Neville hummed to himself as he walked towards the Great Hall. He knew that Harry was still angry at him, but he also knew that they'd be able to work it out. "We're such a good couple," he told himself confidently, "Everyone says so, so it must be true."

He knew that Harry was mad at him. He wasn't deluded, or so he told himself. He knew the facts. "I still have a chance," he promised himself.

It had been a week since he and Harry had fought in Potions class, and he was certain the dark-haired boy had had enough time to cool down. Sure, Harry had pretended two nights ago that he didn't want to talk to Neville. But hadn't he read somewhere that exactly that meant the opposite? Or maybe it only applied to girls. He sighed. He supposed that it wouldn't hurt to try.

He walked through the double doors to the hall, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves and muster up some courage. Palms sweaty and clenched, he made his way towards Harry confidently.

He was relieved to see that no one else was at the table yet, except for two fifth years who sat at the opposite end. That would just make it all the easier to talk to him.

"Hullo, Harry," he said when he arrived beside him. He felt himself relax and let his hands loose.

Harry, surprised, look up at Neville. When he saw him, his expression changed into suspicion and slight worry.

"Hello, Neville," he returned pleasantly, turning his gaze back towards his plate.

Neville sat down next to him, back towards the table. "I was thinking," he began, "that maybe we could give going out another go, you know? Because I really liked it when we were together and…"

Harry didn't make any irregular movements and stayed perfectly still. "I don't think so," he told him quietly.

Neville brow furrowed, and he began to get nervous again. "I-I, I just thought that," he stumbled across his rehearsed words.

"The entire we were going out was a lie, Nev," Harry said sympathetically, shifting his eyes toward Neville, sadness etched into his eyes.

"I d-didn't even kn-know that," Neville protested.

"The only reason I went out with you was because I thought…" Harry chuckled to himself, though not trying to be unkind towards the other boy.

"B-but," Neville cut in.

Harry spoke over him, "I'm sure you'll see that we're really better off with other people…"

"I don't th-"

"I mean, not everyone can be like 'Mione and Ron and get it right one of the first t…"

"But I love you!"

Harry stopped talking abruptly and just stared at Neville, who flushed scarlet. They had now attracted the attention of the two fifth years, who were watching the scene intently.

"I-I love you," Neville repeated more calmly.

"Oh, Neville," Harry said sadly, shaking his head back and forth.

"I do," he said once more.

"I'm so sorry," Harry whispered. He got up to leave. "I just…I…" Harry fled.

Parvati, who was coming in the door while Harry was exiting, merely held the door open for him with an amused expression on her face. She smiled at Neville and came to sit by him, oblivious to the heartbroken state he was in.

"Have you heard, Nev?" she asked, dishing food onto her plate.

"Heard what, Parvati?" he inquired softly.

"Harry finally found the person who wrote all those notes to him—Blaise Zabini, can you imagine? They're officially going out. Isn't that just grand?"

"Hello, you," Blaise said as he walked lightly into the room, trying not to worsen the head ache that was left over from his illness. Harry, who was sitting with his back to him in the library, didn't move.

"Hi," was all that he said.

Blaise leaned down to press a kiss against his forehead, but found that Harry's face was hot and wet, residual of the crying he had been doing all afternoon. "What's wrong, love?" he asked, face contorted into a worried expression, which made his head ache worsen. He grunted as pain shot into the back of his forehead, and he sat down on the chair next to Harry.

"That!" Harry cried.

Blaise replied, "That really doesn't help me, I'm sorry."

Harry chuckled somberly. "Neville told me that he loved me," he said simply.

Blaise felt himself stiffen. It took all he could to unclench his jaw and ask, "And?"

"And what?" Harry asked exasperatedly.

"And how do you feel about that?" Blaise elaborated through his teeth.

Harry laughed darkly again. "Well, obviously, I'm upset," he replied, motioning towards his tear-stained face.

"What did you tell him?" Blaise inquired, hoping that the more they talked it over, the more he would calm down. He found himself counting to ten unconsciously and taking deep breaths.

"I…" Harry paused, rethinking their conversation. He finished, surprised at himself, "I didn't say anything. I just ran here and began to bawl like a first year."

Blaise didn't bat an eyelash toward Harry's self-deprecating comedy. "Do you love him back?" he asked bluntly.

"What?" Harry asked, eyes wide and confused. Blaise stared at him persistently. "Of course I don't!" he cried. "I've actually known you for less than a week, and I love you more than I loved him in the weeks that we went out," he confessed.

Blaise felt himself go loose once more. A tooth-bearing smile broke loose on his face, and he launched himself at Harry, tackle-taking him into his arms. Harry laughed and scootched over so that they could both sit there. "Oof," he grunted as Blaise's hip dug under his.

When they finished wrestling over their positioning on the chair, Blaise was sitting regularly and Harry was sprawled across him, legs off of the opposite arm of the chair and bottom half on Blaise's lap and half in the crevice Blaise didn't take up. Blaise drew him into an embrace.

"Don't be upset," Blaise consoled him, still holding him in his arms. Harry rested his head against Blaise's chin. He curled his legs behind Blaise's.

"I just think," Harry said, "that if I hadn't gone out with him in the first place, if I had known—and I should have known—this wouldn't be an issue."

Blaise snorted. Harry looked up at him in surprise. "As if," Blaise explained. "Neville clearly liked you for a very long time and only had the courage to ask you out when he did. And there was no way you could have known that it was me. Because I was too much of a coward to contradict you."

"Hey," Harry called him out softly, "You're not a coward. You gave me enough clues to find out who you are. And besides," he grinned, "This is my pity party, not yours."

Blaise smiled back. "You're right," he absolved.

"Of course I am."

Happy turkey day, everybody! Or for those who don't celebrate the murdering and pushing-onto-reservations of Native Americans, happy unbirthday! And if you got the reference in the latter, you get a cookie. *winks*

And a reviewer pointed out to me that a comment that I had written Daphne to make in chapter eleven could be interpreted to be really out of line and making unwarranted generalizations:

""Padma and I are just friends with benefits. I personally wouldn't be able to stand her should I be in a relationship with her, believe me, I've tried, and she's perfectly happy being bi." Daphne shrugged. "I'm an all-or-nothing-relationship kind of girl, I suppose.""

I'm correcting myself here and will go back in the chapter in a few moments and change this paragraph. I do not think that bisexuals are in any way more or less faithful than heterosexuals, homosexuals, asexuals, or any other sexual preferences. And I'm really, really, really sorry that it came off that way. I didn't mean it that way at all, and it really upsets me that I could have potentially hurt somebody by writing that.

So again, so, so sorry. I'll understand if people flame me for pointing this out. But understand if you do that, your cookie from above will be revoked as cookies really aren't that great burned.