made Harry chuckle.

Without looking up from her work, Hermione arched her eyebrow and said, "I saw that." The boys shared a stifled laugh before trudging onward through their DADA essay.

The common room was fairly hushed that hour; the only noise was the scratching of quills or a quiet murmur between study partners. Many of the upper years had a study break while most the other lower years were still in class. After dinner the common room returned to its usual lively and bustling self, but for now its use was primarily studying.

"Have—" Hermione hesitated in a quiet undertone. "Have you noticed anything different about Neville lately?" Harry and Ron looked to each other, shrugged, and shook their heads, but both were happy for the distraction from their essays.

"What do you mean, Hermione?" asked Ron.

"Well, I don't know if I can really explain it. He's been…withdrawn, I suppose. At times I think he looks a bit ill as well."

"I don't think he's sick," said Harry.

Hermione shook her head. "Neither do I, but he's been acting oddly. A bit quieter."

"How can you tell?" joked Ron. "It's not as if he speaks up much in the first place." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You know that's not what I mean." She bit her lip and hesitated a bit before asking, "Have either of you noticed him… fancying anyone?" Both Harry and Ron drew a blank.

"Oh! I remember him mentioning a girl in Ravenclaw, but that was ages ago," said Ron.

"Do you think he's depressed about a girl, Hermione?" asked Harry.

She bit her lip again. "Not about a girl," she said looking at them both pointedly.

Ron furrowed his brow in incomprehension. "What?" he asked, while Harry gave Hermione a wary glance.

"What are you on about, Hermione?" asked Ron again.

Exasperated, she said, "I said I don't think he's depressed about a girl, but a—," and left it at that.

A look of unadulterated horror grew on Ron's face. "You can't just go 'round saying that about people, Hermione!" He remembered where he was, and lowered his voice. "You could ruin a bloke's reputation with that in a second."

Hermione leant closer and hissed, "There's absolutely nothing wrong with being attracted to the same gender, Ronald, and I'm not even saying explicitly he is, I'm just making an observation and was wondering if anyone else noticed."

"Look, the last thing I need is to know there might be a bloke secretly checkin' me out. You can't just say someone's a poof for no reason!"

Hermione looked to Harry for help, but he avoided her eye. She sighed again.

"Look, Ron, I've seen him watching someone, and, well, it's a bit obvious, really."

"Bloody hell. He hasn't been checking me out, has he?" Ron's eyes grew to the size of saucers.

Hermione huffed and said, "Not everything is about you, Ron."

Immensely relieved, Ron leant back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. He became worried again and asked, "Well, who does he fancy? He needs a bit of warning if—"

"If what, Ron? Neville might jump him in the corridor for everyone to see? Or accost him in the shower? If it were a girl you wouldn't think it necessary for him have any sort of warning, since it's her private, personal feelings. How is that different from Neville?"

Ignoring her question, Ron asked, "Who is it, Hermione?" Hermione glanced at Harry for a moment before looking back down at her essay.

"You're being such an insensitive and immature prat about it, so for Neville's sake, I'm not going to tell you."

"Where do you get off calling me insensitive? I've listened to you for the past six years, haven't I?"

"Oh, so our entire friendship has been you turning a deaf ear to everything I say? You wouldn't have passed your second year exams without my help!"

At that, Harry took his essay upstairs to the dormitory. Ron and Hermione would be back to normal, if not by dinner, by breakfast the next day, but he preferred not to witness the increasingly caustic, yet relentless cycle once again. He paused halfway up the stairwell and frowned. Was Hermione right? Was Neville really gay? He wondered who it was he fancied.

The next morning, Hermione and Ron were still not talking, which at least made for a quiet, if not peaceful, breakfast. After Harry finished breakfast, Hermione motioned for him to follow her, and reluctantly, he did, out of the Great Hall and into an empty classroom.

Hermione shut the door and opened her mouth with a request on her tongue, but Harry stopped her short with a decisive, "No, Hermione."

Hermione deflated. "But Harry, it will be different—"

"No, Hermione, it won't. You saw the way he reacted yesterday. It's as if now he's more scared of that than an Acromantula." He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at his loose shoelace.

"Did you just make that stuff up about Neville?" he asked in a quiet voice.

Highly affronted, she answered, "Of course not! But I wouldn't have mentioned it to him if I didn't think it would warm him up to the prospect a bit."

Harry gave a wan smile.

A comfortable silence filled the room.

"I do plan on speaking to Neville, though."

Harry shook his head in alarm. "Hermione, don't you think it's best to let him tell someone on his own?"

"That's the thing, Harry. He probably never would. He must feel very isolated now, and I'd like to give him a chance to open up." She shrugged and added, "I'm even thinking of starting a support group." She gave him a winning smile.

Harry grimaced. "S.P.E.W. rears its ugly head," he said, laughing, before spending the rest of the morning break in the hospital wing nursing an uncommon amount of boils in the most peculiar places.

That Friday, a week and a day before the Hogsmeade trip, found Neville once again tending to the plants in the greenhouse. He was busy moving the Gurdyroot plant from the southwest corner of the greenhouse to the northeast. They reached the point in their maturation where the only sunlight they could tolerate was limited early morning light, compared with earlier in the season, when they needed full sun throughout the day to grow sufficiently.

He was halfway towards his goal when a geranium grabbed hold of the sleeve of his robes when he passed by too closely. He set down the heavy pot and was in the process of tickling the base of the flower to make it let go, when he heard someone call his name.

"Back here," he replied. The geranium finally let go, and he hoisted the pot again. He heard the approaching footsteps and saw Hermione coming towards him.

"Hullo, Hermione," he grunted. "Did you need something?"

Hermione came up, ready with a question, but stopped and gave him a puzzled look. "Neville, why don't you levitate the pot instead of carrying it? I'm sure it would save you a lot of time."

He gave a sheepish grin, and sat down the pot once again. "Well, the Gurdyroot is particularly sensitive and overall is quite a fussy plant, and doesn't like much magic around it. That," he added, "and you've seen me with magic, Hermione. I'm much less likely to muck it up without trying to use magic all the time."

Neville recognised the look of pity, and he brushed off her comment of, "Oh, Neville, don't discredit yourself like that. You're a great wizard," or other such nonsense he knew not to bother himself with.

He picked up the pot once again, and moved to go past her to the opposite corner of the greenhouse, but Hermione stopped him.

"Neville," she said, "I feel I need to speak to you about something." At her hesitant, anxious tone, Neville looked to the plants on his left and right for a clue of what she could want to talk about, and wiped off some of the dirt and dragon's dung from his hands onto his apron in apprehension.

"O-okay," he answered.

Hermione opened her mouth to begin, but closed it after a moment. She bit her lip, opened her mouth again, but only let out a sigh of frustration. Neville frowned at her odd behaviour. He couldn't remember the last time he saw Hermione struck speechless as she was now.

"You see, Neville, I—" she swallowed, "—that is, I've noticed…"

Neville hadn't the faintest clue what she was blathering on about, and was about to offer her assistance to the hospital wing when she blurted out –

"I know you're gay."

Her statement echoed in his mind, which was completely empty of any other activity. Neville heard the distant cooing and chatter of plants on the row adjacent to theirs, could feel the heat rising to his face in embarrassment, saw out of the corner of his eye the geranium about to attack his sleeve again, and the way Hermione shifted her weight between her feet, but none of these observations registered in his brain.

After what seemed an eternity he remembered how to breathe, and let a "What?" out, along with a rush of air.

"It's okay, Neville! I accept you!" Hermione jumped over the potted plant and hugged him around the middle.

He looked around the greenhouse, horror-struck and helpless as Hermione kept a firm embrace on his midsection. He finally disentangled herself from her arms, and bellowed, "What the BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON? IS THIS SOME KIND OF SICK JOKE?"

He looked about the greenhouse wondering when the world finally decided to go completely mad on him. He only wanted to get away, but the only exit was past Hermione, and he didn't want to risk getting too close lest he were attacked again. He began to back away slowly from her, and felt for his wand in his robes.

"Neville," she implored, "I understand! You're afraid what others will think, but you don't have to repress your feelings and emotions! If you feel attracted to boys, you should have the right—"

"I'M NOT ATTRACTED TO BOYS!"

"— to express those feelings. The wizarding world is so far behind in the rights of homosexual men —"

"I'M NOT GAY!"

"—and women compared to Muggles, it's despicable the way they just want to pretend they don't exist!"

"You're bloody mad, Hermione," Neville said in a grave, quiet tone, and damned the consequences as he pushed past her towards the door.

"But I want to help!" she cried as she jogged to catch up to him. "We could start a support group, and create a safe place for people to allow themselves to be who they really are." She stopped him at the door and looked at him imploringly.

Thoughts of S.P.E.W. flashed through his mind, and with an accusatory glare he said, "I'm not going to be the poster boy for your next project to help the oppressed, Hermione! I'm not gay! I like girls, for Merlin's sake!"

He threw open the door to the greenhouse and stalked across the lawn and into the castle. Neville raced up the steps to Gryffindor tower, and shut himself in his dormitory.

"Don't knock masturbation — it's sex with someone I love."
Woody Allen

Note: "È possibile che ha tendenze - omosessuali?" translates from Italian to "Is it possible that he has homosexual tendencies?" and is from the movie, the Talented Mr. Ripley. I had fun writing this chapter. Neville is way too fun to screw around with, lol.