Sinope's Fiction: Secrets Kept

Title: Secrets Kept
Author: Sinope at (no spam!) gmail dot com
Rating: PG
Pairing: Harry/Neville
Summary: Neville knew how important it was to keep his friends' secrets.
Author's notes: For lifeinwords, kindly betaed by Anjenue.
Disclaimer: This is an unofficial fan work. No profit was made; no ownership is implied.

He watched, as though somebody was playing him a piece of film, Sirius Black blasting Peter Pettigrew (who resembled Neville Longbottom) into a thousand pieces. - PoA, p. 213, US edition

Sweaty from the afternoon's hike, they waded between fragrant lavender bushes and knocked on the B&B's door; Harry let go of Neville's hand to smooth his hair over his scar, just before the bottle-blonde landlady emerged. "Hello," Harry began, "my friend and I would like a room for the night, please - we don't mind shar-"

"Good heavens, it's Harry Potter!" she exclaimed. "Why, my sister's a witch - Gladys Gudgeon, have you met her? - and she will simply not believe that I had Harry Potter in this very house - she's told me absolutely everything about you - and of course you needn't share, you'll have my best rooms and full board - we're all endlessly grateful, you know -"

Neville tried to keep a pleasant smile on his face, flexing fingers that still felt damp from Harry's hand.

Two hours later, in Harry's room (a spacious bedroom with an ocean view and wallpaper of yellow roses), Neville pulled Harry into a kiss. "So will you come over to my room, or would you like me to come here? Yours has a nicer bed, but . . ."

"Neither," Harry cut him off, avoiding Neville's eyes. "If she suspects anything, you know perfectly well that it'll be all over the Prophet." He hesitated. "Look, I'm sorry, but I promise we'll be together tomorrow night, all right?"

"I understand," Neville nodded. He kissed Harry in one gentle, mechanical movement. "See you tomorrow."

Neville's room was not as large as Harry's, nor as well-furnished; its small window only offered a view of the next house down. Above the rooftops, though, he could see the sun setting in goldenrod and vermillion, brighter than a puffapod's blossom. Clutching the splintery windowsill, he stared until his eyes wept.

But you are a Gryffindor, Professor Sprout had said to him that day in Greenhouse Three, after he'd dropped an entire box of puffapods and burst into tears, saying over and over that he didn't belong in Gryffindor, he didn't belong. You are a Gryffindor, and don't you forget it. You're loyal to your friends and to your beliefs, and you don't give up. Isn't that right, Neville? Your heart is true, and that's all that matters.

That's all that matters. Puffapods had always fascinated Neville: secrets given botanical form, violently orange beauty hidden in an unassuming bean. As he cleaned up the profusion of blossoms, he had found a lone bean that had somehow survived the fall. You and me, he had thought, tucking it in his pocket, we can wait together.

The sun had almost set, and mosquitos were flying into the room with the night breeze. Neville closed his window and began to undress for bed: itchy, striped pyjamas that stretched over his pale skin. Absently, he scratched his left arm in the spot that had never stopped feeling a bit prickly, then switched off the lights.

It would be all right, sleeping away from Harry for a night. After all, Neville knew how important it was to keep his friends' secrets.

finis.