FanFiction by Lady Lorelei the Tarot Goddess

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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