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Harry made an irritated noise as he stared at the old parchment in his hands. “It wasn’t bad enough when it was just Filch, now we’ve got Malfoy prowling around the hallways too...”

“No doubt he’s trying to get on Umbridge’s good side. Not that I think she’s got one.” Ron moved to stand at Harry’s shoulder, then pointed. “Here. Hermione and I’ll go try to distract him. Filch usually turns down the Transfiguration corridor, and that’ll leave you and Neville free to get to the common room.”

Harry nodded once, briskly. “Okay. Sounds good.” He looked up and locked eyes with Neville, who flinched slightly and looked away, as though he wasn’t entirely certain how he was supposed to react to the sudden inclusion. He might not be, Harry reflected, and made a mental note to reach out to the other boy more often. If nothing else, it might bolster his confidence, which could only help his spellwork.

He glanced down at the map, following Ron and Hermione’s dots as they approached Malfoy’s. He began edging toward the door, gesturing at Neville to follow.

“Don’t you have an invisibility cloak?” Neville whispered as they crept as quickly as they could along the darkened corridor. Harry nodded, eyes glued to the map.

“Left it in my trunk. It was too small to be of any use for me and Ron and Hermione...” Filch was turning down toward the Transfiguration classroom now, leaving the corridor that lead to the useless staircase that went up half a flight and then back down, depositing them only one corridor and a trick wall away from the common room. “Come on,” he said urgently, and picked up the pace slightly.

They were halfway up the stairs, Neville panting slightly, when seemingly from nowhere a small dot began meandering up the stairs across from them. Harry’s heart lurched in his chest as the name appeared: Mrs Norris.

“Blast,” he muttered, looking around quickly. They were terribly exposed, and while it was only a few minutes past curfew, he doubted that Filch would care, and it was too much to hope that Mrs Norris would not immediately go to fetch him. It was unlikely they’d be able to make it to the common room before she could get back with him.

“Behind here,” he hissed, grabbing Neville’s arm and hauling him up to the top of the steps and unceremoniously thrusting him through a tapestry. He sincerely hoped that memory served him properly and there was still the shallow nook behind the tapestry, and that he hadn’t just shoved Neville into a solid wall. The absence of anything but a quiet exclamation of surprise assured him that he had been correct, and he followed quickly, ducking through the tapestry that was really just an illusion hiding the likely forgotten unsightly hole in the wall.

“What -” Neville had begun as Harry abruptly came face-to-face with him.

“Shhh. Mrs Norris,” Harry whispered. Neville gulped and went completely still.

Now that they were properly hidden and the worst of the danger had passed, Harry could properly appreciate just how awkward a position they were in. The alcove was either much smaller than Harry remembered, or else his and Ron’s eleven-year-old selves had been of a size much more suited to hiding here, because he was having to press Neville against the wall behind him to keep his own back from protruding through the illusory tapestry. What resulted was his hands resting on Neville’s shoulders, with Harry unable to bring them down without risking his elbows sticking out through the tapestry, and his chin more or less buried just above the other boy’s collarbone.

He shifted slightly so their knees weren’t knocking together, though there wasn’t a great deal of room for shifting to occur. As he did so he found, with genuine alarm, that he was taking a great deal of notice of how tightly pressed their bodies were, how warm Neville felt against him, and started to panic slightly as he felt a sudden twinge in his groin. Pressed against another bloke in a dark alcove was not the best time for an unsolicited and greatly embarrassing erection. He immediately tried to shift his thoughts to something wholly unappetizing - Filch and Snape and Umbridge foremost among them - but apparently the damage had been done, and he gritted his teeth and fervently prayed that Neville would be too distracted by their near brush with Mrs Norris to detect it.

“Um...” Neville said slowly, and Harry could feel the muscles in the other boy’s throat contract as he swallowed. He sounded more than slightly mortified. Harry closed his eyes in a mirror of that emotion.

“Ignore it,” he said curtly, his cheeks beginning to blaze hotly. He supposed it had been too much to hope that Neville could fail to recognize a hard cock pressed against his hip. He began to wish he was anywhere but here, and knew that it would be impossible to meet Neville’s eyes for several weeks to come.

So wrapped up was he in his private bubble of utter humiliation that he did not immediately notice it. In fact, it wasn’t until he’d shifted just slightly and felt a twitch against the inside of his own thigh that realization intruded into his consciousness, and he jerked his head back slightly to look at Neville, who was biting his lower lip and staring straight ahead at the back of the illusory tapestry as though he could see through it.

“...Neville?” he ventured after a moment.

“Bit difficult to ignore,” Neville said shortly.

He was right. Now that Harry was aware of it, it seemed to be taking up a great deal of his attention, and he could feel his own cock growing harder at the sensation of Neville’s pressed against the joint of his thigh and hip.

“I’ll pretend to if you will,” Harry offered, at a loss for anything else to say. Neville licked his lips and nodded, not taking his eyes off the back of the tapestry, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

The shift, however, introduced a measure of friction that had not previously been present, and Harry drew in his breath in a tiny involuntary gasp at the sensation as his hips twitched forward just slightly of their own accord, answered by what was doubtless a similar reflexive shudder on Neville’s part. He only then became aware of how tightly he was gripping Neville’s shoulders and he consciously made himself unclench his hands.

“All quiet, my sweet?” came the unmistakable sound of Filch at the bottom of the stairs. Harry’s eyes went wide as Neville placed his hands on the small of his back and pulled him closer, away from the perilously close tapestry and rubbing their hips together in a way that sent delicious shivers up Harry’s spine, and without quite realizing it he bucked his hips forward. A tiny grunt escaped Neville’s lips and he shifted his own hips, and his erection pressed against Harry’s in a sensation that made Harry’s eyes roll back and he had to bite his lower lip to keep from moaning.

A wordless agreement passed between them at that moment and, eyes closed and breaths held to keep themselves from accidental vocalization, they moved against each other, seeking more of that glorious friction, animalistic need far outweighing the earlier mortification. Senses tuned to extreme sensitivity, Harry was certain they were making enough noise to wake the entire castle but he didn’t care, cheek pressed against Neville’s shoulder and thrusting forward into Neville, craving more, wishing desperately that he could get a hand free to reach down...

“H-Harry,” Neville gasped, almost soundlessly. “I’m - I’m going to -”

“Then do it,” Harry panted into the side of his neck, eyes screwed tightly shut, wondering slightly at the notion that Neville so close to orgasm was bringing him off nearly as effectively as grinding against him. Neville drew a shaky breath as his entire body stiffened and shuddered, drawing Harry roughly to him as his head canted back. Harry could feel the pulses of Neville’s release against his thigh and he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood as, with one last clumsy thrust, he felt his own orgasm rip from him, jolt after jolt of hot pleasure that was nothing like his previous experiences furtively pulling off with the curtains of his bed closed. He leaned against Neville, his knees suddenly shaky, marveling that he’d managed to keep his feet at all.

Neville cleared his throat, bringing Harry sharply into the present; he started guiltily and straightened. They muttered hasty cleaning spells and, determined to not make eye contact, slipped out of the alcove and stood awkwardly as Harry consulted the map. By some miracle, Filch had not heard them and was three corridors down, and Mrs Norris had ventured one floor above them.

“C’mon,” Harry said under his breath, and he began silently leading the way to the common room.

They paused outside the Fat Lady, and Harry took a deep breath. “You can’t tell anyone,” he began, and didn’t know where to go from there.

Neville looked surprised and a little hurt. “Of course not.” As an afterthought, “Who would I tell?”

The common room was blessedly empty; Harry and Neville continued their silent journey up the stairs to the dormitory. Seamus and Dean’s bed curtains were drawn; Neville went straight to his bed and snapped his curtains shut without even undressing first.

Harry wandered into the bathroom, his mind unfocused and buzzing, with the vague idea of taking a shower. As the hot water pounded at his shoulders, Harry leaned forward to rest his forehead and forearms against the tile wall. He could not banish from his mind how it had felt. The heat of it, the need so powerful it ached, the sensation of another throbbing cock next to his own...

He sighed, and the only thing stopping the exhalation from being a moan was the lack of voice behind it. He reached down and began tugging at his hardening cock urgently, amazed that he could still be so randy after what had happened mere minutes before. With more than a little guilt, he fancied that Neville was doing the same thing right now behind the burgundy curtains, and the mental image of Neville pulling at his own cock in response to something Harry had done was enough to push him over the edge, gasping as he leaned against the wall of the shower.

“I am so fucked,” Harry whispered as he watched the sticky, pearly mess swirl down the drain.