Fic: Part Four (Of Whispers and Kisses)
Title: Of Whispers and Kisses
Rating: PG-13 (for boys kissing?)
Pairings: Harry/Cedric
Warnings: Boys kissing (but that's what we're here for, isn't it?)
Summary: Neville thinks about beauty and tries to remember potions and spells.
More excellent work from my beta: rotaryphones
Links to previous parts: One, Two, Three
Neville noticed beauty at odd, random, unfortunate moments. It was the source of his clumsiness, really, but he wasn't about to admit that to the rest of his class. How, exactly, did he explain that he nearly blew himself up during Potions due to an ingredient wrongly added in a moment of vast distraction when he noticed, for the first time, that Professor Snape had beautiful hands?
And he did have beautiful hands, graceful and sure. That didn't stop him from being a scary bastard.
Beauty was what had led Neville to his fascination with Herbology. Plants were beautiful - often far more beautiful than people, and far more benign if one had just the right touch. Most of Neville's classmates were absolutely terrified of the Bubotubers, but Neville found them beautiful in a quirky, repugnant sort of way. His favorite plants were the puffapods. As a child he'd taken great delight in dropping the beans to watch flowers burst forth everywhere.
Neville thought he'd learned his lesson by now about being distracted by beauty at inopportune times. But it seemed his hyperactive mind was determined to discover all the different types of loveliness in the world and secret them away to treasure later.
He headed toward the Gryffindor dormitories, trying furiously to remember the potions assignment he'd read, to remember something other than the lovely diagram of aconite in the middle of the second page.
"Come on, Nev," he muttered to himself. "What comes after the chopped daisy root? Come on!"
He paused, thinking hard, but it was impossible. The answer wasn't coming. Neville resolved to draw all the plants used in the potions as soon as he had free time. Maybe he'd be able to remember them if he liked how they looked.
He sighed, hitched his book bag higher on his shoulder, and continued walking toward some of his favorite paintings. He was about to smile at the painting of the girl in the white dress, the one who picked flowers and waved at him, but she wasn't in her frame. Neville checked the nearby canvas to see if she was visiting the old witch who was constantly having tea, and he realized that all of the paintings were empty.
Cold terror gripped his insides. The last time the frames were empty had been because of Sirius Black.
Neville drew his wand, hexes and jinxes tripping over themselves in his mind as he advanced warily down the corridor. There, just ahead in an alcove, was a figure tall enough to be a person.
Was it rictusallegra? Or Tarantasempra? Or maybe Tarantallegra?
Neville silently cursed his horrible memory and tightened the grip on his wand. If all else failed, a good jab would startle the enemy. He edged forward to get a good look at the intruder, to get a proper aim -
And nearly dropped his wand. This, right here, was beauty unimagined.
Neville's breath caught in his chest and his eyes widened. He drank in as much of the vision as he could, desperate to commit it to memory before the moment was broken.
Cedric Diggory had Harry Potter in his arms. He lounged against the wall, arms wrapped around Harry's waist as Harry leaned up to kiss him. The kisses were languid and soft, deep and slow. Harry's lovely seeker’s hands were tangled in Cedric's hair. The curve of Harry's neck as he arched into Cedric's embrace, the dark crescent of Cedric's eyelashes against the line of his elegant cheekbone - every motion and moment was an aching, indescribable beauty that Neville wanted to watch forever.
Cedric broke the kiss softly and pulled back. He smiled down at Harry, and Neville's chest tightened.
Cedric whispered something to Harry who murmured something in reply, the entire conversation too soft for Neville to hear. Cedric placed a finger against Harry's lips, hushing him, and Harry's eyes fluttered closed. Cedric whispered some more then leaned down. He brushed his lips over Harry's once, twice.
Harry's resulting smile was one of utter bliss, and Neville realized that they were in love.
Harry darted in for one last small kiss. When he stepped away from Cedric, Neville could see that Cedric's robes were suggestively rumpled, and he blushed. Cedric pushed away from the wall, straightening up with a languid roll of his body that would have made the girls of Hogwarts swoon, but he seemed oblivious to the gracefulness of the motion, aware only of Harry's blushing and pleased smile.
Cedric whispered one more time and stepped out of the alcove.
Neville flung himself down behind the nearest suit of armor. He shut his eyes, held his breath, and hoped no one would notice him.
He heard Cedric's footsteps fade, but didn't hear Harry's. After years of sharing a dormitory with the boy, Neville knew what Harry's footsteps sounded like. He knew them well enough to know when Harry was angry, tired, or sneaking out. Neville wondered why he hadn't noticed Harry sneaking out recently. He reckoned it was because he had been studying himself into oblivion each night.
Neville opened his eyes and peered cautiously around the statue, just in time to see Harry turn around and spot him.
Harry froze. Neville lifted a hand and waved weakly.
"Neville," he hissed, stepping closer. "What are you --"
"Studying. Potions," Neville whispered back.
Harry closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "You saw."
"I saw."
"How much did you see?"
"Enough to know that he loves you, and you love him too."
Harry's eyes opened. "What? No - it's not what you think."
Neville searched Harry's gaze. "What is it, then?"
Harry tore his eyes away. He said nothing, merely stared at his shoes and fidgeted with his wand.
"I won't tell anyone," Neville said.
Harry nodded warily. "Thanks."
"Really," Neville said, earnest now. "Unless - unless you want me to?"
"No!" Harry shouted. He clapped a hand over his mouth and darted a furtive glance down the length of the corridor. Neville cast a look about as well, sure that Snape would materialize at any moment and give them detention.
"No, I - it's complicated. Cedric and I are both champions, and then, er, you know, there's Cho..." Harry sighed and swiped a tired hand over his face, almost dislodging his glasses.
Neville nodded. "Of course. I won't tell anyone." He knew, better than anyone, how to keep a secret. After all, Harry probably thought Neville's parents were dead. Hesitantly he asked, "How?"
Harry's shy smile was the most beautiful thing Neville had seen that entire night.
"It was Luna's fault, really. Luna and Dobby." Harry held out a hand to help Neville to his feet. "Cedric was right, though, we're out far past curfew."
Neville dusted himself off and scooped up his book bag. He fell into step beside Harry as they headed for the Gryffindor dormitories. They paused at each corner, checking for Filch and Mrs. Norris, darting from doorway to doorway like a pair of thieves.
And with each step, in a hushed exchange of whispers, Neville pieced together the story of how Harry fell in love.
Five
Rating: PG-13 (for boys kissing?)
Pairings: Harry/Cedric
Warnings: Boys kissing (but that's what we're here for, isn't it?)
Summary: Neville thinks about beauty and tries to remember potions and spells.
More excellent work from my beta: rotaryphones
Links to previous parts: One, Two, Three
Neville noticed beauty at odd, random, unfortunate moments. It was the source of his clumsiness, really, but he wasn't about to admit that to the rest of his class. How, exactly, did he explain that he nearly blew himself up during Potions due to an ingredient wrongly added in a moment of vast distraction when he noticed, for the first time, that Professor Snape had beautiful hands?
And he did have beautiful hands, graceful and sure. That didn't stop him from being a scary bastard.
Beauty was what had led Neville to his fascination with Herbology. Plants were beautiful - often far more beautiful than people, and far more benign if one had just the right touch. Most of Neville's classmates were absolutely terrified of the Bubotubers, but Neville found them beautiful in a quirky, repugnant sort of way. His favorite plants were the puffapods. As a child he'd taken great delight in dropping the beans to watch flowers burst forth everywhere.
Neville thought he'd learned his lesson by now about being distracted by beauty at inopportune times. But it seemed his hyperactive mind was determined to discover all the different types of loveliness in the world and secret them away to treasure later.
He headed toward the Gryffindor dormitories, trying furiously to remember the potions assignment he'd read, to remember something other than the lovely diagram of aconite in the middle of the second page.
"Come on, Nev," he muttered to himself. "What comes after the chopped daisy root? Come on!"
He paused, thinking hard, but it was impossible. The answer wasn't coming. Neville resolved to draw all the plants used in the potions as soon as he had free time. Maybe he'd be able to remember them if he liked how they looked.
He sighed, hitched his book bag higher on his shoulder, and continued walking toward some of his favorite paintings. He was about to smile at the painting of the girl in the white dress, the one who picked flowers and waved at him, but she wasn't in her frame. Neville checked the nearby canvas to see if she was visiting the old witch who was constantly having tea, and he realized that all of the paintings were empty.
Cold terror gripped his insides. The last time the frames were empty had been because of Sirius Black.
Neville drew his wand, hexes and jinxes tripping over themselves in his mind as he advanced warily down the corridor. There, just ahead in an alcove, was a figure tall enough to be a person.
Was it rictusallegra? Or Tarantasempra? Or maybe Tarantallegra?
Neville silently cursed his horrible memory and tightened the grip on his wand. If all else failed, a good jab would startle the enemy. He edged forward to get a good look at the intruder, to get a proper aim -
And nearly dropped his wand. This, right here, was beauty unimagined.
Neville's breath caught in his chest and his eyes widened. He drank in as much of the vision as he could, desperate to commit it to memory before the moment was broken.
Cedric Diggory had Harry Potter in his arms. He lounged against the wall, arms wrapped around Harry's waist as Harry leaned up to kiss him. The kisses were languid and soft, deep and slow. Harry's lovely seeker’s hands were tangled in Cedric's hair. The curve of Harry's neck as he arched into Cedric's embrace, the dark crescent of Cedric's eyelashes against the line of his elegant cheekbone - every motion and moment was an aching, indescribable beauty that Neville wanted to watch forever.
Cedric broke the kiss softly and pulled back. He smiled down at Harry, and Neville's chest tightened.
Cedric whispered something to Harry who murmured something in reply, the entire conversation too soft for Neville to hear. Cedric placed a finger against Harry's lips, hushing him, and Harry's eyes fluttered closed. Cedric whispered some more then leaned down. He brushed his lips over Harry's once, twice.
Harry's resulting smile was one of utter bliss, and Neville realized that they were in love.
Harry darted in for one last small kiss. When he stepped away from Cedric, Neville could see that Cedric's robes were suggestively rumpled, and he blushed. Cedric pushed away from the wall, straightening up with a languid roll of his body that would have made the girls of Hogwarts swoon, but he seemed oblivious to the gracefulness of the motion, aware only of Harry's blushing and pleased smile.
Cedric whispered one more time and stepped out of the alcove.
Neville flung himself down behind the nearest suit of armor. He shut his eyes, held his breath, and hoped no one would notice him.
He heard Cedric's footsteps fade, but didn't hear Harry's. After years of sharing a dormitory with the boy, Neville knew what Harry's footsteps sounded like. He knew them well enough to know when Harry was angry, tired, or sneaking out. Neville wondered why he hadn't noticed Harry sneaking out recently. He reckoned it was because he had been studying himself into oblivion each night.
Neville opened his eyes and peered cautiously around the statue, just in time to see Harry turn around and spot him.
Harry froze. Neville lifted a hand and waved weakly.
"Neville," he hissed, stepping closer. "What are you --"
"Studying. Potions," Neville whispered back.
Harry closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "You saw."
"I saw."
"How much did you see?"
"Enough to know that he loves you, and you love him too."
Harry's eyes opened. "What? No - it's not what you think."
Neville searched Harry's gaze. "What is it, then?"
Harry tore his eyes away. He said nothing, merely stared at his shoes and fidgeted with his wand.
"I won't tell anyone," Neville said.
Harry nodded warily. "Thanks."
"Really," Neville said, earnest now. "Unless - unless you want me to?"
"No!" Harry shouted. He clapped a hand over his mouth and darted a furtive glance down the length of the corridor. Neville cast a look about as well, sure that Snape would materialize at any moment and give them detention.
"No, I - it's complicated. Cedric and I are both champions, and then, er, you know, there's Cho..." Harry sighed and swiped a tired hand over his face, almost dislodging his glasses.
Neville nodded. "Of course. I won't tell anyone." He knew, better than anyone, how to keep a secret. After all, Harry probably thought Neville's parents were dead. Hesitantly he asked, "How?"
Harry's shy smile was the most beautiful thing Neville had seen that entire night.
"It was Luna's fault, really. Luna and Dobby." Harry held out a hand to help Neville to his feet. "Cedric was right, though, we're out far past curfew."
Neville dusted himself off and scooped up his book bag. He fell into step beside Harry as they headed for the Gryffindor dormitories. They paused at each corner, checking for Filch and Mrs. Norris, darting from doorway to doorway like a pair of thieves.
And with each step, in a hushed exchange of whispers, Neville pieced together the story of how Harry fell in love.
Five