Neville? He'd never be quite so bold, would he? And anyway, there were rumours floating around about him and Zacharias Smith and a particularly scandalous episode in Greenhouse Three. -- Mystery Stories

***

It wasn't that I was really all that surprised. Well, alright, of course I was surprised, but it's not that I was so gobsmacked to find out he fancied blokes.

Even if he did take me to the Yule Ball a few years ago, he was nothing more nor less than a perfect gentleman that entire evening. That should have been my first clue. He may only have been fourteen, but you'd think he would have tried to kiss me, at least. Or minded at least a little when Michael Corner stepped in and asked me to dance.

Then again, Neville did always have more to him than meets the eye.

Euugh, poor choice of words.

I really don't know what possessed me to head down to Greenhouse Three tonight. Sixth-years are supposed to relax a bit, aren't we? We've passed our OWLs, we have over a year before we have to take NEWTs, so all we're doing is treading water here. Saturday nights are meant for Butterbeer and games of spin-the-bottle and stupid things like that. Only people like Percy would give that up to work on their studies.

What can I say? I'm serious about following my brother and his friends into Auror Training. Or maybe becoming a Healer. Either way, I need to get better at Herbology, so I need all the study time I can get.

Anyway, Dean had promised Seamus a 'Boys' Night,' and I'm not really interested in those kissing games without him.

Sure, I even hoped I would find Neville in the greenhouses. I'd decided I was going to study, so I might as well do it right, and Neville's always been willing to help me. I've always been grateful to him for that.

I think he likes being around me, anyway, because he always feels a bit outshined by the other seventh-years. He doesn't need to feel that way, of course, but he takes it hard, comparing himself to his other friends. It's not only because of Harry with his fame or Hermione with her brains. Ron has become quite the Quidditch star, after all, and Dean is so talented with his artwork (among other things, but that's quite beside the point at the moment). Seamus is ... well, he's just Seamus, and he's Dean's best friend, so that makes Neville a bit of a fifth wheel in his own dormitory. Outside the dormitory, helping me with my studies ... I flatter myself to think I'm helping him remember how capable he really is.

Turns out I'm not the only one.

I hadn't ever really assumed Neville did fancy blokes, either, you understand. I only considered it a possibility. I'd seen how he looked at Harry, and at my brother. It could have been a sort of hero-worship or benign envy, but I thought I saw a hunger in his eyes that had nothing to do with wanting to be like them.

Ron's never been interested in blokes, though, and everyone can tell that if he were, he'd have eyes for no one but Harry. If I didn't know my brother as well as I do, even I would have my suspicions about those two.

I do know him, though, and I've seen him when he's with Hermione. A herd of angry Centaurs could run him over, and he wouldn't even notice if he were looking at her. He's that kind of smitten.

Now Harry is a different story. Neville might actually have had a chance there, if he'd asked. Sure, Harry's had that "secret" crush on that overgrown ferret for months, now, but I'll bet he'd have come to his senses if Neville had only asked.

Neville would make anyone a great boyfriend. He's loyal, kind and generous, and he's not some puffed-up peacock, and still has a mind of his own. He's really grown into his looks, too. He's not as handsome as my brother somehow managed to turn out, of course, but he's better looking than that pointy-faced, bleached-blond pretty boy.

Malfoy only looks good at all because of the company he keeps. Everyone knows that. Filch would look good standing next to Crabbe and Goyle, or with Pansy Parkinson on his arm.

I suppose I'm getting off-topic. Well, I can't be blamed. I'm trying to get the image out of my head.

You have to understand how it was, walking up to the glowing gloom of the greenhouse, assuming the fog inside the glass was only from the warm-blooded varieties growing along the second aisle from the left. It's been like that before.

If I'd paid more attention, I would have noticed there were two silhouettes moving around behind the fog. I would have noticed they weren't moving in a studying sort of way. At least, they weren't moving in the way of anyone who's studying Herbology.

I don't know. I admit, I want to ask Neville what in the world he's thinking. I thought we were all in agreement, that none of us had been able to stand that puffed-up git since the first time he'd shown up at a DA meeting, strutting around questioning everything as though Harry weren't by far the most qualified person to be running the show.

I mean, I suppose Smith's good enough looking, if you like blonds. Obviously, they're not my type, but I suppose they must be someone's. Plus, he's a Hufflepuff, which means Sprout is his Head of House. I've noticed a lot of them are at home in the greenhouses. That would give him and Neville something in common, at least.

I wish Smith weren't quite so much at home in the greenhouses as what I witnessed. Or, at least, I wish I'd been blessed with the fortune of not witnessing it.

I don't know why I stood in the doorway for as long as I did. I was sort of in shock, I suppose, and sort of entranced at the same time. When the door opened, and the scene presented itself to me, all I could do was stand and stare. It was all I could do for a very long time, it seemed.

I'd never really thought about how well put together Neville might be under his robes. He's a little soft around the middle, sure, and his shoulders are a bit weak, but his skin is nearly flawless. He has a few dustings of freckles, here and there, on his shoulders and thighs and arms, which only serve to highlight the creamy fairness of the rest of him.

I couldn't help noticing his skin. There was so much of it there to see.

Smith wasn't so awful, either, as it turns out. I didn't see as much, since he was sort of crouched down, but his hands looked smooth and strong and sure where they held Neville's hips firmly against the workbench. His eyelashes are much more delicate than I would have expected; I could tell from seeing them feather open and shut in concentration as he focused himself into giving Neville pleasure.

I could tell that was what he was doing, was giving Neville pleasure. It wasn't hard to guess, from the way his soft looking, pink lips were caressing and sucking at ... well, you can imagine.

It wasn't only that, though. It was the look on Neville's face, all lit up and open and unguarded. It was the way Neville's head was thrown back, the way his hips bucked forward against Smith's hands. It was the way his shoulders looked absolutely relaxed, even as his wrists strained against their bonds, as if all he really wanted was to thread his fingers through Smith's shiny, soft, blond curls.

The bonds. That was the thing that really got me.

Okay, so Neville has a kinky streak. Everyone has their quirks. Don't even ask me about the position Angelina had convinced Fred to try when I accidentally stumbled in on them last summer. I wonder where she found that bullwhip? But that's beside the point.

Sure, Neville likes having his wrists tied. I get that. It was the fact that he'd be careless enough to mess around with Devil's Snare that surprised me. I mean, what if it had got out of hand? What if it had twined further down his arms, reaching for his throat?

Who knows? Maybe Smith had some special Charm he'd learned to keep the Snare under control. Maybe it wasn't even real Devil's Snare - like I've said, Herbology isn't my best subject. Either way, Neville didn't look concerned at all.

He didn't sound concerned either. Funny, I'd always figured him for the quiet type.

I don't know how long I stood there, but it can't have been as long as it felt. Once my brain caught up with the rest of me, it only took a few seconds before I had backed out quietly, and shut the door. I didn't want to stick around to find out exactly how loud Neville could get.

I heard it across the grounds on my way back to the castle, anyway. It was a raw, animal sound that echoed distantly in the still night. Anyone who hadn't seen what I did would have assumed it came from something in the Forest.

I shuddered as I ran the last few strides to the main doors. There are certain things friends don't need to share.

And, of course, there are certain things they have to share.

Hey, Neville might be one of my best friends, but I'm still a Weasley. Good gossip is good gossip, whatever the source.

At least, that's how Ron and I explained it to Hermione, when she tried to convince us it wasn't right to tell everyone. Sometimes I don't understand her at all.