InsaneJournal

Declarations (ALTL4) (Neville/James, R)
Title: Declarations
Pairing: Neville/James
Rating: R
Word Count: 2422
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Not mine. JKR's.
Summary: A letter from Harry gives James something new to worry about. A confession from James leaves Neville speechless.
Notes: Oh dear, there's an awful lot of talking in this chapter. You're not going to believe me, but I actually cut out a ton of dialogue. Also beware of erratic behavior from poor James. He's had a rough couple of days.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three


James couldn't keep still in Herbology on Wednesday.

Neville watched the boy during the entire period, though he tried not to. And James couldn't sit still. He fidgeted and worked too quickly, producing results that were not up to his usual high standards. And every few minutes he shoved his hand into his robes pocket as if to make certain that something was still there. His brow was creased and he kept worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

Neville put a reassuring hand on James's shoulder as he passed, but said nothing, moving on to where Lucy Creevey and Joel Goldstein were whispering a little too much together and paying no attention to their Screechsnap seedling, which wriggled and shrieked under the load of manure one of them had dumped on it.

"Must I separate you two?" Neville asked, bending over and freeing the seedling from its encumbrance. Joel went wide-eyed and Lucy stifled a giggle. Neville frowned, and Lucy's expression turned solemn.

"I'm sorry, Professor," she said, "And so's Joel. We were just discussing, um, the essay you had us do on the benefits of dragon dung as a manure."

Joel nodded, and Neville frowned again.

"For future reference, dragon's dung doesn't benefit Screechsnaps when you bury them in it." Neville paused. He hated taking points, but he didn't much fancy having the two of them in for a detention, either, and he couldn't very well ignore the fact that Lucy and Joel spent every class whispering together and shooting secretive looks at each other and ignoring whatever specimen was put in front of them that week.

"Five points from Gryffindor," he sighed, "And five from Ravenclaw. Please pay attention to your seedling." He didn't look at either student as he passed them, though he told himself that he probably should have.

Eye contact, Neville chided himself, Eye contact. Let them know you're in charge.

He felt someone's eyes on him, and looked up, straight into the intense green gaze of James Potter.

Dammit.

Neville didn't blink or look away. "Was there something you needed, Mr Potter?" he asked.

James frowned a bit and shoved his glasses up on his nose. "Um. No." But the boy's hand went to his pocket again, and Neville raised an eyebrow.

"Are you sure?"

"I—yes."

Neville nodded and moved on. He wasn't sure what response he'd been hoping for, but from the knot in his chest, that apparently hadn't been it.

***

But all was decidedly not well in the world of James Potter. He lingered after class, making a show of putting his supplies away and stowing his notebook in his bag. When finally only he and Neville were left in the greenhouse, James cleared his throat and put his hand in his pocket once again.

Neville was bent over, examining the Screechsnap seedling that Lucy and Joel had buried, which was still letting out little melodramatic moans.

"You're fine," he murmured to the seedling.

"Actually, um, I'm not," came James's voice, and Neville closed his eyes and took a steeling breath.

He turned around.

"What's going on, James?"

James extracted a folded piece of parchment from his robes pocket. "I got a letter from my dad this morning."

Neville frowned. "And that's a bad thing?"

James's only reply was to shove the letter at Neville. Neville took his reading glasses from his front inside robes pocket and scanned the letter.

Dear Jamie,

Thanks for your letter! It was a surprise to hear from you so early in the semester—your mum wants me to put in here that it usually takes a lot more guilt before you write us, and that our little boy is growing up. She's smirking as she says this, so I don't think—

"Read the end bit," James said, and Neville skipped to the last paragraph of Harry's short letter.

Anyway, your fifth year will be over before you know it, so enjoy it while it lasts. You know, I got my first kiss from a girl in my fifth year. Something to look forward to, Jamie my man! (Your mum says I shouldn't put this in here. I think she's just jealous because it wasn't her!)

Love,

Dad

Neville reread the paragraph and pushed his glasses up onto his head, then looked at James.

"Oh," he said, nothing more coherent coming to mind.

"Yeah," said James, "I guess I'm supposed to go kiss some girl. I don't think that's going to be happening."

"And you don't know how to tell your dad."

"Right." Neville had nearly expected a flippant reply; apparently James was too distraught by his father's notion of proper sexual behaviour for fifteen-year-old boys to even attempt sarcasm.

"James—do you want to come into my office? It might be better to talk there." James nodded, and Neville turned and walked the length of the greenhouse into his cluttered office. He moved a text and a potted plant off the guest chair, sweeping potting soil from the cushion, and gestured for James to sit. Neville settled himself in his desk chair and regarded James, who sat slumped forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling limply. He stared into the corner and didn't speak.

"Right," said Neville, flicking his wand at the door to close it, "Let's see what we can see. Your dad doesn't know you're, um—"

"A freak," James supplied, still staring into the corner.

"No," replied Neville, "That you're just like a lot of other wizards, actually, none of whom are freaks. Do you think I'm a freak?"

James looked up then, though he didn't meet Neville's eyes. "No," he said in a small voice.

"Well, thank you," said Neville, "Though if I'm going to be entirely honest, there was a time when I thought I was a freak, thought I was the only wizard who'd ever wanted to be—um, to be with other wizards. Of course you're scared, but James, you're definitely not a freak."

"Okay," muttered James, his chin in his hands.

"And as for your dad, James, I know it's difficult, but I—"

"You're going to tell me I should just tell him, aren't you? Fucking hell if I will."

"Language," Neville chided, but his heart wasn't in it, and he knew James knew it.

"Actually, I was wondering if you'd maybe like me to talk to Harr—er, to your dad for you."

James's eyes went wide and he blinked rapidly at Neville, his nostrils flaring and his eyebrows knitting together. He clamped his mouth shut and colour rose in his cheeks.

"James?"

"No way No fucking—sorry, Neville—no way. That's just it! My dad can't know! Neville, he'll kill me, he will, he'll kill me, you have no idea—"

James's breathing had grown shaky, and he was leaning forward, his hands clenched into fists. Neville furrowed his brow and clutched the boy's shoulder in his hand.

"James. Hold on. Breathe." James sucked in a breath and held it for a moment, then let it out.

"Good," said Neville, "Again." James repeated the action, and the breath was slightly less shaky this time, though his fists were still clenched.

"Okay," said Neville. He opened his mouth to tell James that Harry was nothing to be afraid of, that he was going to love James no matter what, that prejudices were put aside when family became involved, but he found he didn't have the fortitude to say any of it.

He recalled comments Harry had made, jokes he'd laughed at.

He recalled how family, always so important to Harry, had seemed secondary when he'd been confronted with the truth about one of Ginny's brothers.

"James," he said finally, "I'm fairly certain your dad won't kill you. But you're right—this is going to be difficult. And I'm not going to force you into anything you don't want to do."

A scene flashed in Neville's mind's eye—James sprawled on the earth, his softening cock coated with his own come, his eyes fluttering closed and the most satiated smile Neville had ever seen spreading over his face.

He wanted that, Neville told himself, You tried—but he wanted—god—

Neville shook himself of the imagery and pressed his thighs together. He cleared his throat and clasped James's shoulder again.

"I'd never force you into anything you didn't want to do. All right?" Neville nodded at his own question.

Thankfully, James nodded too. "I know," he said, and he sighed.

"I'm not going to ask you to understand why your dad feels the way he does," Neville said then, letting go of James's shoulder and running his hand through his own hair, "Because I doubt even he knows why."

"Do you?"

"Do I what—do I know why Harry feels that way?" Neville nearly laughed. "God, no. I have no idea."

"Oh," replied James, "I just thought—from the way you were talking. You know. I mean, you know my dad really well, don't you?"

"We've been friends for a long time," Neville replied.

"Does he know about you—um, about how you are?"

A rush of voices out in the greenhouse indicated that Neville's next class had arrived.

"Have you got somewhere to be?" Neville asked, avoiding James's question.

"Shit," James said, rolling his eyes apologetically as soon as the word slipped out. "Um, yes. Transfiguration. Can you write me a pass?"

Neville did, but withheld it for a moment, regarding James.

"Oh," said James then, "We're not done talking, are we, Neville?"

"Do you want to be done talking?"

James shook his head and snatched the pass from Neville's hand. "I'm a Seeker, don't forget," he said then, and he cracked the first smile Neville had seen out of him all day. He was gone before Neville could reply, and it wasn't until Neville was halfway through the lesson with his first-year Slytherins before he realised James hadn't responded to his question.

***

James didn't have Herbology on Thursdays.

It was a quiet day.

***

A tawny owl swooped down beside Neville at breakfast on Friday morning, dropping a folded-over sheet on parchment into his eggs and settling on the edge of the table, fixing its gaze upon Neville.

Neville plucked the note from his breakfast plate, wiped a bit of yolk from it with his napkin, and unfolded it, settling his reading glasses on his nose.

Professor Longbottom,

I thought maybe we could talk about that assignment today or tomorrow. I'm having a lot of trouble.

J.S.P.

P.S. Today would probably be better.

Neville nodded and scribbled a quick (and similarly cryptic) reply to James, then handed the note to the owl, which flapped away and soared toward the Gryffindor table.

Neville finished his breakfast in haste and took the long way out of the Great Hall.

***

"Why can't we just be together, Neville, you and me? Isn't this nice? Isn't this good?"

Neville choked on his tea as his office door flew open and James Potter descended upon him. He took up his wand and slammed the door shut with a spell, then cast Muffliato for good measure.

"James—what on earth—"

James's face was a blotchy red, his hair was wilder than usual, and his robes were all askew. He was practically in Neville's lap, his arms around his professor's neck.

"Why can't we?" James demanded. Neville extracted himself from the boy's grasp and drew a breath.

"Sit," he commanded, indicating the guest's chair. James jutted out his chin, but after a moment of silent defiance, he sat, and so did Neville.

"All right," Neville said, leaning forward, "What is going on here, James?"

"I don't know," the boy wailed, "I just know that if this is what life is like for queer freak wizards, then I'm done. Let's just—can't we—" and James leaned forward, rubbing his palms along his knees, wetting his lips.

"Hold on. No. James. What's happened to put you in such a state?"

James slumped in his chair. "Neville, how do you deal with the world? Have you ever been called—things?"

Neville sat forward. "Who's been calling you names?" he demanded, ready to hex the bollocks off any student who hurt James.

"I—nobody, they just—well, I don't know if they know, but if they do, I—I can't—"

Neville shook his head. "James, breathe. You aren't making sense."

Neville watched as James made a concerted effort to control his breathing.

"Now. What's happened? Start from the beginning. Why did you write me that letter?"

"The letter—oh. I just wanted to talk more—I wanted to talk to you. 'S all."

"Okay," Neville replied, "And what's happened since then?"

"I—" James licked his lips again. "On my way here to see you, a couple of seventh-years—at least I think they were seventh-years; they were really tall—they wouldn't let me through in the corridor. Um."

"Go on."

"They called me, um, some things—said I was a little pans—um—little pansy-arsed fairy boy." James said this last lot all in a rush, then, not stopping for breath, continued.

"And I didn't know what to say because I didn’t know if they were just saying that or if they knew something, but how could they know anything, you know, and I didn't want to hex them and I just, well I wanted to hex them, but I didn't do it, and—well I'm here now, and Neville, I'm not going back out there, and I want to be with you."

James leaned forward, breathing hard, his face tragically, gorgeously flushed. He rubbed at the back of his neck.

"Please," he added.

Neville sat in silence for a long moment, then opened his arms.

"Here," he said simply, and James buried himself in his professor's embrace.

The boy was warm—overheated—but Neville held him tightly, feeling his breathing slow to soft warm gasps against the skin of Neville's neck.

They stayed in the embrace until the position felt unnatural and Neville's shoulder began to cramp. James drew back a little, swallowing hard.

"I'm sorry I got so upset." His voice was dry and cracked, nearly a whisper.

"James—"

"Wait—I'm sorry about that, Neville. But I'm not sorry about the first part. I meant that part. I've been wanting and wanting to say that part."

Neville blinked.

"Why can't we just be together? You and me?"

Neville didn't know what to say.