Pairing: Harry/Neville.

Rating: PG-13.

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Characters owned by J.K. Rowling.

Summary: Practice makes perfect.

"Besides, kissing isn't the sort of thing you should go around practising," Hermione said, her voice rising.

Harry and Ron quickly turned their heads around to see who else was listening. The only other person present in the Gryffindor Common Room was sitting curled up in a corner armchair, reading. Neville. He didn't even look up from his book. Harry relaxed and turned back to Hermione.

"Why in the world not?" he asked, speaking more quietly and hoping she would take the hint and reply in the same tone.

Hermione gave him a look that suggested what he was asking was stupid and not really worth an actual answer. She gave him one, anyway.

"Because kissing is something very special that you should share only with someone you feel something special for," she said as loudly as before. She raised one of her hands as if she were going to curse him, but she only made an exasperated gesture. "You can't go around kissing just anyone!"

Harry made a grimace and shifted position. "Well, I wouldn't exactly practise kissing with Malfoy!" he said.

Ron sniggered and nudged him. "He'd be all, 'What would ever make you think I'd even consider being within ten feet of you? Potter, you're disgusting!'."

Harry's lips moved almost despite himself into a smile. Ron was really getting better at mimicking Malfoy.

"I could tell him Professor Snape is adding kissing to his lessons and he'd better get some practice in for the oral exam Snape is going to give him."

Ron hooted with laughter and Harry's own smile grew.

"You're not taking this seriously enough!" Hermione stamped her foot accusingly. "Why would you even need to practise something like kissing? It's not as if any one of you is going to get an opportunity to kiss anyone any time soon. You're much too childish. You're not even in love with anyone, either of you!"

That made Ron lose his smile, and he stared wistfully after Hermione as she stormed off to her room.

Neville had been trying to make sense of the potions book for a long time, and the words were swimming disconnectedly in his mind by the time Harry and his two closest friends stepped in through the fat lady entrance. He spared a quick glance towards them — him — and then turned his eyes down again to his book. The reassuring press of the plush armrest against his arm and elbow made him feel grounded. It was better not to get caught staring. The qualities of the Mandragora root as an ingredient in potions were not that interesting to begin with, but then he heard what the three were talking about, and the page became as good as blank to him.

Caught up in quickly banished and as quickly returning images of meeting lips, he only looked up again to see Hermione disappear in the direction of the third year girls' room. Ron stood there, looking hurt, and Harry was rolling his eyes. Even like that, he looked solemn. Brave. Like a Gryffindor of Gryffindors. Neville let out a small sigh.

"I need to go do my Divinations homework," Ron said in a subdued voice and went off, presumably to mope in his room.

Harry was left standing in front of the fireplace looking after Ron with a twist to his mouth. The firelight flickered and lit up the side of his face, making it look soft and golden. Neville swallowed and slowly put his book down on his thigh. This was stupid of him, he knew that, but he couldn't not try.

Before he could say anything, however, Harry sighed and turned to go back out into the corridor. Neville hurried after him, his book sliding off the armchair and onto the carpeted floor with a soft thump. "Harry, wait..."

Harry turned right before the door and Neville almost bumped into him. He rapidly backed off a bit and felt his ears grow warm at Harry's inquisitive head tilt. He coughed, embarrassed.

"We could... If you wanted—You could practise on me," came out of him in a rush. "At kissing," he added, to make things clearer, when he felt Harry had been quiet for a rather long time. Harry only looked at him, and time seemed to crawl past for a few excruciating seconds while Neville expected to get laughed in the face.

But then Harry only blinked and said, "All right," in a perfectly normal voice, as if he had suggested they should go down to the kitchen and get something to eat.

When Ron went off with his tail between his legs, Harry was left standing there feeling rather annoyed. It wasn't as if he'd suggested they practice the Avada Kedavra curse on each other. Hermione had overreacted a bit, in his opinion. It only seemed practical to practise kissing just as anything else. It would be handy to know, after all. It was a skill he felt was important to acquire.

Well, if no one thought kissing was a good idea, maybe he could go get something to eat instead. He turned and headed back out again, but then he heard a thump and a quiet, "Harry, wait..." He'd almost forgotten about Neville sitting there and he turned on his heel, not expecting him to be so close. As it was, they almost collided, and watching Neville stumbling backwards, he wondered why Neville was in such a hurry.

Neville hemmed and hawed a bit and then mumbled something disjointed about practising on him. It took Harry a moment to puzzle out what he meant, and at the same time he did, Neville clarified, "At kissing." Neville's ears looked really red. The veins in them must be swelling with blood or something. He blinked.

"All right." He hadn't really considered anyone other than Hermione or Ron. It was actually rather nice of Neville to offer. Might as well get to it, then. Except... "Where, then?" he asked. They couldn't exactly just start practising in the Gryffindor Common Room. That would look odd, wouldn't it?

Neville's eyes widened almost comically as he looked around himself to make sure no one else was in the room. He took a step closer to Harry again and gestured towards the door. "Maybe, er, in the linen closet down the hall?" he said.

Harry had no idea how Neville knew there was a closet nearby. But it seemed like a good suggestion, so he stepped aside and let Neville lead the way out through the painting.

The door Neville stopped in front of was in fact not at all far from the Fat Lady. Harry didn't think he'd ever noticed it before.

It was a small closet, with bed linen stacked tightly on the shelves Harry could see. It was also rather dark, as he couldn't help noticing when Neville closed the door behind them. For a moment, all he could hear was breathing in the dark.

"Harry...?" Neville said.

"Oh. Right." He removed his wand from his pocket. "Lumos."

As Neville walked in front of Harry down the hall, his sense of unreality became stronger and stronger. He had to fight himself to stop from turning around to check if Harry was actually following, even though he could hear the scuffing of his shoes against the stone floor. Stopping before the closet door he privately thought of as his, he felt almost as if he had no control over what his body was doing. He watched his hand rise to open the door. Everything felt light and shaky.

Harry went on past him as he held up the door for him, and Neville glanced quickly up and down the empty corridor before he went inside, too, and closed the door behind him.

The closet seemed even more cramped than usual with the door closed and the knowledge of someone else being in there with him. Neville leaned against the door with his hands behind his back to avoid crowding Harry and waited for light with his heart in his throat and the fast thudding of his pulse in his ears. It wasn't until he reminded Harry to do the spell that light came, however.

He blinked in the sudden brightness until Harry apparently remembered it was not good manners to point a wand in people's faces and put it on a shelf instead, letting it become a makeshift lamp. In the half-dark Harry's face looked strange, the angles and planes of his face different and shadowed. Neville flexed his fingers, pressing himself away from the door a little. The movement made Harry look at him until Neville felt just a little uncomfortable. That little wrinkle between Harry's eyes combined with his silence and unwavering gaze made his skin itch.

"So," he said, just to break the silence. His voice came out sounding weak and nervous, and he coughed a little to clear his throat. Harry kept looking at him. Neville let his eyes wander over the shelves so he wouldn't have to look at Harry, and saw that the house elves had uncharacteristically left a stack of pillowcases on top of some sheets on an upper shelf. They usually liked to have things in their right places. But then again, maybe someone else had moved them around. "This is a good closet." It was a rather lame thing to say, but he couldn't think of anything else that didn't sound like 'Are we going to kiss now?'

"Are we going to practise or not?" Harry said in a tight voice, and Neville jerked his gaze back to stare at him.

Neville kept looking around at the shelves as if he'd never seen the closet before. He was fiddling with the hem of his shirt, Harry noticed. It suddenly struck him that he would stand very close to this boy; put his hands on his shoulders and his mouth on his lips. It gave him a strange, shivery feeling that curled up from his stomach and closed his throat until he had to consciously relax. He needed to get this done, and done now.

"Are we going to practise or not?" he asked and took a step towards Neville and the door.

Neville looked at him as if Harry were some strange and wondrous creature, but that was an ordinary enough reaction and Harry didn't pay much attention to it. Instead he took another step, so close now that he could feel Neville's quick breaths on his face. He looked at Neville's lips, where he was going to put his mouth, and they parted.

"Alright," they said.

Neville's voice wasn't that loud, and he licked his lips quickly after he said it. Harry saw it. It made his lips glisten in the weak light. Neville was kind of pressed against the door, with his hands behind him, but he didn't make any moves to open the door or get away, so Harry leaned closer, bringing his hands up to grasp Neville's shoulders. He knew he was supposed to tilt his head, to avoid bumping their noses, so he did, and just like that he was very carefully kissing Neville Longbottom.

It felt... It was soft and tingly and warm and made him want to lean just a little bit more into Neville, just to feel that warm and tingly all over.

He backed away just enough to see Neville watch him warily, black eyes wide and breaths carefully measured. He licked his lips slowly, to savour the tingle, and remembered there was supposed to be tongue involved in kissing, too. Ron had told him, and he'd seen some of the older students when they thought no one else was around.

Neville was holding very still. Harry leaned in again, closing his eyes, and found his lips again by touch. Still soft. Still this wonderful yielding feeling. He opened his mouth a little and licked with his tongue across Neville's lips. They felt different than his own. Different little creases, different patches where the skin had been worn and bitten. Soft and slick and wonderful.

He licked again, slower this time, and the glide of his tongue against Neville's lips was fascinating. Neville's teeth were smooth and hard when he pushed a little, and he made a small sound, surprising himself with how good it felt. He was a little frustrated about Neville keeping his teeth locked together, though. He needed to feel what Neville's tongue felt like against his own.

The moment Harry's lips touched his own, Neville felt uneasiness rise through him. He felt trapped, his hands behind him and pressed up against the door. Harry was an unmanageable weight against him, pushing and breathing into him. His lips felt numb and hot, being moulded into shape by Harry's mouth.

Then all of a sudden Harry backed off a little, and Neville breathed, strangely relieved. This had been his idea, he knew that, but he hadn't known it would feel like this. The reality of Harry's lips against his own was pressure; firm and suffocating. And it was wet. Harry's lips left a residue of wetness on his mouth that he very much wanted to wipe away with the back of his hand.

Harry was watching him intently with dark eyes. He looked focused, implacable, and suddenly Neville had no doubt this boy would bring an end to Voldemort some day, finally. It would happen. Just as surely as Harry was leaning in again and touching his lips to Neville's.

This time, there was even more wetness, and Neville had nowhere to flinch when Harry started poking with his tongue against his teeth. He had only the door against the back of his head, and his hands trapped between his back and the door and Harry's hands on his shoulders and now Harry was putting a hand on his jaw to coax his mouth open and he couldn't stand it anymore.

He wrenched his head to the side, panting and fixing his gaze on a forgotten candle holder that stood on a bottom shelf with old, solidified wax running down the side.

"Oh," he heard Harry's voice say after a short silence. And, "Maybe that's enough practising." And, "Thank you."

And then there was real light again, as the closet door opened, and Harry slipped out past him and disappeared down the hallway.

Neville kept staring on the candle holder until he had to blink. Then he noticed Harry had left his wand on the shelf. He'd have to bring it back to the Gryffindor sleeping quarters.

He slowly began to feel as if his body were his own again. His shoulders and face had imprints of Harry on them. Maybe he'd take a shower.