Warning: Please note that some stories may be rated NC17. If you are under the legal age of adulthood in your country of residence, or if you are offended by the idea of slash (stories containing male/male sex) or adult themes, including BDSM and other sexual kinks, please go and find something else to read.
for LJ hp_remix
Title: Whatever Neville Wants
. . .
Author: Lady Lorelei the LJ
TarotGoddess
WC: drabble 197 fic 4897
Rating: NC 17
Pairing: HP/NL
Warnings: rim job, liberal
use of the word fudgepacker
Disclaimer: Characters hers,
prose mine and ausmac's.
begin drabble by LJ ausmac
Title: OUT OF THE DARK
Rating: PG
Challenge: Had they but courage equal to desire? - WB Yeats, No Second Troy
Trench warfare, wizard style;
hiding in a ditch in the night, not even able
to do a lumos for fear that some dark wizard would hone in on it and blast
you. The only compensation was having company in your misery,
having a
friend lying close to you, keeping you warm despite the fear, the cold and
the wet, miserable loneliness.
Neville wrapped his cloak further around Harry's body. Magicked to keep
dry, they were the only things protecting both of them from the
rain. "This is damned awful," he muttered, and heard Harry's
sniff.
"Not long now, I guess. Dawn or the end, one or the other.
Maybe both, if
the others don't turn up before it gets light."
They were no longer children; Harry, the Auror, fearless and dangerous, Neville
with his tenacity at tracking down information, working undercover,
inconspicuous and seemingly harmless.
Perhaps there was time to do one last thing he'd wanted to, and never had.
As dawn lightened the sky, he turned, cupped chilled hands around Harry's
face, and kissed him. The sun rose, Harry's mouth opened, and Neville was
suddenly warm, as if Harry's courage had entered him with his breath.
end drabble
begin remix
***
Then Harry was kissing back
and Neville felt the warmth suffuse him, down to his toes, into his core.
Velvety lips kissing again and again. Then a tongue, Harry's tongue softly
asking entrance. And Neville granted it, allowed it wanted it needed it
hungered for it. Long slow swirls around his mouth sent a burst of fire along
his nerves. Suddenly he was hot. The cold night was ended.
"Oh gods, Neville,"
Harry whispered.
"I'm sorry -"
Neville began. How to explain the coldness and despair, the emptiness that had
made him reach out?
"No!" Harry's
whisper was hoarse, but forceful. "Don't be sorry. I'm . . . look, now's
not the time. I mean . . ." he trailed off and his eyes widened.
Neville heard it too, the soft
pop of a wizard apparating not too far away. They both cautiously turned and
raised their heads to the top of the ditch in the direction of the sound. Then
Neville remembered to check their 6. He squinted into the red morning sun and
thought he made out a cloaked figure approaching stealthily. He checked his
grip on his wand.
"Harry?!"
Neville looked around at the
shout. Another shadowy figure approached from Harry's side.
"That's Remus,"
Harry said as he scrambled up. "Here, Remus!" he yelled.
Neville took Harry's hand and
allowed himself to be hauled up.
"All right there, Harry?
Neville?" Remus said.
"Top o' the
morning!" Tonks said merrily from behind the ditch.
"What happened?"
Harry demanded, with the barest of nods.
Neville concentrated on his
own breathing.
"They pulled back,"
Remus said quietly. "We think they went . . . well we'll talk later, back
at the house. You did well, keeping them from advancing along this front."
Harry snorted in disgust.
Neville felt bad for him. He knew getting stuck with Longbottom in a ditch all
night wasn't Harry's idea of fun, excitement, or a genuine war effort.
Harry was facing the rising
sun, but Neville caught the small tightening of Remus' mouth. "Let's get
you back and debriefed. Tonks?"
"Righto! Yessir!"
she made an attempt at a snappy salute and nearly poked her own eye out with
her wand. "C'mon Harry!" They took hands and disappeared with a pop!
Remus took a step toward
Neville and held out his hand. "To the Safe House, Neville."
"All right, Remus,"
he said taking the proffered hand and disapparating.
At the Safe House they were
given warm mugs of cocoa but not allowed to change clothes. Tonks took Harry
into a parlor. Remus stayed in the kitchen with Neville which suited him just
fine. Neville liked debriefing to Remus Lupin. He asked simple gentle questions
and let Neville ramble on all around the answers, never interrupting, never
shouting, and never stomping and snarling from the room and slamming the door
like some certain other member of the Order, who incidentally never ran
debriefs anymore. Neville was only halfway through his narration of their night
when the parlor door opened. He watched as Harry ascended the stairs without a
glance in his direction.
"You're sure about the
witches bootheels?"
"Stake my reputation on
it," Neville said with a confident smile. "Sir," he added, but
Remus waved that courtesy away.
"But it couldn't be
anything else? Not some other plant . . . "
"No, sir . . .
Remus," he still felt he should call him Professor. But Remus hadn't been
a Professor in years. "They transplanted about 5 dozen witches bootheels,
by some means, into that field."
"I'm sorry
Neville."
"Sir?"
"We'll have to go back
so you can show me now that it's daylight."
Neville sighed. He really
wanted to talk to Harry who had finished showering from the sounds overhead.
He'd be asleep by the time Neville got back. "Not a problem, sir, uh,
Remus."
***
Neville woke to hear his door
click shut then a soft, "Lumos". His heart began pounding at
the sight of Harry Potter framed in soft wandglow, standing there in draw
string bottoms at the foot of his bed. "Are you awake?"
"Yeah," Neville
answered.
"I couldn't find you all
day."
Neville sat up, blinking and
begging his foggy brain to come online.
"We should talk,"
Harry said as he leaned back against the dresser.
"Sure, Harry."
"I - . . . because of
who and what I am, I don't go after . . . anyone. They . . . they act like it's
their fucking duty to the welfare of the wizarding world to spread it for the
Boy Who Lived. But Neville, when you grabbed my face and kissed me . . .,
" his face broke into that familiar grin, like the sun bursting through
dark clouds, " . . . it was brilliant."
Neville grinned in return,
remembering. "But I thought you .
. . Cho . . ."
Harry shook his head.
"Nope. We have history. Sort of a special Cedric bond. She's a good friend
and loves to dance." He shrugged. "We hang out now and then, hoist a
pint to Cedric, you know. Nothing more. And what about you and Ms.
Moneypenny?"
Neville's brow furrowed.
"Harry, I don't swing that way. Why did -? Oh, you saw us together in the
gardens a lot."
"You're totally
gay?"
"Queer as a 3 knut
sickle."
Harry giggled.
"But what about
Hermione?"
The giggling stopped and
Neville stammered to try to take back what he'd said, anything, so that
beautiful engaging smile would come back.
"She's another one.
Thinks I need to be fixed. Like it's everyone's duty to shore up ole Harry, for
the good of the cause. Ron's wild about her."
"He is?"
"Yeah, . . . fuckin'
wanker won't get off his arse and tell her so. All these years . . . She's
dumped him three times. They're both mad." He shook his head in disgust.
"So you're gay? I never
realized."
Now Harry shook his head in denial.
"Nope, I just like sex. Guess you'd call me bi." The grin was back.
"Which brings me back to why I'm here in your bedroom." He didn't
move from where he leaned hipshot against the dresser. "So. You're not
with anybody. And I'm not with anybody." But something had changed.
Neville felt the focus of those green eyes shift to him and suddenly, he felt
like a rabbit sighted by a snake . . . a snake about to strike. He trembled.
"I want to be with you."
Neville couldn't believe his
ears. Suddenly they were hot, and as though on a direct line to his groin, his
cock began warming.
Harry continued, "Would
you like that? Did you mean it? When you kissed me in the ditch?"
"Yes," Neville
nodded, feeling stupid and gangly and incredibly lucky as Harry moved slowly
off the dresser and smoothly across the space that separated them.
"Then we have only one
more question to answer: top or
bottom?"
Neville giggled breathlessly,
"Oh Harry, I'm a natural bottom."
"Good. Because I'm a
natural top." And Harry placed a hand on Neville's chest pushing him back
down into the bed while pulling down the covers. His smile became more relaxed
as he unfastened the bottom button of Neville's navy and white striped pajama
top. He leaned over and placed a kiss just above the navel. "Neville's
navel," he breathed, his fingers unfastening the next button, his lips
softly kissing the exposed skin, pale but luminous by wandlight.
"Neville's belly," he said as he kissed and stroked his tongue across
Neville's body. Up and down, around and around.
Neville breathed shakily. His
heart was pounding. He didn't know what to do. Harry's lips traced a line of
fire up his body that seemed to sink into him and send sparkles shooting to his
groin. He lifted one hand to touch midnight black hair, but then his hand made
a fist as Harry's warm wet tongue stroked across-
"Neville's nipple,"
Harry breathed, then licked again.
Neville clutched at Harry's
hair again, gasping and shaking from the sensations burning new channels
of . . . something through his body . .
. his mind . . . his . . . "Oh gods, Harry . . . what are you?" He'd
added teeth to the lascivious mix. Harry was grazing on his chest hair!
"I'm tasting you."
Harry's voice was a rough hoarse whisper that sent tendrils like dark fingers
straight to Neville's cock. "Mmmmm . . .
and you taste so goooooood. Lift up now." Harry pulled the night
shirt off Neville's arms, then pulled at the bottoms. Neville noticed Harry had
lost his own bottoms somewhere along the way. His breath caught at the sight.
Such a splendid, well-muscled torso, and that line of dark hair leading down .
. . Neville gulped as he lifted his hips and Harry slid away his bottoms.
"Oh, what could you ever
see in a lump like me?" Neville asked, suddenly miserable despite drowning
in happiness. He gestured to his own underdeveloped chest. He worked hard in
the garden, yet his chest looked rounded and flabby. Forever cursed with a
Chicken Chest.
"I just told you,"
Harry answered as he laid his body on top of Neville's. "You taste
good." Then his lips were devouring Neville's, asking, no demanding
surrender, with a hunger that went further than a little treat between the
sheets. Neville opened his mouth like a flower and Harry took and took his
nectar and wanted more. Their teeth bumped and Neville groaned, and still Harry
delved deeper, pushing his tongue down Neville's throat, forcing them to become
one. Neville felt possessed, utterly. His head spun from the intensity, the
soul searching, searing vitality of Harry's kiss. Finally Harry pulled away a
little. He rested his forehead on Neville's chin, panting. "I want to
taste every inch of you, Neville." And then he grazed his teeth along
Neville's neck and Neville heard a little pitiful whimper leave his own mouth.
Then the teeth bit down over his jugular and Neville arched off the bed,
pushing them both up, grinding their cocks together. He moaned as his cock
pressed up against Harry's. He didn't know what to do about the biting. Didn't
know whether he wanted it to stop, or to go on and on forever. It hurt but it
felt so good. He couldn't understand why . . . and then Harry was biting all
along his neck. Nibbling really.
Neville shuddered. Harry
dragged his tongue down Neville's neck and across his shoulder. He gasped. Down
one arm and then the other. Slowly. Lapping at every curve and angle like each
was the last drop of a Fortescue sundae. He panted. Neville stroked Harry's
back and tried to return kisses to Harry's head. But when Harry's teeth bore
down on his nipples, he dug his nails into Harry's back and cried out.
Harry suddenly sat up,
between Neville's legs. He smiled brilliantly and just a bit smugly down at
Neville, who felt lost and confused. "All right, Neville?" he asked,
apparently holding back a chuckle.
"Yeah, . . . why? Did I . . .?"
"Accio wand!" Harry said, stretching his hand out toward
the dresser. His wand made a satisfying slap as it hit his hand. He waved it
around the room. "Silencio!"
Neville was mortified.
"Oh gods, Harry! I'm sorry! I'll try to be quiet!"
"Oh, no you don't,"
Harry pointed the wand threateningly. "You go ahead and make all the noise
you want to. I just put a silencing charm around the room." Then his grin
turned positively mischievous. "I want to see if I can make you scream."
Again, Neville felt himself
quiver like a paralyzed bunny sighted by a big black snake. With green eyes.
Harry reached back and
grabbing Neville's leg by the knee, bent it up and forward. Neville felt
deliciously exposed. Harry's wand took aim at Neville's crotch. "Scourgify!" And Neville
felt the faint prickle of magic in his bottom. Then Harry's wand joined his
glasses on the bedside table and Neville sucked in his breath in disbelief as
Harry sucked in his big toe. Harry's hands stroked lightly up his calf and then
down his shin. Then more firmly. He finally breathed again and laid back and
relaxed and watched as Harry sucked on each of his toes as if it were a
favorite treat from Honeyduke's. He leaned his head back and moaned as Harry
kissed down his calf and he felt fingers stroking along his inner thigh. One
hand held his leg bent, on the inside of his knee. The other stroked the other
thigh. And lips . . . Harry's lips . . . traced a trail of kisses down the back
of his bent leg. Neville heard himself pant. He squirmed. He'd never been
kissed like that there, along his hamstring. Never been kissed like that
anywhere. All juicy and sweet, a combination of a continuous kiss/lick/nibble.
He piped a cry but cut it off
quickly when the kisses met his balls. "Oh Harry," He groaned deeply.
Dizzy from the feel of Harry's tongue trailing around his balls, under and
around, and then one was sucked into divine wet warmth, and then the other, and
Neville nearly burst into tears from the beautiful sensation. Dear God, it's
always wham, bam, thank you Neville, see ya 'round eh? Harry licked along
the crease his leg made with his hip. Harry was worshipping him. Neville
felt like his body was some kind of primeval altar where one placed tokens of
love and devotion meant for the gods. He was drowning in the sweet gentle love
of Harry's mouth on him. He felt Harry coax both legs bent and spread wide. He
felt the tongue washing his balls again, then it swept lower in a long steady
stroke down over his entrance, and back up. Down and back, and his breathing
was so deep and slow, he felt himself in some kind of nirvana. Like he'd found
the center of existence. Then the tongue was drawing slow circles, around and
around. His breath got even deeper, even slower. He felt still and centered, at
peace like never before. Then the tongue was pushing at his entrance and as it
slipped inside of him he felt the fire leap up from its bank, race up his
spine, and leave his mouth in a shriek. "What are you doing!"
Harry only chuckled and his
breathy laughter blew against wet hyper-sensitive skin. But his tongue never
stopped. Neville writhed back and forth on the bed, moaning in a mixed muddle
of need and satisfaction.
Finally, Harry's lips kissed
over his cock and up his torso. Neville took a ragged breath. Harry kissed,
nibbled, and licked his way back up Neville's body until he looked down into
Neville's eyes from where he held himself raised on his hands and knees.
Neville paused and stared in wonder at the tousled hair, lust-filled eyes, and
those devastating jet black eyebrows. He tried to give Harry everything he
needed with his own eyes. In that moment he wanted more than anything to be
something that Harry truly wanted, a pleasure just for Harry's own self. Harry
leaned back onto his haunches again. Neville ignored that spark of dismay that
flashed through him. He was so relaxed and in such a heightened state of
awareness, he knew Harry wasn't really pulling away.
"Where's the lube?"
Harry said with a heavy sigh.
Neville leaned over and
reached under the bed coming up with the small bottle of Almond Auror Glow. He
dared ask, "Don't you use your wand?" as he sat up and passed it to
Harry's outstretched hand.
That brilliant gleaming smile
was back, "This is more fun!" Harry flicked the lid with a satisfying
snap, pushed Neville back prone, and poured the oil straight into Neville's
navel. Neville couldn't help chuckling as the cool liquid hit him, thus
spilling drops all over. Then Harry began a vigorous massage with wide long
sweeps of both his hands, coating Neville's stomach and crotch with oil. Neville bent his legs up again obligingly
and watched as Harry ran a couple strokes over his own cock. Then Harry's gaze
became focused as his fingers teased gently down Neville's cock and around his
balls, and on down to gently tease a quiver out of his opening. He slid one finger in and Neville moaned. He was so
hot, so ready for this. But he couldn't explain it to Harry. He was so open, so
accepting of anything and everything Harry could give, he didn't want to wait
any longer, needed to be filled now, nailed to the mattress, pounded. Yet he
could only make incoherent sounds as Harry's fingers played him like a piano,
dancing along his ivory skin, then in and out his black depths.
The fingers were gone and
Neville opened his eyes to find Harry staring at him, from an armlength above,
just as he lowered his hips down. As their cocks touched and mingled in the
oil, Harry's eyes rolled back in his head. His body arched and his breathing
stopped. Neville never quit moaning and groaning, voicing his passion. But
Harry was silent, but for the occasional amused chuckle. Neville couldn't
believe they were doing this together. That he was here with Harry, his Harry.
He tried to pull Harry down, but Harry resisted and focused on him and began
breathing again. Now there was a strange fey light to his green eyes. "Do
you want me, Neville? Do you want me inside you?"
Pinned motionless by those
great green suddenly snake-like eyes, Neville could only nod shallowly.
"I want to hear you say
it," Harry gasped with the effort of holding himself in check.
"Fuck me, Harry. Oh
gods, fuck me," he managed in a strangled whisper.
Still suspending himself on
one arm, Harry reached down with the other, felt for Neville's entrance, then
aimed his cock. He pushed down a millimeter at a time. His arm returned to
holding his upper body suspended above. At the moment, the only place they
touched was where cock met anus. Neville's eyes never left Harry's as the slow
progress continued, and his awareness, his total consciousness centered on
Harry entering his body, on becoming one with Harry, on being Harry's.
Overwhelmed, tears leaked from his eyes. And then finally, finally Harry was
inside him. They were whole, complete.
But Harry started pulling out
just as slowly and Neville lost it. "Goddammit, stop teasing me, you
fucking pouf!" He pulled at Harry with arms and legs, trying to force him
down into his embrace. "Get a leg on and DO it!" He thrashed about.
"Fuck me. Fuckmefuckmefuckme," he screamed in anguished need. He
writhed and fell into gasping moans, unable to move the Boy Who Smiled While
Torturing His Lover.
Just when Harry had pulled
almost all the way out, and Neville collapsed into sobs of direst need, he
slammed down into and onto Neville, driving home with the force of a breaking
dam. Surrounding Neville in heat and warmth and strength. His lips found
Neville's and caught the worst of the screams. His hands dug into the mattress
and slid under Neville, wrapping him into a tight embrace, holding him while
his hips pounded into him.
Neville's universe came
together in three dimensions of engrossing pleasure: the cock slamming into his
ass, the tongue sweeping around his mouth, and the slick oily abdomen pressing
down rhythmically on his own cock. Then his universe exploded. He was at the
center of the sun, burning, sparkling, shining, riding the winds of a solar
flare. Then Harry was pressing soft little kisses all over his face, "Are
you all right, Neville? Say something. Speak to me Neville. Are you all
right?"
He drew a deep shuddering
breath and said, "Yes," before bursting into tears.
Harry held him, rocking him
slowly, petting his head while his cock softened and finally slipped out.
Neville's sobs finally
stopped. He met Harry's gaze and smiled with tear-stained cheeks. "That
was bloody brilliant."
Harry's worried frown turned
into a smug grin.
***
Neville sat up with a start
and regarded the banging door for a stupid moment. He looked around for his
wand, then dispersed the silencing ward, but not the lock on the door. He was
naked and in bed after all. In bed with an equally naked Harry Potter. Oh
shite!
"Longbottom! Are you all right? We can't find Potter anywhere!" came what sounded horrifyingly like Professor Snape's voice through the door.
"Harry wake up! Put some
clothes on. They're banging down the door!"
But Harry only reached for
him, foiling Neville's attempts to struggle up from the bedclothes. "Wan'
m' snuggles."
"Harry! Please!"
Just then the door burst open
and slammed against the wall. Neville gave a terrified squeak and pulled the
sheet up to his neck. Snape and Lupin stood in the doorway surveying the scene.
"Ah yes, our famous
Auror Potter is a fudgepacker."
"Takes one to know one,
eh Sevvie? You wanna join us? Make it a threesome?" Harry stretched
lazily, opening his legs, then reaching down to scratch at his balls.
Snape turned a deep red and
left without another word. Neville was absolutely mortified.
Lupin chuckled and said,
"Sorry to break in like that. We couldn't find Harry and thought he'd left
or been tricked away or something. We were just trying to find him, and as
Neville doesn't make a regular practice of sealing his rooms . . . ah, something
we'll take note of henceforth." He continued chuckling as he closed the
door.
"Harry, please don't
antagonize Professor Snape like that. I have to work with him. "
"Nonsense, you'll work
with me now. "
"No. That's where I was
all yesterday. He and I have to work on counters against the witches
bootheels."
"Why don't you just rip
them up or spray poison on them?"
"Because, if we leave
them, we have at least one place where we know the Deatheaters will
return."
"Bollocks!" Harry
was suddenly angry. "We don't need to keep safe places for them to return
to. We need to wipe them all off the face of the earth. Destroy all their bases
of operation. Freeze and seize their assets. Can you imagine what we could do
with Malfoy's money, if Minister Fudgepacker would just fucking TAKE it!"
Neville stared wide-eyed at
Harry, the larger than life and most powerful wizard, quickest qualified Auror,
nemesis of He Who Must Not Be Named. He couldn't find anything to counter
Harry's logic.
"That's what the muggles
do. This is war!" Harry went on. "Not some parlor game where you have
to be polite. They are evil. They are murderers. They are rats and vermin to be
driven from our world, not victims with rights!" Then the air seemed to
blow out of him and Harry was nothing more than a small wiry man absently
smoothing his hair back only to have it flop in his face again.
"You're right Harry.
It's war. Even though people try to go on like everything's normal."
"Yeah, it's war. And you
and I are just privates. Have to follow orders, sir."
"Must say, I like your
privates."
Harry's grin was back in full
force. Neville's heart skipped a beat.
***
In the same damn ditch again.
Wizard warfare. Neville frantically waving his wand and screaming the spell to
access the potion he and Snape had been spreading on the witches bootheels for
weeks. Turn the blooms back on the Deatheaters, use their weapons against them.
So far so good. Harry's shields deflected attention from the both of them, he
and his charge, his lover, his friend.
Curses flew and boomed
overhead, raining down water and steam, knives and fire with the occasional
bout of bunnies or bats. Harry longed to be in the thick of it, but his duty
was here, protecting Neville, while Neville got on with whatever it was he and
Snape had worked out. The great devious plan that Harry'd disagreed with
constantly.
In a split second, they were
surrounded by Deatheaters. Black cowls, grimly silent began flinging curses
with awful speed and strength. He had no time to wonder how they'd been
located, nor to appreciate Neville's unbreaking concentration, nor to wonder
why they were going for Neville and not him, the Boy Who Lived, while he sent
raw power to the shields around them and deflected curses and sent a few of his
own. But they weren't going for him. All of them concentrated on Neville. He
was in front of Neville but it was too much. They were all around.
Neville's voice stopped. He
fell over. "Neville!" Harry screamed as he reached for his rage,
welcoming its blind power, eyes riveted by the still form on the ground before
him. He jerked at the sound of multiple disapparations all around, confused at
the sudden lack of enemy. His brow furrowed. He saw a dark cloud of spikes
heading his way. Instinctively he threw up his own magical defenses again. The
spikes, soft as flower petals, blew right through any and everything Harry
could throw at them.
Some time later Neville heard
muttering somewhere high above him.
"Yes, all the
Deatheaters are gone. Have you gotten those things off him? Is he
breathing?"
"It's too late. He's
breathing, but it's too late."
***
"What do you think
you're doing, Longbottom?"
Neville ignored Professor
Snape and went back to the latest iteration of his anti-witches bootheel
potion, known privately in the long empty corridors of his own mind as the Wake
Harry The Fuck Up Potion. He didn't understand why no one else was working on
this. Three days, he thought someone else would try something, anything. At
least they left him alone in the lab in St. Mungo's. He'd worked there for years now, caring for the gardens filled
with magical healing herbs, mixing healing potions. He'd never done much
research, but he was quite experienced with the practical.
"You're mashing that
bloodroot into a froth."
"Harry was right, you
know," Neville finally spoke. His voice was low, raw from disuse and lack
of sleep. "You fucking captains and majors and generals want to plan and
strategize when you should just fucking KILL THEM ALL!!!"
"I won't be shouted at
by some -"
"YES YOU WILL! Or you
WILL get OUT of here!"
"Longbottom, there's
nothing that can be done. The healers said he won't come out of it. There's one
more healer coming from across the pond, and after that, they'll move him into
the long term care ward."
"You think I don't know
that? You think I don't know they'll stick a feeding tube down his throat once
a day and give him a sponge bath maybe once a week." He took a deep
shuddering breath. He'd almost blurted out, I'll kill him myself before I
see him reduced to that! All because of you generals' fucking errors in
judgment!"
He took another breath and
began in a steady voice, "The magical poison in the bootheels can be
counteracted by fresh opium poppy putty. You know that. I think that's the key
to reversing the effects. We've got to reverse the effects before any healing
can take place. This is what I've done so far - he waved his hand at a 30 foot
scroll of parchment laid across the table and running across the floor on both
sides. "I'll never forget my first day of Potions class, when you promised
that you could put a stopper in death." His steely bloodshot eyes pinned
Snape motionless. "What's the good of that? Any fucking muggle can kill.
What I want to know is: can you put a stopper in life?"
Severus blinked into
Neville's glare. But Neville was the first to look away. "Bloodroot froth
activates the calcite chips, which in turn binds the opium to the bootheels,
the vector of the magical damage."
Unable to resist any type of
potions research, Severus started reading down the list of ingredients and
procedures. "Right, fresh putty, never warmed or aged in any way. It
should equally bind to any residual magical effect, neutralizing and perhaps
reversing it."
"I think I can apparate
to Afghanistan."
Severus blinked again.
"That won't be necessary, Longbottom. I happen to know where the fresh
putty can be obtained right here in England. Ahem. In my own back yard, as it
were."
***
"You look like shit,
Neville."
Neville gasped and nearly
fell off the chair where he'd been half dozing. "Harry! You're awake! Are
you all right?" He leaned over Harry afraid to touch, but found himself
dragged down into the bed beside his favorite Auror.
"Of course, I'm all
right. Come here and I'll show you just how all right I am."
Neville found himself
drowning in Harry's kisses, breathless under Harry's tongue, shivering with
heat after weeks of chilling draining dreadful cold.
"At it again, eh,
Fudgepacking Potter?" Snape's acidic wit drawled from the doorway, relief
evident amidst the vitriol. "Don't you ever stop?"
"Nope!" Harry
declared with a saucy wink to Neville. "But I might share if you ask
nicely."
FIN
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