Harry Potter and the Loo of Desire Chapter 15
This work is a parody of J.K Rowling's Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, and it is not endorsed by either J.K. Rowling or her publishers. As a parody, this work is protected under the Fair Use Doctrine.
The characterizations in this work deviate significantly from the original, and this does not imply these characterizations exist in the original work. The author received no financial compensation or endorsements for the production of this work.
All characters in this story are fictional. This story depicts sexual acts between consenting minor males. This story is meant for entertainment purposes only and in no way reflects reality. Please be aware of local laws or ordinances that may prohibit the reading of such material.
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Harry Potter and the Loo of Desire
(A Parody)
Chapter 15: Getting It In and Out is the Real Challenge
Three days later Ron still would not let the issue rest. Whenever he got a few moments alone with Harry, he brought up the subject. At first Harry tried to be nice, but to no avail. Then he tried getting angry, but Ron simply acted as though outbursts did not happen. Finally, Harry attempted to ignore the conversation altogether, but the Weasley bullheadedness made Ron dauntless. When it seemed the subject would not be forgotten, he finally gave in during potions class.
"Why is this such a big deal to you?" Harry asked his best friend.
Hermione immediately bowed out of the conversation, but Harry knew she listened.
"'Cause it not right of him to hide all that... Longbottomness, Harry," Ron rumbled as they chopped ingredients. "Who would've thunk he had all that going for him?"
"Me, and that's why I get to have it and you don't."
"You're being greedy, mate, and you were never like that."
"Tony Goldstein. Remember your time with Tony?" Harry parried and glanced around.
The potions master lay next to his desk and snored. A small puddle of greenish vomit pooled around his covered face. The entire classroom reeked of Absinthe, Muscatel, and something that might clearly be illegal in wizarding communities. Harry doubted a bomb would wake Professor Snape.
"We were just kids then, Harry. It's not the same now is it?" Ron deflected the criticism.
"Yes, Ron, it is the same. Neville might be my boyfriend, but I don't get to make the rules of what he does or doesn't want to do?" Harry rejoined.
"Why do you let him push you around like that? I never let Diktor say no."
"That's a load of hippogriff shit, and you know it. Diktor Kum could beat the red out of your pubes before you even blinked, so him not telling you no is not the same thing as you making the rules. He's only letting you think that!"
Ron's face fell a little. It appeared he understood the principle as well, but simply chose to frame it in a way that boosted his ego. Harry counted down in his head the number of ways Ron would refute the claim.
"Harry's right, you muttonhead," Hermione hissed before either could respond.
They all concentrated on the brewing their potions for a short while. Snape left explicit instructions on the blackboard, although the last item he never finished writing, and each student worked more or less independently for the time being. That day they needed to make a powerful cleaning agent that could remove grime and stains augmented by magic. Harry wondered what sort of mess Professor Snape made that would require so much cleaning solution. Then again, he thought, the potion could come in handy for particularly dirty sessions of sex.
"Never thought you'd turn on me like that, mate," Ron grumbled loud enough to be heard.
"Ron, shut it," Harry quietly snapped. "Where were you when I got nothing for over two... almost three solid months?"
"Diktor said you and him and Ass Cleft..."
"I asked about you," he interrupted Ron's tangential response.
Ron suddenly became very interested in the recipe. All around them the other potions students struggled to finish the very complicated recipe by the end of class. Fortunately for the class Séamus gave up early and sat under his desk using a Wiz-Viz Tuner in order to chat with someone else in the castle. Harry thought he recognized the voice, and it astonished him even if only a little.
"Are you the first guy he's ever been with?" Ron grudgingly asked and lived up to his inability to ignore what he considered a juicy topic.
"Yeah, I think so, and -- before you ask -- he was never a breeder. Just shy," Harry answered since the question came from his best mate.
"I guess. It sure looked like he knew how to suck a willy. Him shooting all over your face was priceless, Harry."
"Ew!" Hermione groaned in disgust.
"What's he putting in you? Seventeen centimeters?" Ron continued as if their friend never lodged a complaint of sorts.
"Yeah... around there. Fits me perfect," Harry replied.
"One more word about Neville's sausage and I'll beat you to death with this spoon!"
Everyone in class stopped talking and looked at her. Hermione swung her head around and potions appeared to magically become more interesting than her comments. She then glared at her two best friends.
"We're not done with this discussion, Harry," Ron warned.
"Only if you talk to Neville first about it," Harry countered.
His best male friend shot him a fierce look. The continued working on their potions. Unlike most times in Professor Snape's class, no one got sent to the infirmary. The professor lay quietly in the floor next to his desk, and the students let him be. A few checked to make sure the man continued to breathe.
At dinner the next evening Professor Dumbledore proclaimed May first as the date for the third and final challenge. Within the dining hall four people glanced knowingly at one another as the headmaster guaranteed it would be an event to remember. Harry did not doubt that in the least. Since discussing the possible nature of the last task with the other champions, it seemed reasonable to assume Dumbledore would attempt to kill them all again and make it look like an accident. However, as they learned with the Merscots, forewarned meant they could prepare.
In the meanwhile, a silent stand-off took shape between Harry and Ron. The dormmates noticed it straight away, and Neville made a few remarks and did not press the point. Harry adamantly maintained that Ron needed to broach the subject with Neville. The supposed shyness of Harry's boyfriend did not leave many opportunities as far as Harry could tell, unless Ron decided to venture into the greenhouses where Neville spent half of his free time when not with Harry. That gave Harry an idea. It took him a week to sort out his approach.
"Where is Madam Sprout?" Harry asked as he and his boyfriend spent an afternoon de-rooting planting boxes. The wore lined, thick gloves so the remains of the frost plants would not burn their skin.
"Don't really know to tell you the truth," Neville replied as frozen vapor wafted up from the planter on which he worked. "She usually tells me in class what days she could use me, and then I find a list of items to take care of."
"Odd, don't you think?"
Neville gave him a long, searching look that asked Harry to remember where they went to school.
"I know, I know," Harry sheepishly responded to the expression. The temperature around him dropped as he unearthed the icy roots. His breath came out in a small plume. "But with all you do and she never told where she's off to. Wonder why?"
His boyfriend set down his trowel coated with frost, fixed Harry with a hard stare, and said: "All right: out with it. You're trying to get some information out of me about Madam Sprout. What do you want to know and why?"
Harry blinked in surprise that Neville figured him out so quickly.
"You talk in your sleep, Harry. You've been plotting to talk to me about this for at least three or four days. You kept mumbling something about a charm and Madam Sprout's skills. Why?"
Harry could see no way around explaining everything, and he hated keeping some parts secret from his boyfriend, so he told Neville all he and Diggory discovered and the discussion between the tournament champions. As he finished, Neville appeared a little distressed.
"So there's no mud gnomes out there?" Came Neville's first question.
"None that we could see. If you look at the holes with your peripheral vision, you can see there's something not right about whole area. It gets worse if you stare at the fappitch stadium long enough. Once we got through the glamour, there was no pitch at all," Harry told him.
"I don't get why you suspect Hagrid is on on this."
"He is the grounds keeper, don't forget, and I think he actually has first say about what can and can't be done with certain areas. You've never seen him baby and talk to the fappitch pitch, Neville. He treats it like it's his own flesh and blood. Besides, Cedric was the one who remembered seeing Hagrid wandering around with loads and loads of soil and fertilizer."
The two teenagers stood on opposite sides of a planting table. Harry fiddled with his gloves because he could see the news disturbed Neville on some personal level. He suspected Madam Sprout keeping such a large secret from him to be the true source. Of all the students in all the years, Neville reigned at the top of the list for herbology. Even Hermione acknowledged it.
"And Professor Flitwick charmed it," Neville half-whispered another assumption about the situation.
"We all agreed it was either him or Professor Dumbledore. Madam Maximus specializes in charms, too, but not like that. Foul said hers is more personal and localized. Krackhead is into dark arts according to Kum. That doesn't leave a big list of people who can pull off this type of magic... even just the size of it alone would need a powerful wizard," Harry reiterated what he stated once.
His boyfriend nodded and said: "Good reasoning. Very solid. Makes perfect sense."
"So what are you thinking?"
"Madam Sprout has got to be involved. I've seen her come back covered in dirt and mud. She also looked a little worried, but she never told me what she got up to, Harry. I swear I didn't know a thing about this."
"Do you understand why I had to find out and ask you?" Harry gingerly inquired.
"'Cause it's who you are and you don't know when to quit when something doesn't make sense to you," Neville responded and grinned. "You and Ass Cleft make a pretty good team when you put your heads together."
Harry felt himself overreact to the remark and said: "You know I'm not interested in... well, only on the physical level. I like him, Neville, but you're the one I fell in love with. I don't want you to get jealous."
The two boys eyed one another for half a minute. Harry did worry that Neville might misinterpret his intentions with exceptionally handsome Cedric Diggory. However, the taller of them started to smile.
"No, I'm not jealous. Well, maybe about that one time between you, him, and Diktor, but who wouldn't be?"
They grinned at each other. It made Neville quite randy to hear some about some of Harry's exploits, and he liked details. At night they would lie under the covers and Harry would tell Neville some of the filthiest stories he could remember.
"Speaking of jealousy," Neville said and became serious. "Tell Ron if he wants to wiggle his way into our bed, he's going to have to talk to me directly."
Harry's mouth fell open.
"You've been talking about that in your sleep as well."
"This isn't fair, you know? You don't even have to work at worming information out of me: you only need to wait until I fall asleep," Harry exclaimed, and he heard the reproval in his voice.
Neville looked stunned.
"I need to see Madam Pomfrey to find out if there's a way I can stop this."
"Harry, I'm not spying on you if that's what you think," Neville rapidly said and sounded a bit panicked.
"What if I didn't want you to know what Ron was going on about? I already told him he had to talk to you first," he replied and tried to keep the frustration out of his voice. "It's not your fault, Neville, and I know that. It just scares me that I might reveal something someone else told me to hold in confidence. Makes me as bad as Séamus."
"No one is that bad."
Harry nodded in agreement.
"Does this mean you won't share a bed with me `til you get talking in your sleep sorted out?"
"What?" Harry said in surprise, and he saw the look on his boyfriend's face. "No. That'd be stupid."
"Do you still trust me?" Neville inquired, and the fear lacing his words could not be feigned.
Harry walked around the table and up to his taller boyfriend. He slipped his arms around Neville's waist and stared into the blue eyes etched with worry. The corners of his mouth curled upward.
"Neville, I've known you for almost four years now, and you probably know as much about me as Ron or Hermione. Maybe more `cause of all those years you watched and heard everything going on in our room, and you never said a word to anyone as far as I can tell," Harry intoned with complete confidence and serious. "I'd wager there are more than a few things you know about me and Ron that Hermione don't. So do I trust you? I think I always have to be honest."
Neville started to smile as well.
"I'm not angry with you. I'm angry with myself because I've known about talking in my sleep for ages, and I haven't done anything to stop it. I need to get it under control, Neville," he said and saw a flicker of worry on the long face in front of him. "And not so I can hide things from you: just so I've got enough time to sort through something before I do tell you. You do get I pretty much blab everything to you sooner or later, right?"
The smirk on Neville's face grew wider and he replied: "Yeah, I do. That's part of what amazes me so much about you, Harry: all that faith you put in me. Sometimes I get afraid I might let you down."
"I don't think you would, or if you did it wouldn't be on purpose. You not that kind of person, Neville. I know deep down in my gut you wouldn't ever deliberately try to hurt me. It's what makes me feel so safe with you."
His boyfriend wrapped him in a tight hug. Harry heard Neville take in a shuddering breath. The embrace lingered.
"Stop thinking you're not worthy of this from me, Neville," Harry second-guessed what his boyfriend thought.
"No one ever..."
"And it's their loss," and he would not let Neville finished the statement. "I keep telling you that and I'll keep telling you `til it sinks in, Neville Longbottom. It pretty much might be I'm not the one worthy of what you think and give to me. Can I tell you something that'll either make you laugh or send you into a fit?"
Neville loosened his his hold and leaned back. Harry saw complete curiosity on his visage even before the head began to nod. He took a moment to savor the sight.
"Every day I feel like I have to prove to you I deserve what you feel for me," Harry said in a plain voice.
"Don't be a prat," Neville chided him.
"I'm serious, Neville," Harry stated and refused to back down. "Every day I wake up and see you next to me and I think it's the safest place in the world. I never had that. The Dursleys never made me feel like that. The Weasleys love me and treat me like one of their own, but with you... it's really, really personal. I want you to love me, Neville, I want you to have all the reasons in the world to stay in love me. That's what I mean by I have to prove myself to you."
"But you do, Harry," his boyfriend said in the same tone. "I keep telling you it's the small things like sitting next to me to just read. Sometimes it's when you lean against me... or when you walked by me in the common room and drag your hand over my shoulders. It tells me I'm the one you picked to pay attention to. Me. Neville Longbottom: the boy nobody ever noticed `til you came along."
"We're doing it again."
"I know."
Harry squeezed Neville, and got the same in return. He recalled the times when he saw people in the hallways who held hands or hugged or kissed, and he felt envious. Often it made him angry when he would see two people break off their relationship for ridiculous reasons. He let out with a long exhale.
"You're thinking something, Harry. What is it?" Neville prodded him.
"Just thinking of those couples I would see in the school who looked so much in love one day and then the next day they'd fight and break up over something stupid. I wanted to yell at them that they didn't understand what they were giving up so easily. It... I don't know," Harry huffed out his answer.
"I felt the same way. They had what I didn't, and I couldn't understand why they would just throw it away like they could go into the Snogsmeade and find a new person. It made me jealous... envious because I didn't think it would ever happen to me."
"Same here. I thought being the Boy-Who-Came kept people away from me."
"It does. It's not your fault, but it does. I've seen it happen."
Harry pulled his head back and a fierce gaze settled on his face.
"I never wanted to tell you this, but you do deserve to know, Harry, and you already know for the most part," Neville told him in a guarded manner. "I told you people talk in front of me like I'm not there or invisible."
Harry nodded.
"I heard guys say you were fun to have sex with, but they couldn't imagine dating you what with all you'd been through. They thought it was... scary... or at least really strange and they said they didn't want to have anything to do with you for more than one afternoon. There's a rumor that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Fucked is going to hunt you down and make you like him."
"That's... well, he might try if he wasn't stuck sharing bodies with people, but I'd never let him make me like him. I'd fight him to the death first," Harry reacted to one part, and then thought of the other. "People really believe that, and it's why I couldn't get a boyfriend before?"
Neville shrugged.
"Are you afraid that might happen?"
"If... Holdequart tries, then I'll fight right next to you. He'd have to kill me to get to you!"
For Neville to use a name Harry knew terrified him, a condition bred into the wizarding community through gossip, innuendo, and superstition, meant more to him than he could explain in that moment. Instead, he hauled Neville's face down to his and let an extremely passionate kiss do the talking. Neville responded in kind. They started to grind against one another as their desires began to surface. Per their particular standard the greenhouse proved to be a potent aphrodisiac. As Harry got more and more engaged with the kiss, even to the point where he began pulling at Neville's clothing, Neville disengaged.
"Work first, sex later," the taller of the two teenager panted.
"Dammit!" Harry growled through a wanton grin.
A rare kind of smile crossed Neville's face, and it melted Harry's heart. It did not diminish the passion he felt, but a new context got added. It made the moment more memorable, and Harry decided to add to it.
"Ass Cleft is beautiful, and he is a big bucket of pure sex," Harry said in a rough voice. "Diktor's got an amazing body and knows what to do with it. Ron can fuck with the best of them. Half the guys in this castle are very good looking and amazing at sex."
Neville appeared confused.
"And I would still rather have you than any of them. There is more beauty in you, Neville, than ten Cedric Diggorys. You got a body you earned by working for others because you're generous with yourself instead of playing a silly game. And each time I feel you in me, I know it's you and it's the best sex I can imagine. It's because of what's in here," and Harry tapped Neville's chest," that makes it all so much better. I'd take you any day of the week over anyone else."
"You're only saying that to make me fall in love with you, aren't you?" His boyfriend said and smirked.
"Ah, duh! Did it work?"
"Totally."
They kissed again with the same fiery passion. This time Neville forgot all about the planters as they sank to the floor. It did not take long before the windows began to fog over.
The last of March passed and April arrived with better weather. The days warmed up, although the rain continued to fall. Harry made a secret trip to Madam Pomfrey, and she taught him a spell that would clamp his mouth shut while he slept. Thus, he managed to put aside his worries about the next challenge and focus on both his boyfriend and his studies. Each day he and Neville seemed to become more firmly embedded in each other's life in complex and subtle ways. They continued to astound those around them because they did not need to spend each waking moment attached at the hip. They pursued individual interests, but always returned to each other every night to share their experiences. Both also started to note strange happenings with other boys in the school.
"McLaggen hit on me again," Neville said as he and Harry sat at table in the common room trying to complete homework. "That's the third time."
"I told you the boys would notice all that goodness you kept hidden for so long," Harry warmly replied without looking up.
"Harry, he was serious."
"I know he was. He hit on me, too."
"When?" Neville queried.
"Two days ago in the library. He got shushed," Harry answered and chuckled at the memory.
"Danny Kershaw did the same thing last week," his boyfriend whispered.
Harry finally looked up. He smiled at Neville. Neville wore a perplexed expression.
"Part of it is because you're not available anymore. It makes you more attractive. It's like saying you can't have something, and then that's all you can think about. Hermione explained it to me," he said.
"It's kind of embarrassing really. I'm not used to this sort of attention," Neville grumbled.
"From what I can gather it's a bit of reverse psychology going on. If you got around with the guys, you and me dating wouldn't be that big of a deal. Since I'm your first boyfriend and your mine, they want to know why and maybe -- just maybe -- get a taste of it. Happens with the girls, too," Harry further explained.
"It doesn't bother you?"
"Nah. Have fun with it. Flirt back. Lead `em on if you want, and then let `em know you're exclusive. It'll make the boys crazy and they'll want you more."
"Isn't that sort of like playing exploding snap and with petrol at the same time?" Neville cautious asked.
"In what way?" Harry queried with real curiosity.
"Well, what if it's in a secluded spot and he starts..." and Neville glanced around to see if anyone listened, "you know, starts taking off clothes."
"Oh, that's easy. Just point at his tadger and ask if that's all he's got. Works a treat and kills the mood every time."
Neville let out with a loud bark of laughter that drew looks from others. Unlike being in the library, nobody shushed them.
"You're having one on me, aren't you?" Harry's boyfriend simultaneously chuckled and mumbled.
"Nope. I've done that myself with some of the first years who can't take a hint," Harry stated. Then he, too, glanced around in a conspiratorial fashion. "Did, ah, Ron ever talk to you?"
"Not even once. I even half-invited him, too, but he just turned red and walked away. I really want to find out what he has to say."
"I'm not surprised to hear that. Ron likes to be the assertive one. I think that's what finally turned him off from Colin. Colin didn't have any problem saying what he wanted even if he couldn't deliver most of the time like Ron claimed."
"Well, Colin is dating someone from Ravenclaw..." Neville began to say as he toyed with a quill.
"Hufflepuff... Ernie MacMillan. Saw them shagging in Sinistra's classroom over the weekend. Didn't seem like Colin couldn't deliver by the look on Ernie's face," Harry interrupted and provided what information he knew.
Harry watched the visage of Neville change. A downcast look started on his forehead and drifted down to his mouth. It seemed odd given the current topic. The quiet of the common room, an indication that people needed to study more than mess around as the end of the school year hove into view, added to the overall mood at the small table where they sat.
"Neville?" Harry quietly used the name to ask the larger question.
"Is there something wrong with me, Harry?" Neville rejoined in a flat tone, but did not wait for an answer. "I know I'm not a breeder, never was, but... why can't I do stuff with guys like you or Ron... or even Colin and feel good about it? It's like something is stuck in my head."
"There's nothing wrong with you. Who says everyone has to act or be the same? You're you, Neville, and it's as close to perfect as I've even seen... at least for me."
"Stop filling my head with fluff."
"It's not fluff, Neville," Harry rejoined and let some anger show. Neville glanced up at him in a flash. "I don't say things just to make you feel better. I tell you what I think... what I feel, and I mean it. You're being a git comparing yourself to me or Colin... or even Ron. I always saw it as you saving yourself for a relationship that's more solid and real. It's why I work so hard in making sure I live up to your standards. Made me a better person, too."
Neville blinked and said nothing.
"Quit it," he rumbled at his boyfriend. "I've said that to you at least a dozen times. I know you probably won't believe this, but do you how good it made me feel when I told Ass Cleft no the last time he wanted to sleep with me? He even seemed proud of me. Actually, he said it."
"Most people would say you're daft for turning him down," his boyfriend said with a modicum of humor.
"And nobody else gets to crawl into your bed and hold you like I get to, so I'd say I get a lot more out of saying no than yes."
The look Neville gave him Harry learned to interpret several weeks before. It spoke of love and fear of losing it. Harry understood that. He could not begin to formulate how to keep a relationship on track, but he knew he loved Neville in a way he never loved another person and it terrified him to think it might disappear some day. Thus, the expression on Neville's face said how much he wanted to be loved and how scared it made him feel he might be wrong about the person with whom he fell in love. In some respects, Harry wished he garnered more experience in relationships.
"Come on," he finally broke the strangely tense silence and began to pack his books and supplied away. "I need to show you something."
"All right," Neville quietly said and also started organizing his things.
When they both got prepared, Harry grabbed Neville's hand. They went to the stairs leading upward, and then climbed to the fourth-year dorm. Harry pulled Neville into their empty chambers. In the room, he pushed his boyfriend into a sitting position. He dropped his book bag, and shucked off his shoes. Neville's eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out Harry's intent. With a skill borne of much practice, Harry slowly stripped until he stood naked in front of Neville. His pecker became semi-rigid.
"I want you to look at me," he instructed Neville.
"Oh, I am," Neville gamely replied and reached for his tie.
"No. Hands down and really look at me," Harry ordered the shy teenager.
Neville did as requested. Harry stood with his arms held out and his legs spread as if imitating the famous painting Vitruvian Man by the famed mage who masqueraded as a muggle artist, Leonardo da Vinci. Harry tried to remain motionless. He said nothing for nearly a minute.
"Do you see anything that makes me any more special than anyone else?" Harry inquired.
"I see you, Harry, and that's pretty damn special," Neville rejoined.
"But is there anything on the surface, other than that fucking scar, that really makes me different from other boys?"
Neville slowly shook his head back and forth.
"Good, now stand up and take off your clothes," Harry again ordered his boyfriend.
Neville gradually got to his feet and continued to stare at Harry as if Harry might possibly be going around the bend as so many predicted he would year after year. He carefully removed his clothing piece by piece, folded them, and set the items on the bed until he stood in only his underwear. Neville stopped.
"Those, too," Harry told him and pointed to the baggy boxers.
Neville turned a light shade of pink as he complied. Unlike Harry, his penis stood fully erect. Harry's swelled a bit more in reaction to the sight. However, Harry remained focused on his intent.
"I see you naked, Neville, and... well, you can see what it physically does to me," he remarked as his pecker finished standing up. "But this -- these bodies -- aren't what fell in love with each other. It's what's up here in our heads and here, even though hearts just pump blood, but you know what I mean."
Neville nodded.
"I don't care if we have sex, Neville," Harry continued. "I mean, I'll take it whenever I can get it, but that's not what I really want. I just want to feel certain you'll be there for me when I need you, and I sure as hell hope you know I'm trying to do the same for you. I just want to be near you. I want to feel your hand in mine. I don't want to feel alone and scared all the time. You make me feel part of something bigger, stronger than me. I'm not afraid when I'm with you. That's what you do for me."
He gestured to their naked bodies as two tears edged out of his eye and ran down the sides of his face. Harry could not recall when he spoke with such complete honesty and openness to another person. It made him feel vulnerable in ways that did scare him, but he wanted Neville to know what the presence of the quiet young man did for him. He saw Neville's eyes sparkle, and then well up. Tears also streaked his boyfriend's face.
"Sometimes," Neville croaked in a hoarse voice. "Sometimes I think this a dream, and I'm going to wake up and it'll all be like it was at the beginning of the year. I haven't even told my gran yet `bout me and you. I wanted something like this, someone like you, so bad for so long I don't trust that it's real, Harry. Does that make sense?"
Harry nodded and walked to the young man who appeared absolutely petrified. Harry pressed as much of his naked body against his boyfriend's naked form as he could. It did feel like a dream, and yet Harry knew it to be very real. He held Neville while Neville folded him into a hug.
"I really am here, Neville. And I really do love you," Harry whispered but loud enough to be heard.
He heard Neville sob once, and the long carriage of the teenager vibrated a little. Harry's emotions surged at such a high rate his fingers started to tingle. In his mind he recited over and over how deep his feelings ran for Neville, young though he might be, and started to see forever stretch out and Neville's hand stayed clasped in his hand the entire way. In that vision he sensed happiness and security.
"Harry," Neville said in a light voice. "Stop tickling me."
"I'm not tickling you. I'm just holding you," Harry told him.
Neville began to squirm. Finally, the teenager unwrapped Harry's arms from around him. He then held Harry's hands, palm up, between them. Both boys gasped. From Harry's hands small motes of light, like illuminated golden glass beads, floated upward and dissipated several inches above. Harry gazed up at Neville who with a wondrous expression fixed to his visage appeared more beautiful than any other living person person he ever saw. Neville gradually looked away from Harry's hands and peered into the emerald eyes. A smile of pure joy seemed to infuse his features. A tickling sensation teased Harry's hands. He glanced down and saw the same minuscule lights rising from Neville's appendages.
"You're sparkling," Harry giggled.
"You started it," Neville replied and snickered as well.
"What is this?"
Neville shrugged and continued to quietly laugh. Harry lifted his hands and ran them down Neville's chest. The taller of the teenagers managed to hum and snicker at the same time. Neville then slid his hands around Harry's side and down to the buttocks. A strange, wonderful feeling skittered across his flesh wherever Neville touched him. He wanted more. He wanted it from Neville. It seemed natural when they fell into each other. Their mouths connected, and Harry felt as though he dined on raw lightning. His entire body seemed electrified. The two boys fell to the side and onto Harry's bed.
"I don't know what this is, but I don't ever want it to stop," Neville breathlessly spoke after lifting his head a little.
"Mmm-hmm," Harry agreed and resumed the kiss.
The situation evolved rapidly from there. It only took a matter of minutes before they fondled and stroke each other's pulsing erections. Wherever Neville's hand touched Harry, it felt like a light discharge of static electricity. It even crackled a few times. They chuckled when it did. Stroking lead to more kissing that lead nibbling. They teased one another with their lips and small nips in sensitive places. Words did not pass between then, yet Harry believed he knew exactly what Neville thought. An overwhelming urge to completely give himself over rose to the fore. However, he did not want to rush. Harry wanted events to play out naturally between them.
Ten minutes later, perhaps more since time seemed warped to Harry, they began feasting on each other's straining young manhood. Harry's mouth engulfed Neville's stiff pole and he took it as far into his throat as he could. He inhaled the hidden scent of his boyfriend. It made his senses swim. Moreover, Neville took the same approach. For weeks he worked on it, and that evening he managed a feat he swore he would master. Harry felt the shy teenager's nose press against his scrotum. Jubilation coursed through him. The two boys nuzzled faces into crotches as they sought to bring as much pleasure to the other as they could, all the while receiving the same. A small eternity passed in a state of stupendous delight. It amazed Harry when he did not ejaculate, yet something tugged at him wanting more.
Harry reluctantly freed his face. Neville did the same, and appeared to do so with the same reluctance. After spinning around on his butt, he prepared trap Neville in a hug, but Neville proved quicker. Arms made strong by constantly working in the gardens and greenhouses snagged Harry. His back got pulled into Neville's chest as an almost crushing embrace ensnared him. Harry willingly gave into it. Kisses got dotted along his neck and shoulders.
"You own me," Neville whispered.
"No," Harry instantly rejected the idea. "We give. We accept. We don't take. We don't trap. Whatever we do, we do it freely."
"Then I freely give myself to you, Harry Potter."
"And I freely give myself to you, Neville Longbottom."
Harry twisted his head to the side and lips found his. Neville's long hand slid up and down from Harry's neck to his stomach and back again. Tendrils of current followed wherever the fingers roamed. Neville took Harry's quivering erection gently in hand. It felt like a ten thousand volts ran through Harry. Harry slid his hand between their bodies and found the hard, hot shaft. He latched onto it. Neville gasped into his mouth. A need, not a want, drove Harry. He freed his lips and whispered a word. The hand grasping Neville became slick, as did the object it held. They continued kissing even as Harry's right leg rose and crossed over his boyfriend's thigh.
What Harry needed became apparent as the slippery shaft slid between his buttocks. Neville retracted his hips, and it allowed Harry to align everything. A soon as the spongy head of erection nestled into the wrinkled opening, Neville began to press forward. Harry pressed backward. The two gradually became one as Neville entered Harry. Both sighed with unadulterated pleasure born of their feelings. Harry nearly wept with happiness when he felt Neville's hips press firmly against his buttocks. He broke the kiss and arched his back in an effort to get every millimeter into him. Neville thrust forward with more force.
"Oh, god, I love you, Neville," Harry mumbled as he drifted through ocean of emotions.
"I love you, Harry," Neville whispered into Harry's ear.
Neville then began to rock his hips back and forth, sliding in and out of the one he tightly held. Harry leaned his head back against the shoulder of the teenager who filled him to perfection. A slow, steady rhythm took shape. Harry imagined he could feel the energies crackling between their bodies as they made love. Neville stroked the hard organ in his hand in counter-tempo to his thrusts. The passion in that moment seemed like fire as they expressed themselves to each other without words but with very serious intent. Harry knew he would always know exactly what it meant to be connected to another person, and fervently hoped Neville experienced the same. Time seemed meaningless as they joined in pure emotion.
Somehow Harry's mind recorded a voice that sounded oddly like Séamus' saying: "Laddy, there's no place there for you."
"Ain't that the truth," he recalled Ron's seemingly sad response.
The novel parts of this work, including characters, plot, and setting, are licensed under
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The characters, plot, and settings originating in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire remain licensed to J.K. Rowling.