3. emiime prompted me with Harry/Neville, an unexpected pasttime.
Flitterbloom Never Had It so Good (R; Neville/Not Flitterbloom; Harry/Neville; 415 words): Harry finds himself intrigued by more than Neville's special project.
"That's not Flitterbloom," Neville cautioned Harry, as he led him through the greenhouse.
Harry leapt away from a creeping tendril of Devil's Snare. "Why keep it around, then?" he asked, accepting a butterbeer from Neville.
Harry noticed Neville's blush and said nothing; there wasn't a plant his friend couldn't like, even a murderous one. "Sorry to just barge in," he said, taking a long drink from his bottle.
"Er, that's . . . fine, yeah. Fine."
"You feeling all right?" Harry asked, concerned by how flushed Neville appeared.
"Shouldn't I be asking you that? You're the one who just broke up with his girlfriend."
Harry sighed, and spent the evening telling Neville all about it.
Harry sent a stream of bluebell flames in the direction of Neville's legs as he entered the greenhouse. Nice, he thought, having never seen them bare before. "Watch yourself, Nev! That's not Flitterbloom!"
"Wha—oh!" Neville exclaimed, stepping out of the loosening loop of Devil's Snare. "Sorry 'bout that. I should have put the netting back over it."
"Still working on your special project?"
"Er, yeah," Neville almost mumbled, not meeting Harry's eyes.
"You know, it's not like I'd tell anyone about it, that is, if I knew what you were do—"
"You tell Ron, yet?"
Harry felt his face heat. "You know I can't. He and Hermione . . . ."
Neville handed him a butterbeer. "Right. Unrequited it is, then."
Weeks had passed, and Harry was feeling better about having fancied Ron for so long because his dreams had changed. It was stupid to have transferred his affections from one friend—one straight friend—to another straight friend, but at least Neville had time for him. That was why he'd come to Longbottom House earlier than he'd said to meet Nev for their weekly drink. As he approached the greenhouse, however, its glass panels looked particularly misted over.
What the hell is he doing in there? Harry wondered, quietly opening the door.
Walking carefully towards the back so as to avoid the Devil's Snare, Harry was surprised to find Neville writhing nude, entangled in something that definitely wasn't Flitterbloom—Flitterbloom didn't usually stroke one's cock in the manner it was wanking Neville's.
Harry gaped, and then he gasped to hear Neville's gutteral cries: "Harry, Harry, Harry!"
Oh, hell, yes! Harry thought, shucking his kit and moving to join Neville in what had to be the most unusual but welcome pastime ever. It didn't take much more than a lack of clothing to convince Neville to share it.