otempora01
in
hp_tng
teacher molestation! teacher molestation!
The irony of the title is not lost on me. To celebrate the fact that LJ's back up again (it probably got overwhelmed by all the HP TNG fic rolling about), here's my dip in the Neville/James shipping pool. Blame techiegoat entirely for this, folks. So much fic, so little time.
an occurrence in the forbidden forest
otempora01, rated PG for brief snogging sessions.
Harry Potter, Neville/James, m/m, post-series.
Neville’s kind of noticed that James Potter might not understand the boundaries of a ‘teacher-student relationship.’ James Potter’s kind of noticed that trees have good leverage.
Complete, 1,265 words.
Neville swallowed as he led his class of Seventh Year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs out into the Forbidden Forest. They were out collecting Mooncalf dung and Neville had taken every precaution to keep his class safe.
Firenze had informed the centaurs to let the students alone and Hagrid had gone ahead of them to ensure that they didn’t run into anything else unpleasant. All the other Professors, with the exception of Professor Lovegood, thought he was too cautious when it came to his students, but even though they had had nineteen years of peacetime, Neville still felt responsible for each and every one of their lives.
When he really felt like an overcautious fuss bucket, he liked to imagine Harry felt the same.
However, it was not fear for his students that had him so nervous as they navigated around the trees in the dark, looking for any sign of dancing Mooncalfs. No, the source of Neville’s discomfort was trailing intentionally behind his classmates, casting looks behind him every so often. Neville’s eyes were drawn to him like Hagrid to a pint of Firewhisky.
James Potter was a boy for and of the world; he walked as though everyone around him was looking and appraising which, Neville had learned, was often the truth. However, despite his slightly cocky strut, James was a clear-cut example of the difference between confidence and arrogance. He knew he was handsome, athletic, and popular, but was comfortable enough with himself not to feel the need to prove it to everybody else. Besides, it wasn’t as though there wasn’t a reason everyone liked him so much: he was charismatic, could walk into a room full of people he didn’t know and walk out with a dozen new friends.
James looked back yet again and caught him staring. The mischievous smile on his face widened and he began to hang back even more until he was walking an equal distance away from Neville behind him and his classmates in front of him. Neville swallowed again and looked away.
For weeks, months really, James Potter had been… well, Neville didn’t want to say “pursuing”, but he had been showing an unusual interest in Herbology. James wanted to work in International Muggle Relations or become a Professional Quidditch Player, neither of which he needed Herbology for. And yet, he’d insisted upon taking the class, arriving early to watch Neville set up the plants and staying late to help him pack the supplies away.
At first, Neville had thought he was just being helpful, but then he’d bent to get a pair of forgotten earmuffs and felt the distinct slide of a hand across his bum. He’d smashed his head against a table and dropped the earmuffs all over again in his haste to stand up, but by that time, James was two tables away, cleaning off the excess soil.
James Potter-seventeen year old James Potter and son of two of Neville’s good friends-had groped him. It had taken Neville far too long to grasp the very concept, so long that James had gone from being discreet to outright flirting with him before and after class. He was glad that James at least had the common sense not to ask to see his wormwood during class, but he kind of wished he wouldn’t do it at all.
It was obvious from the way James kept inching back toward him that he would have no such luck tonight. He was hoping he’d get lucky and they would run into a Mooncalf soon. Surely the smell of its dung would turn James off him for the night?
“Professor,” whispered James from somewhere near his left shoulder. How had he gotten back here so fast? “You looked like you needed some company, wandering around back here by yourself. You don’t want to get lost.”
“I’ve been in here plenty of times,” Neville said, which was a bit of a lie. “I think you should keep with the group so you don’t get lost.”
James snorted. “I’ve been here way more often than you, Professor. I get detention with Filch all the time and the Forbidden Forest is one of his favorites to hand out. I probably know this place better than you.” James looked back at his classmates, which should have raised a red flag in Neville’s mind, then suddenly stopped and pushed Neville to the other side of a rather large tree. He could still hear his class, but he could no longer see them because a line of trees blocked this path from theirs. “Like this. This is an easy way to lose Filch or whoever he sends you in here with. He’s learned to stop sending me in with Hagrid.”
Neville was very aware that he was still in the exact same position he’d stumbled into when James had pushed him-trapped between James’ body and a tree-and the blush on his face attested to that fact. He was suddenly glad of the darkness; if James knew he was blushing, he might take that as an encouragement.
“Teacher-student relationships are illegal,” he hissed, trying to sound authoritative, but his voice was shaking and he was shaking a little, too. “You don’t know how much trouble-”
“Trouble is my middle name, Professor,” James replied without a hint of shame. His hands moved from Neville’s shoulder to press against the tree on either side of his head. “I was named after two Marauders, after all.”
Neville opened his mouth to ask what Marauders James was referring to and immediately regretted it because James was kissing him and his tongue was in his mouth and he was going to Azkaban because he was enjoying it, wasn’t pushing James away. His fingers were digging into the tree bark and he wanted nothing more than to drag his face away and tell James that this was wrong, so wrong, but James’ tongue was warm and wet and he tasted like chocolate frogs and his hands were sliding into Neville’s robes and-
“No,” Neville gasped, turning his head to the side at last. He groaned as James, not the slightest bit hampered, kissed along his cheek and nibbled at a very sensitive spot below Neville’s jawline. He gasped again, this time for an entirely different reason, his legs trembling from the effort of keeping him up against such an onslaught of pleasure. “Why?” he demanded a little desperately. “Why me?”
“Mum always tells me to give you love,” James murmured, pushing Neville’s collar to the side and firmly attaching his lips to Neville’s neck. “I’m just trying to do as she says.”
“Professor Longbottom! Hagrid found the Mooncalf!”
Neville shoved James away, face hot, and attempted to look at least somewhat presentable. No matter how much he pulled up his collar or adjusted his robes, he still felt like a dirty old man, like he had ‘I JUST SNOGGED MY STUDENT’ written on his face like Marietta Edgecomb’s permanent ‘SNEAK.’ He gave James a very dark look that he wasn’t entirely sure the boy could see in the darkness and skirted around the tree to help the students who wanted to learn more than what the inside of his mouth tasted like.
Thinking that made Neville feel twice as dirty as before and he made a point of not looking anywhere near James for the rest of the class, even though he could feel those eyes burning into him.
THE END
an occurrence in the forbidden forest
otempora01, rated PG for brief snogging sessions.
Harry Potter, Neville/James, m/m, post-series.
Neville’s kind of noticed that James Potter might not understand the boundaries of a ‘teacher-student relationship.’ James Potter’s kind of noticed that trees have good leverage.
Complete, 1,265 words.
Neville swallowed as he led his class of Seventh Year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs out into the Forbidden Forest. They were out collecting Mooncalf dung and Neville had taken every precaution to keep his class safe.
Firenze had informed the centaurs to let the students alone and Hagrid had gone ahead of them to ensure that they didn’t run into anything else unpleasant. All the other Professors, with the exception of Professor Lovegood, thought he was too cautious when it came to his students, but even though they had had nineteen years of peacetime, Neville still felt responsible for each and every one of their lives.
When he really felt like an overcautious fuss bucket, he liked to imagine Harry felt the same.
However, it was not fear for his students that had him so nervous as they navigated around the trees in the dark, looking for any sign of dancing Mooncalfs. No, the source of Neville’s discomfort was trailing intentionally behind his classmates, casting looks behind him every so often. Neville’s eyes were drawn to him like Hagrid to a pint of Firewhisky.
James Potter was a boy for and of the world; he walked as though everyone around him was looking and appraising which, Neville had learned, was often the truth. However, despite his slightly cocky strut, James was a clear-cut example of the difference between confidence and arrogance. He knew he was handsome, athletic, and popular, but was comfortable enough with himself not to feel the need to prove it to everybody else. Besides, it wasn’t as though there wasn’t a reason everyone liked him so much: he was charismatic, could walk into a room full of people he didn’t know and walk out with a dozen new friends.
James looked back yet again and caught him staring. The mischievous smile on his face widened and he began to hang back even more until he was walking an equal distance away from Neville behind him and his classmates in front of him. Neville swallowed again and looked away.
For weeks, months really, James Potter had been… well, Neville didn’t want to say “pursuing”, but he had been showing an unusual interest in Herbology. James wanted to work in International Muggle Relations or become a Professional Quidditch Player, neither of which he needed Herbology for. And yet, he’d insisted upon taking the class, arriving early to watch Neville set up the plants and staying late to help him pack the supplies away.
At first, Neville had thought he was just being helpful, but then he’d bent to get a pair of forgotten earmuffs and felt the distinct slide of a hand across his bum. He’d smashed his head against a table and dropped the earmuffs all over again in his haste to stand up, but by that time, James was two tables away, cleaning off the excess soil.
James Potter-seventeen year old James Potter and son of two of Neville’s good friends-had groped him. It had taken Neville far too long to grasp the very concept, so long that James had gone from being discreet to outright flirting with him before and after class. He was glad that James at least had the common sense not to ask to see his wormwood during class, but he kind of wished he wouldn’t do it at all.
It was obvious from the way James kept inching back toward him that he would have no such luck tonight. He was hoping he’d get lucky and they would run into a Mooncalf soon. Surely the smell of its dung would turn James off him for the night?
“Professor,” whispered James from somewhere near his left shoulder. How had he gotten back here so fast? “You looked like you needed some company, wandering around back here by yourself. You don’t want to get lost.”
“I’ve been in here plenty of times,” Neville said, which was a bit of a lie. “I think you should keep with the group so you don’t get lost.”
James snorted. “I’ve been here way more often than you, Professor. I get detention with Filch all the time and the Forbidden Forest is one of his favorites to hand out. I probably know this place better than you.” James looked back at his classmates, which should have raised a red flag in Neville’s mind, then suddenly stopped and pushed Neville to the other side of a rather large tree. He could still hear his class, but he could no longer see them because a line of trees blocked this path from theirs. “Like this. This is an easy way to lose Filch or whoever he sends you in here with. He’s learned to stop sending me in with Hagrid.”
Neville was very aware that he was still in the exact same position he’d stumbled into when James had pushed him-trapped between James’ body and a tree-and the blush on his face attested to that fact. He was suddenly glad of the darkness; if James knew he was blushing, he might take that as an encouragement.
“Teacher-student relationships are illegal,” he hissed, trying to sound authoritative, but his voice was shaking and he was shaking a little, too. “You don’t know how much trouble-”
“Trouble is my middle name, Professor,” James replied without a hint of shame. His hands moved from Neville’s shoulder to press against the tree on either side of his head. “I was named after two Marauders, after all.”
Neville opened his mouth to ask what Marauders James was referring to and immediately regretted it because James was kissing him and his tongue was in his mouth and he was going to Azkaban because he was enjoying it, wasn’t pushing James away. His fingers were digging into the tree bark and he wanted nothing more than to drag his face away and tell James that this was wrong, so wrong, but James’ tongue was warm and wet and he tasted like chocolate frogs and his hands were sliding into Neville’s robes and-
“No,” Neville gasped, turning his head to the side at last. He groaned as James, not the slightest bit hampered, kissed along his cheek and nibbled at a very sensitive spot below Neville’s jawline. He gasped again, this time for an entirely different reason, his legs trembling from the effort of keeping him up against such an onslaught of pleasure. “Why?” he demanded a little desperately. “Why me?”
“Mum always tells me to give you love,” James murmured, pushing Neville’s collar to the side and firmly attaching his lips to Neville’s neck. “I’m just trying to do as she says.”
“Professor Longbottom! Hagrid found the Mooncalf!”
Neville shoved James away, face hot, and attempted to look at least somewhat presentable. No matter how much he pulled up his collar or adjusted his robes, he still felt like a dirty old man, like he had ‘I JUST SNOGGED MY STUDENT’ written on his face like Marietta Edgecomb’s permanent ‘SNEAK.’ He gave James a very dark look that he wasn’t entirely sure the boy could see in the darkness and skirted around the tree to help the students who wanted to learn more than what the inside of his mouth tasted like.
Thinking that made Neville feel twice as dirty as before and he made a point of not looking anywhere near James for the rest of the class, even though he could feel those eyes burning into him.
THE END