Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/400997.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Neville_Longbottom/Harry_Potter
  Character:
      Neville_Longbottom
  Additional Tags:
      Community:_reversathon, 5_Things, Masturbation
  Stats:
      Published: 2005-07-03 Words: 2432
****** Five Wanks that Never Happened ******
by Memorycharm_(tzy)
Summary
     A 'five things' fic starring Neville and er... wanking.
Notes
     Written for the 2005 HP reversathon on LJ. The request was: Neville
     or Neville/Harry, please include wanking in front of someone, whether
     as just part of the plot or the main event.
1. Pretend
People said it might have been him. They whispered and pointed and said, "Can
you believe?"
Neville tried to ignore the talk, but it was difficult with nearly every
student in Hogwarts staring at him (or Harry, or him and Harry, which was
somehow worse) constantly.
Ever since the Prophecy had been revealed (and published in nearly every paper,
except for the Quibbler, which dismissed it as 'Ministry claptrap'), and people
had done the maths to figure out which Wizard children had been born at the
specified time, Neville had joined Harry at the center of public speculation.
It wouldn't be so bad, except for the near-ubiquitous incredulity. Neville knew
he wasn't as brave or clever or wonderful as Harry Potter, but that didn't mean
he liked being reminded of it every five seconds.
And Harry was wonderful, Neville thought, sneaking a glance across the table at
Harry. Harry was clever and handsome and kind, and- and just wonderful. Harry's
eyes met Neville's briefly, and he smiled. Neville looked away and blushed
behind his fringe.
 
At night, the Gryffindor boys had an unspoken agreement: you could wank all you
like, but be quiet about it, and never talk about it. In fact, it was best if
you pretended no one ever did it at all.
Neville did his best to pretend, but Harry's bed was right next to his, and
Harry did not do it very often at all, so when he did, it was especially
noticeable. Or, at least, that's what Neville told himself.
Harry was so quiet, Neville wasn't even sure he was really doing it, so he
tucked down under his covers and peeped over. Sure enough, there was that
familiar rhythmic movement under Harry's blanket. Neville's breath caught in
his throat, and he couldn't tear his eyes away. What did Harry's prick look
like, or feel like, he wondered, then blushed deeply at the thought.
The urge to grab his own cock and pull along with Harry--to stroke himself
until they came in tandem--was painful. He resisted, and then when he couldn't
any longer, he pressed his palm over his prick, outside his pyjamas, trying to
will his erection away. It didn't work.
Harry exhaled suddenly, and his strokes slowed. Neville whimpered; Harry must
have come. Harry looked over, directly at Neville. "Go on," he whispered.
Neville flushed deep red. Harry wanted him to-- Harry wanted him--
His hand moved to his waistband and under, to his cock, and pulled it out.
Harry gasped. Neville swallowed and met Harry's eyes. They were bright and
intensely focused on watching Neville. Harry really wanted to see, Neville
thought, surprised.
"Why me?" he said under his breath.
"Why not?" Harry answered with a grin.
Neville grinned in return. Why not, indeed?

 
2. Rumours
"That's Neville Longbottom," a Slytherin girl whispered, pointing. Neville
frowned and hunched his shoulders. The gossip never got any easier. He
quickened his pace, so he wouldn't have to hear the next part, where the girl
would tell her friend, "His parents were tortured by Death Eaters, and they're
in the loony bin. They say he was there when it happened, and that's why his
brain is so addled."
"Really?" the girl's friend would say, shocked.
"Yeah. Gilderoy Lockhart told us all about it when he was our Defence
professor. So be careful you don't catch his madness," the Slytherin girl would
say, folding her arms across her chest with authority.
It was what everyone said. Don't catch his madness.
After Professor Lockhart had announced he was personally seeking a cure for the
tragic, tragic--and so brave!--Longbottoms, nearly everyone had changed.
Suddenly, girls were coming up to him and placing sympathetic hands on his
shoulders. Boys would either stare or refuse to meet his eyes. Even Professor
Snape stopped picking on him quite so much.
It was awful. Neville hated the stares and the sympathy and the nervous 'how do
I speak to him?' air most people had about them. He started withdrawing,
pulling deep within himself.
It got worse after third year, in Defence class, when his Boggart was Bellatrix
Lestrange. His Riddikulus transformed her into a writhing, screaming doll, with
broken legs and a missing glass eye. He laughed, while the rest of the class
stared in horror.
Word spread quickly--Longbottom was off his rocker, and ought to be avoided.
Fourth year cemented it. He'd punched the wall and broken all his fingers when
he found out about Professor Moody. Rumours went around that he'd sworn bloody
vengeance against the Death Eaters (and all their kin) who had tortured his
parents.
The DA helped, a bit, in fifth year. Neville worked on his Defence skills with
a single-minded passion, and he stuck close to Harry. Harry knew about
fighting, real fighting, and Neville wanted to learn.
He started coming early and staying late for DA meetings, for extra practice.
The first time he saw Harry going at it was after a DA meeting, when Neville
had gone back to ask Harry a question about jinxes.
Harry had been on the sofa, his prick in hand. He hadn't seemed to notice
Neville.
Neville had watched, fascinated as Harry brought himself off. How could Harry
have time for such things, when he had to be ready for a fight at any time?
Neville himself refused to waste time on anything so... distracting.
Still... he watched, and kept watching, after every meeting. The image of Harry
wanking began to burn itself into Neville's brain, and he started to think,
perhaps there were other things besides vengeance and anger.
But that was madness, of course.

 
3. War
The Siege of Hogwarts was entering its fifth year when the firsties started
pairing off. (Everyone still called them firsties, even though they'd be in
their fifth years, if everything had gone on normally.) The staff tried to
prevent it, but the attempt was half-hearted at best. They might stand five
years against the Dark Lord, but they knew they wouldn't last five minutes
against the hormones of a load of fifteen-year-olds.
Of course, there had been some playing about before, but this year... this
year, it all seemed more serious. They were nearly adults, and would be
expected to join the defences soon. Percy asked Professor McGonagall if there
were anyone able to perform marriages in the school, and instead of making a
joke, Ron had waited for the answer, then went off with a serious look on his
face.
After morning Defence drills with Snape, Neville and Harry were in the showers.
They'd stayed late, going over the drills with fierce intensity. Harry because
he was Harry, and Neville because he never felt confident until he could do the
spells in his sleep.
In the showers, Harry bathed quickly and efficiently. Neville took his time.
Firsties didn't get much time on their own, not since Gregory Goyle had got
snatched while sneaking food from the kitchens, and Neville had learned to
savour it. "Do you miss your family? The Muggles?" he asked Harry, not wanting
to be completely alone just yet.
"No," Harry said.
"Oh," Neville said. Harry never spoke much about, well, anything. "I hope my
gran is all right. I haven't got an owl in nine months," he said absently,
using a cloth to wash his stomach. His prick twitched.
"I- I'm sure she is," Harry said thickly. He ducked his head under the shower
spray again, even though he'd already washed his hair.
Neville grinned, and swished the cloth lower. Harry blushed, but kept his eyes
on Neville, his own hand sliding around the slick flesh of his hips and
stomach.
They stood under the water like that, frozen for a few moments, until Neville
dropped the cloth and grabbed his semi-erect prick. Harry stared, then quickly
followed suit.
The water made Neville's skin slippery and sensitive. He fisted the head of his
cock until he was fully erect, then waited to see if Harry would do the same.
He did.
Slowly, Neville started stroking his cock, and Harry mirrored his every move.
They stroked together, in perfect rhythm, speeding up at the same time, and
almost--almost--coming at the same time.
Neville rinsed his hands in the shower, and walked on unsteady legs over to
Harry. His voice sounded stern and cold in the tiled room, unlike him at all.
He touched Harry's shoulder and drew him close. Harry shivered and relaxed
against Neville's solid body.
"It's you and me now, yeah?" he said, his lips moving against Harry's forehead.
"Yeah."

 
 
4. Birthdays
They were best friends, and their birthdays were only one day apart. Their
parents were friends, too, and they all always went on holiday to the seaside
at the end of every July. They got a small cottage, and Harry and Neville
always roomed together. This way, they could stay up till midnight on Neville's
birthday, when it became Harry's birthday.
It was like that every year, and each year was better than the last. Sometimes,
Harry's godfather would come with them, and he was loads of fun. Once, he gave
them both training brooms and showed them some Quidditch moves, and that was
really cool.
When they went to Hogwarts, they were both sorted into Gryffindor, just like
their beaming fathers. Every summer, they kept going to the cottage by the sea.
The first time they kissed, it was midnight on Neville's birthday. They kissed
just as Harry turned fifteen. He'd been worried about kissing ever since the
Yule Ball. He didn't think he'd be any good at it, which Neville said was crap,
since Harry was good at anything he put his mind to.
"You have to say that, you're my friend," Harry said, shoving Neville's arm.
"No, it's true," Neville said, shoving back. "I'll bet you'd get an Outstanding
if they had OWLs in kissing." This made them both laugh, and they tried to
imagine other odd subjects they could have OWLs in.
"We'd all get Outstandings in tossing off," Harry said, making a gesture to
illustrate his point. Neville doubled over with laughter, and when he looked
up, Harry kissed him. "W- was that all right?" he asked, brushing the hair off
his smooth, unmarked forehead.
Neville nodded, then kissed Harry. They spent a lot of time practising kissing
that summer, and practising other things, too. If anyone noticed that Neville's
bed never seemed to be slept in, no one ever said anything.
Neville liked touching Harry's cock, and making Harry gasp and moan. He
especially liked it when Harry would touch his, at the same time, and they
would move together on the bed, their hands stroking together and their tongues
sliding in and out of their mouths.
Sometimes, they would just lie next to each other and toss off in unison, each
watching the other. Other times, they would take turns lying on top of one
another, and grinding their cocks together till they came, all sticky and
sweaty and gasping for air.
Neville loved lying next to Harry, after they'd done something, and resting his
head on Harry's chest. He could hear Harry's breathing, and his heartbeat all
at once, and it made Neville happy. He wanted to stay in the cottage, and never
go back. School was all right, but this was better. If only it could always be
their birthdays, and they could live forever in the end of July.
"This is perfect, isn't it?" Harry asked, brushing his fingers through
Neville's hair.
"It's perfectly perfect," Neville said with happy sigh.

 
5. Madness
Harry first met Neville Longbottom when he went to St. Mungo's with Ron's
family, to visit Ron's dad. Neville was on the closed ward, with his parents.
He was a pale, soft boy in a loose hospital gown, and he tried to give Harry a
bit of broken Remembrall. "Remember," Neville had whispered, pressing the
broken shard into Harry's palm.
After Dumbledore had told him about the Prophecy, Harry went back to St.
Mungo's to see Neville again, to see the boy who could have been him. Harry
wondered how things would've been different, if Voldemort had chosen Neville
instead. Would Harry be lying in St. Mungo's, the victim of Voldemort's
followers?
Harry sat beside Neville's bed and introduced himself. "Hello. Um, I'm Harry
Potter."
"Harry Harry Harry," Neville croaked out. "Remembrall. Toad. Trevor."
"Um. I came to see you because- uh... well, I'm not sure," Harry said,
wrinkling his forehead. Neville caught sight of Harry's scar and reached out to
touch it. He pulled his finger away like it burned.
"We've got to practise. The siege is going on too long. I can't be mad, because
it could have been me," Neville said conversationally.
"Uh. Right," Harry said.
Neville nodded. "Bellatrix," he whispered, his face twisting. He shoved his
hands under his blanket and started wanking furiously. Harry blushed and looked
around for a Healer. "Crucio," Neville said. He repeated the word over and
over, like a mantra.
"Is there a Healer?" he asked the man in the next bed over, but the man just
stared blankly at him.
"Don't be upset, it's our birthdays," Neville said, grinning at Harry. He was
pulling so roughly on his prick, it must nearly raw.
"Please stop--you're hurting yourself," Harry said.
"I'll fight you. I won't let Gryffindor lose anymore points."
"It won't," Harry said, trying to soothe Neville. "I promise."
That seemed to calm Neville a bit. "Lean close. I've got a secret," he said,
motioning to Harry with his free hand. When Harry bent down, Neville whispered
in his ear. "Obliviate."
"What?"
Neville frowned. "Shhhh," he said. "Can't tell anyone." He looked at the
ceiling and sighed. His hand absently moved under the blanket. "I can't
remember. Where's my Remembrall? And my toad! I can't find Trevor," he said
desperately. "I need him."
"Ah, maybe this was a bad time," Harry said, coughing. "I'll come back later,
all right?" He stood and patted Neville's shoulder. Neville grabbed his wrist.
"No. Remembrall," he said, squeezing Harry's wrist tightly. "Death Eaters!" he
said suddenly, looking behind Harry. Harry was so startled, he looked also. Of
course there wasn't anything there.
"Stubefy! Stubefy!" Neville yelled, waving his hand.
Harry stepped back. This had been a bad idea. Neville was obviously not well
enough for visitors.
What could he mean by 'stubefy'? That wasn't even a real spell, like the other
spells Neville had said. What on earth was going on in his poor mind?
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