Title: The Third Wheel
Author: ozma_katiebell 
Based On/Inspired By: Gryffindors by wallflowergirl  (kath_ballantyne )
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Seamus, Seamus/Neville, Dean/Seamus/Neville
Rating: R
Content/Warnings: could be construed as cheating
Author's Notes: I wanted to make this more porny, but Neville got shy. Besides, I wanted to let the gorgeously porny art speak for itself.


He used to hear them at night, or at least he did until they'd learned silencing charms, rustling, whispering, groaning and occasionally grunting. When he finally worked out what they were up to, after the initial shock, he found that it made a strange sort of sense.

He'd always been the third wheel (or fifth wheel), and he'd learned to accept it a long time before. Harry had Ron and Seamus had Dean, and all Neville had was a toad that cared so little for his company that he went missing for days on end.

But once he'd worked out what they were doing when they thought everyone else was asleep, watching the meaningful looks they gave each other throughout the day became his favorite pastime. It was amazing what you could learn about the dynamics of other people's relationships if you looked closely enough. With Harry and Ron, it was all about protectiveness, and though Neville was pretty sure that they didn't love each other quite the same way that Dean and Seamus did, there was a devotion between them that was sort of touching.

On the surface, it looked as though Seamus dominated the relationship, but with careful observation, Neville realized that Seamus's bluster was more often for Dean's benefit than not. But with one pointed look, Dean could get Seamus to shut up the way that no one else could. Seamus seemed to always be seeking Dean's approval, and when they walked, Dean's hand would inevitably land on Seamus' shoulder in a clear declaration of possessiveness.

It came to a head, Neville suspected, after the 'Winter of Ginny,' as he came to think of it. Seamus was a right wee bastard for the most part, but still, he sought out Neville's company more than he ever had before. He never said anything, but if you caught him when he thought no one was looking, he could be seen giving Ginny a death glare that might have frightened Voldemort himself.

'He's jealous,' was the obvious conclusion, but it wasn't until later that it occurred to Neville that Seamus didn't just resent Ginny for taking away the attention of his friend but for doing to and with Dean what Seamus himself wanted to do.

When it finally fell apart, as seemed inevitable, Seamus looked as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. Now that Neville knew what he knew, it seemed as though Seamus had got a new determination in his eyes and he seemed to be treating Dean differently, more protectively, (which seemed absurd, considering that he barely came up to Dean's shoulders). It was sort of touching, actually.

The night Ginny threw herself at Harry in the most public way possible (and once Neville could tear his eyes from the spectacle) Neville found his eyes being drawn to Dean, whose white-knuckled fist was beginning to drip blood onto the fine old crimson rug. Seamus, looking as if he'd have liked nothing more than to hex the happy couple, was tugging at Dean's arm, alternately pleading and physically dragging his friend from the room.

Though Seamus and Dean were in the habit of spending time hunched together on one or the other's beds, joking, plotting, complaining, playing cards or looking at dirty magazines, this time they kept the curtains shut, probably to save Dean the sight of the world's most famous boy wizard looking lust-addled and thoroughly snogged.

The curtains remained closed for several weeks, and eventually laughter could be heard from behind the curtains, and eventually, Dean was able to look Harry in the face (even if Seamus couldn't.)

Neville couldn't have told you if they started shagging then, but he wouldn't have been surprised. What did surprise him was how the idea affected him, how clearly he could picture Dean's large dark hands with their elegantly tapered fingers moving over Seamus' compact body, tracing the wiry muscles and lightly freckled skin. He would catch Seamus looking over at Dean with fire in his eyes and the way that Dean would smile in response, licking his lips as he shifted in his seat. Once Neville worked out what they were up to, he reckoned that they might as well have had a neon sign floating above their heads, it seemed so obvious. But neither of them actually said anything, so when Seamus came back alone the summer after seventh year, other than asking if Dean had gone on the run, (which he apparently had) he couldn't do much more than offer up a lame, "He'll be fine, Seamus, I'm sure of it." He had now way to let Seamus know that he had an idea of what he must be going through.

At first, Seamus was quieter than normal, walking around with fear in his eyes and--it seemed to Neville--shrinking before his very eyes. He pushed away every plate of food, glaring at the Carrows and looking as though he wasn't sure whether he wanted to run up and strangle the pair of them or curl up in a corner and cry.

But if anyone asked how he was doing, or if he'd heard from Dean, Seamus would reply with monosyllables, if not with outright hostility. The best Neville could do was distract him, which he did with limited success with stupid things like cards or sweets and once, a decidedly pornographic book he'd acquired from Ernie MacMillan. He wasn't sure what the etiquette was in offering heterosexual smut to a person you suspected might be playing for the other Quidditch team, but Seamus had seemed happy enough to take it.

Around November, when Seamus had lost far more weight than his skinny body could afford to lose, and well after it became apparent that Hogwarts, under the current administration, was going to end up as nothing more than a training ground for future Death Eaters, Seamus took a turn for the worse. Or possibly a turn for the better, because for the first time in months, Neville saw the fire back in Seamus' eyes.

Of course, that was not surprising, considering that he got it back while beating the piss out of a Slytherin who'd cursed a second year Gryffindor, but it was nice to see Seamus looking--not dead. And although Neville managed to stop him before he killed the bastard, he wholeheartedly approved. That night, as he hid Seamus in the Room of Requirement, he stayed up well into the middle of the night thinking about Seamus' suppressed terror and fury and Luna's remarkably effective methods of getting the Quibbler circulated throughout the school and the talks he'd had with Ginny while trying to talk her through her worry about her family and suddenly the vague plans he'd had in the back of his mind on what 'somebody' should do became considerably firmer.

The first thing he did was to approach Ginny about that sword he'd been thinking about ever since he heard about twelve year old Harry's battle with a snake. Snape, that slimy serpent, had no right to see it hanging in his office every day.

And it was worth it, too, especially when he saw the first genuine smile he'd seen on Seamus' face since the first of September. Suddenly, 'Seamus the zombie' was gone, 'and Seamus the demon' was in in his place, making plans of organized insubordination, each more outrageous than the last.

That was when Seamus began climbing into Neville's bed at night, drawing the curtains shut and keeping his voice low as he talked of strategy, of sticking close together, of protecting the weak, of where they could do the most damage with the least consequences.

Neville got used to sleeping head to feet with Seamus in his bed, a novelty to an only child. But it was somewhat comforting, if a little disconcerting--considering the sort of things he had thought about when he'd pictured Seamus and Dean together. Fortunately, the dreams Neville had been having lately were of terror and pain rather than cocks and arses, so he didn't have to worry about waking Seamus by humping his leg.

Neville had got to the point where it seemed stupid to lie to himself. As things were, the odds weren't very good that he would live long enough to do the whole 'wife and three kids' thing. It wasn't just timidity that had made him bollocks with girls. It was lack of interest. And if blokes like Seamus and Dean were any indication, it didn't have to be any big deal. It didn't make him less of a man. It was just one more thing that made up a small part of himself, and if anyone had a problem with it, they could feel free to add it to the list of things like 'blood traitor' and 'son to a pair of vegetables' that he refused to apologise for.

Besides, it wasn't as if he was going to be doing much dating in his current situation. The only person he knew for certain shared his proclivities was decidedly not available. Even if he did share his bed more nights than not. Even if he would walk around the dorm shirtless and occasionally even pantsless. He'd always been that way; completely comfortable in his skin.

After Christmas, Seamus seemed to have hardened, and it even showed on his face, or perhaps Neville had been thinking of the Seamus of old during his holidays and was startled to see the Seamus of today when he returned. He hadn't heard from Dean, and Neville suspected that he'd been holding out the hope that Dean had sent a message to Ireland thinking that it would be safer to do so.

Often, Neville would wake up in the middle of the night to find both Seamus' and his bed empty, and sometimes he would find Seamus leaning out the window, smoking a contraband cigarette. One night in February, however, found him sitting out on the ledge, staring out into the frigid night. How he'd managed to get out there without falling to the courtyard below, Neville didn't know. And his feet were bare. Was he trying to pick up pneumonia?

"Come back in, mate," he said, tempted to add, 'you bloody idiot.' Seamus looked at him with eyes so full of pain that Neville felt a stab in his own heart. For a long moment, Seamus stayed still and silent. Finally, he held up a Galleon. "Got a message, finally. He says he's all right. I don't reckon there's room to say much more."

"I suppose not," Neville conceded. He felt relief that Dean was alive, but why it had sent Seamus out onto the ledge, where he seemed to be on the verge of suicide, he didn't know. He held his hand out to Seamus, and eventually, Seamus took it, though he scampered nimbly enough over the stone ledge, bearing a startling resemblance to a monkey. When he came through the window, he kept holding onto Neville's hand. He only came up to Neville's chin, these days, a fact made more apparent by the fact that Seamus was standing uncomfortably close to Neville. Unable to look at his eyes, Neville looked down at Seamus' bare toes, wondering why he wasn't running to cover them with socks.

"Shay," he began, but Seamus tugged on his hand until Neville finally raised his eyes from Seamus' toes to his eyes. Seamus moved closer, reaching up to grab the back of Neville's neck and kiss him hard on the mouth. It was the very last thing Neville had expected him to do, but at the same time, he's sort of known, deep down, that it was coming. Or at least he knew that it was an impulse that he'd been fighting, and for a moment, he let himself get lost in the feeling of Seamus' lips moving over his, coaxing his mouth open. When he felt the slide of Seamus' tongue against his, Neville's head was spinning and his body was stirring, and before he knew what was happening, he found himself being backed toward his bed, and Seamus' icy fingers were reaching underneath his pyjama top.

It had the effect of a cold shower, and Neville pulled away, trying to catch his breath. "No," he choked out, grabbing Seamus' hands by the wrists, holding him still.

"What?" Seamus asked, a note of irritation clear in his voice. "Still trying to convince yerself it's the lasses you fancy?"

"No." Neville sighed. Of all the times he'd imagined talking to Seamus about his sexuality, he'd never imagined it coming out quite this way. Well, he'd imagined something like this happening, but only in his more vivid fantasies, the ones he'd never dreamed would become reality. But whatever Seamus' reasons had been for kissing him, it hadn't been because he fancied him.

"It's not me you want," he finally said, stating the obvious. Whether or not he'd wanted Seamus was irrelevant. Seamus didn't deny it, he just sighed and sat down on the nearest bed, which happened to be Dean's.

"You and Dean," Neville prodded, thinking they may as well get it out in the open, after all.

"Aye," Seamus said. "And maybe I like thinking that he found someone to help him get through the bad times the way that I have. It's better than thinking he's alone and scared, isn't it?"

Neville smiled, passing his hands over his face. It was pure Finnigan logic, it was, and at the moment, he couldn't come up with a single argument to the contrary. Actually, it was sort of touching, and somewhere buried in there, there was a compliment to himself, he was sure.

He put his arm around Seamus and halfheartedly mussed his hair. "Tempting, Finnigan. Very tempting. But when Dean shows up after all this insanity is over with, I'd like to be able to tell him that I didn't try to make a move on his boyfriend."

Seamus grinned. "You didn't. I did."

"Yes, well..." Neville said.

"Besides," Seamus added. "Dean's kinkier than you'd think. Likely get off on it."

Neville nearly choked at that. "Right...erm...Back to bed, I think. You coming?"

Seamus slept in his own bed that night, which prevented Neville from having to sleep in an awkward position to conceal a rather stubborn erection. Which really wasn't helped when, just as he was about to doze off, Seamus, called out, "I could suck yer cock, if you like. No strings."

"Shut it," Finnigan," Neville groaned, closing the curtains to muffle Seamus' impish laughter. In his dreams, though, Seamus was as good as his word.

~~~~~~


Seamus was a shameless flirt, always had been. He hadn't always been with Neville, though, but now, he seemed to be making up for lost time. There had always been something brilliant about suffering through Snape or the Carrow's classes and knowing that if you looked in the direction of one of your fellow DA members they'd be thinking the exact same thing you were, if not planning the exact same thing you were. But looking over at Seamus now had an added bonus, and in the midst of all the fear and dread, it made him feel ridiculously giddy to know that someone was thinking about doing things with him that were still illegal in many countries.

He was relentless, and now he'd begun touching Neville in ways he never had before, wearing down his resistance.

Nights were the worst. Or the best. Probably the best. They always started out talking about things like their classes or the plans for the next bit of anarchy or plans for the future, but Seamus would invariably end up making some outrageous suggestion or offer, and occasionally Neville would wake up to find Seamus wrapped tightly around him. as if he needed him or something. No one had ever needed Neville before. No one had ever wanted him, either, as far as he knew.


~~~~~~


He'd never planned on giving in. Ever. And he might never have, if Crabbe had not gotten so damn good at the Cruciatus curse. He always told himself that he was stronger than people realised, that he could take whatever they dished out. But his parents had been strong, too, stronger than he could ever hope to be. He feared losing his mind more than anything. And maybe he feared spending the rest of his life in a cold hospital ward, with no one even remembering he was there, after Gran died. Or maybe he feared losing everything before he'd ever got a chance to really do anything. Or maybe he was just a typical randy teenage bloke with extremely limited control over his baser urges.

"Oh, go on then."

How Seamus had known exactly what he was talking about, Neville didn't know. And he'd rather suspected that Seamus would be a smug prat about the whole thing, but it seemed that the most effective way to shut him up was to keep his mouth otherwise occupied. His remarkably clever mouth, as it happened. And clever fingers, for that matter. And if he managed a smug smile as he swallowed down every last bit of Neville's come, Neville supposed he'd earned it.


~~~~~~


By the time March rolled around, Neville had got pretty good at sucking cock himself. He'd also got good at hacking off the Carrows, and they were beginning to make threats about his Gran. Seamus kept him from going completely mad, worrying about her. And when word came over the wireless that Dean had been taken, he felt as if his own heart had been ripped from his body, but it was nothing to what Seamus was going through. Seamus wanted to run, Seamus wanted to beat Death Eaters and Snatchers to a bloody pulp, Seamus wanted to tear his hair out by the roots. That night, Seamus rode his cock for the first time, dry-eyed and manic and looking as though he had been possessed by a demon. The cry that he let out as he came was as painful to hear as Fawkes' song had been beautiful.

Neville curled around him as he slept, and it was only in dreams that Seamus let himself weep.

~~~~~~~

Seamus went sort of unhinged after that, and when Neville was forced to go permanently into the Room of Requirement, he knew that Seamus was going to have to follow soon, if he didn't get himself killed first. They had a few days alone before other members of the DA showed up, and Neville found himself doing things with Seamus he'd never in a million years imagined he'd do, let alone like it.

~~~~~~~

When Dean walked through the door from the Hog's Head, the cry of joy that Seamus let out filled him with an odd mixture of relief and sadness. Fortunately, he really didn't have much time to analyse his feelings, and shortly after that, he didn't have time to do anything much more than fight, and keep fighting, and fight more after that.

The Carrows, Mulciber, Fenrir Grayback, Voldemort's bloody snake...it seemed as though it would never end, and in the back of his mind was worry that if by some miracle, he survived, he'd end up losing one of the people that mattered to him the most.


~~~~~~

After the smoke cleared and he'd seen his grandmother off to the infirmary (kicking and screaming) and got his own burns tended to, he discovered that suddenly, he was the most popular bloke in school. And as alluring as it had sounded back when he was in first and second year, it wasn't all that much fun in reality. At least it wasn't fun when girls (and boys) who'd looked at you with scorn and derision in their eyes not three years before suddenly acted as if they'd been half in love with you all along. It especially wasn't fun when you were tired and sore and filthy and somewhat heartsick over the fact that the person you'd been wrapped up with for the better part of a year was wrapped up with someone else. At least that was what Neville assumed.

So when he finally escaped and made his way wearily up the stairs toward the common room, he hadn't expected to have a familiar brogue calling after him.

He hadn't expected it, but that didn't stop his heart from soaring and then falling as he caught sight of his semi-boyfriend's actual boyfriend standing behind him and looking decidedly boyfriend-ish.

"Oi!" Seamus called, as he turned toward them resignedly . "Big damn hero. You don't want to go up there."

"Like hell I don't" Neville said, unable to resist a smile in response to Seamus' impish grin.

"No, you don't--not unless you want to get an eyefull of the boy-who-lived offering sexual healing to the-girl-who-lost-her-brother."

"Oh," Neville said lamely. "I just want to sleep."

"She squeals," Dean added. "Trust me. Most annoying sound on earth."

"Oh, you loved it," Seamus teased.

"We all like stupid things when we are too young to know better," Dean said.

Neville sighed, tempted to ask if they'd rather be left to carry on alone.

"The point is," Seamus continued, "We've got a better idea."

Neville looked from one to the other, his eyebrow raised, shifting on his ridiculously sore feet. "And?"

Seamus grinned. "Corner gave me the password to the Prefect's Bathroom."

While a hot shower didn't sound half bad, Neville couldn't quite sort out why this announcement had them looking at each other as if they had each managed to win the battle single-handedly.

~~~~~~

An hour later, when he found himself deliciously shag-sore and enjoying a mouthful of Irish cock with an avid audience, he decided that the pair of them were pretty much geniuses. And that the rewards for being a semi-hero far outweighed the rewards for saving the day. And that being the third wheel wasn't such a bad thing after all.