You know what I just realized? Neville and Percy are the two most purely British names I know of. Just a random observation courtesy of yours truly. ^_^;;;

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and all associated entities, and I make no money from this. I am poor, so please don't sue me. Also, this is SLASH. So, if you all don't like the idea of two people of the same gender being portrayed in romantic situations, I suggest you vacate the premises NOW.

Chapter Two: September 1st

The train hissed and grumbled to a stop in Hogsmeade on the evening of September 1, and Neville Longbottom got off it as soon as he could. He wasn't going to give Trevor any more chances to get lost in the chain of cars. The toad was entirely too slippery for its own good. He carried the box containing Trevor with him as he exited.

He'd been lucky so far this trip - as in, Draco Malfoy and those huge goons hadn't molested him yet. Instead, he'd passed the day-long trip to Hogwarts with Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, talking of Quidditch and learning about "football" and other boyish topics. He felt very glad about getting back to Hogwarts, away from his doddering Gran and the houseful of aging wizard relatives. He missed the hustle and bustle of school, though he'd rather die than admit it. Even with Snape and Malfoy and his own ineptness, he preferred to not be alone.

"Neville!" shouted a voice from behind him. He turned to see Hermione, Ron, and Harry approaching. Hermione held Trevor in one hand. Neville felt his eyebrows raise and he looked inside the box to discover it empty. He groaned embarrassedly.

"Lose something?" Hermione asked, not unkindly.

"Yes," he replied with a sigh. He held out the open box. "I don't get it. How does he keep escaping?"

"Maybe Trevor is really Houdini reincarnated," Harry suggested as Hermione put the fugitive toad back inside.

"Who?" Ron and Neville asked at the same time.

"Houdini. A Muggle who was really good at escaping things," Hermione said.

"Oh. Er. I suppose it's possible," Neville said doubtfully. Then he noticed Hermione scrutinizing him. He blinked nervously. "What is it? Do I have something on my face?"

"No," Hermione replied with a shake of her head. "It's just I couldn't help noticing. Have you lost weight?"

"Yeah. My Gran had me on a diet over the summer, and my great-uncle put me to work out in the magic herb garden," he explained and felt himself blush. The results of the diet weren't very overt, but he was a bit thinner around the cheeks and middle, and his muscles in general had developed from long hours of tending the rambunctious and sometimes bloodthirsty foliage. Still, he hadn't expected anyone to notice. Of course, Hermione ~was~ the sharpest girl in school.

"Well, you look good," she assured him with a smile. "Do you want to ride in our carriage on our way to the school?"

"Sure," Neville agreed, surprised. Harry and Ron were, too, from the looks on their faces, but they offered no arguments.

"What's this, Granger? Have you really sunk so low as to hit on ~Longbottom~?" drawled a depressingly familiar voice. Neville sighed with resignation as he turned to see Draco Malfoy standing a meter away with an intolerable smirk on his face. "Or, as he would more aptly be called, ~Wide~bottom."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry snapped angrily, stepping forward to stand next to Neville. "It seems you've gotten over your case of hexmarks since the last time we saw you."

Draco's eyes narrowed, and he bared his teeth in a sneer. "Ah, yes," he said in a deadly, cold voice. "We owe you lot a few turns for ~that~ incident. Don't we, boys?"

Goyle and Crabbe grinned menacingly, and popped their knuckles. Ron and Hermione were suddenly at Harry's other side, and they glared right back at the three Slytherins. The air was thick with enmity as the rivals stood in frozen tableau. Neville glanced worriedly back and forth between them, wondering what incident they were talking about. He knew that he had to say something, and say it fast, because sooner or later someone was going to pull a wand and they'd ~all~ get in trouble. He mustered his courage and tugged on Harry's sleeve.

"Come on, we'll miss the carriages," he said quietly. "Besides, they're not worth the effort. Let's go."

Harry nodded slowly, not taking his eyes from Malfoy's. "Yeah, you're right. They're ~not~."

Despite the relative weakness of the insult, Malfoy bristled at it. He jerked his head to one side, breaking the staring contest. The pale youth put his hands out as if to forestall Crabbe and Goyle from attacking. He looked down his nose at the four Gryffindors.

"Lard-arse over there has a point. I don't want to get stuck sharing a carriage with a Mudblood like you, Granger, so we're going to leave," he said disdainfully. But he turned a glower on Harry once more,"But don't think this is over, Potter, because it's not by a long shot."

With that, Malfoy stalked away stiff with anger and his henchmen lumbered behind him towards the line of horseless carriages that was forming. The quartet watched them go with wary and angry expressions.

"That - bloody - ~bastard!~" Ron said suddenly, drawing Neville's attention. The youngest Weasely boy was red as a tomato in his ire. "I can't ~believe~ him!"

"Ron, calm down. He didn't even insult your family or anything," Hermione tried to sooth him.

"But he insulted ~you~! Don't you get tired of it?" Ron demanded.

"No," Hermione replied serenely. "I don't let it get to me. 'Mudblood' isn't that insulting if you didn't grow up with it."

"Yeah, right," Ron said sullenly, but he relaxed when she put a hand on his arm.

"We really ~should~ get to a carriage," Harry announced after clearing his throat. "Come on, Ron. Don't let Malfoy ruin our first day of the term."

Ron allowed himself to be cajoled into a bearable mood again, and they all clambered into a carriage, barely managing to latch the door before it started rolling up the road to the castle. On the way, they all talked of inconsequential things like the schedules and courses they had this year. While it was pleasant enough conversation, Neville couldn't help but feel out of place a bit, as he did within any group. He felt like the tight-knit friends were avoiding talking about something. He didn't begrudge them their secrets, but watching them made him feel the lack of close friends in his own social life. He sighed under his breath.

When they arrived at the castle, they joined the noisy swarm of students clambering up the stone steps to the entrance. Neville basked in the throng of people, calling out "Hallo!" to people he knew and grinning happily. While living with his Gran and all his oddball relatives couldn't exactly be called calm, it got dull without anyone his own age to talk to.

Everyone eventually filtered into the Great Hall and seated themselves at their respective house tables. Professor McGonagal wasted no time in ushering the new first-years in. The Sorting Hat carolled cheerfully, and though Neville forgot the words to the song almost as soon as he heard them, but the melody was catchy enough.

"Anderson, Ginger," McGonagal called out, and the actual Sorting got underway.

It was an unusually small class this year, each house gaining only a few new memebers, Griffindor receiving the most with nine. Still, everyone joined in the cheering, and when it died away, Dumbledore stood to make his welcoming speech.

"Welcome, one and all, to Hogwarts!" he began. "We'll be quite busy this year, but I hope it will be a safe and enjoyable time. Before we start the feast, I'd like to introduce some new members of the staff.

"As you all know, there are new distressing developements in the wizarding world. Voldemort has returned - "

Neville and most of the other students gasped in reaction to the name.

"- and we realize how upsetting this must be for young people. So, in order to help you cope with this problem or any others, we have recruited guidence counselors for you to talk to and confide in. They are here for you to have an adult to trust and lend an unbiased ear. They can also help you with your studies if you have trouble, or give advice if you want it. They may give it even if you ~don't~ want it," the headmaster explained with a little chuckle.

"There are two counselors for each House," he went on, "and they are situated in rooms near their respective Houses. They can be reached at ~any~ time you feel the need to talk to them. Don't worry about waking them in the middle of the night. It's in their contracts, so they can't complain."

The doors opened to reveal eight black-robed young adults. They were all more recent graduates; Neville recognized a few of them as being seventh-years from when he was a first- or second-year. Then he spotted a ~very~ familiar freckled face with a shock of neatly-combed red hair on top. He felt his jaw drop and his face heat as the new counselors walked to the main table. Percy walked right past him, and Neville tried to disappear as he did so. He couldn't help looking up at Percy's face, though, hoping for at least a glance of recognition, anything that meant he hadn't been forgotten or was now despised.

However, Percy didn't even flick his gaze in Neville's direction. He marched purposefully, chest puffed out importantly, up to the high table and stood next to one of the eight new vacant chairs. Neville couldn't help but watch miserably. He vaguely heard Dumbldore introduce each counselor individually, but even when the speech ended and the food appeared on the tables, the teenager was still in shock.

Percy was here at school. Percy Weasley was going to be a Gryffindor couselor. The thought repeated in Neville's mind like a taunt, dredging up anxiety he'd hoped to have left behind when he borded the Hogwarts Express at the end of last term. He recalled the Yule Ball and the wash of relief he'd felt when Percy hadn't been repelled by him. But then, afterwards, no word came from Percy. Despite the long conversation they had shared over hot chocolate, despite Neville's - too-high? - hopes of something more, nothing else was said or done. That had hurt. It proved once and for all that he was truly unlikable. Now he'd have to see Percy everyday for the rest of the school year.

The rest of the evening went by like that. Neville ate very little, and while what he did eat probably was as delicious as Hogwarts food ever was, it tasted like cardboard to him. No one noticed. Seamus and Dean made a half-hearted attempt to get him to settle an argument they were having - they couldn't agree which was a better sport, Quidditch or football - but he just mumbled "I dunno," and they left him alone after that.

When finally it was time to go to bed, Neville found himself too depressed to sleep. He brooded over the way Percy just walked by, as if he hadn't even seen him. A weak voice in his head suggested maybe Percy ~hadn't~ seen him, that he hadn't done it on purpose. That hope was squashed quickly and ruthlessly. He'd been stupid to harbor such feelings at all, much less retain them this long.

He rolled onto his stomach and hugged his pillow.

"I'm so stupid," he whispered into the cloth. "It was just one kiss. And a cup of hot chocolate. You'd think I was mourning the failure of a grand love affair or something. He didn't like me. He just... I dunno. Just kissed me. Didn't mean a thing to him."

It took a while to acclimate himself to this new hopelessness, but he finally did. Then he fell asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first three weeks went by very slowly for Percy and Oliver and the other counselors. The students were all too shy or uncomfortable to come for help. But the older classes recalled a few of the younger counselors and treated them like friends rather than staff. The third week Oliver started to help with Quidditch practices, and his friendly demeanor broke the ice for the Gryffindor students. Oliver posted the password to his and Percy's rooms in the Gryffindor common room. Soon students began popping in for advice from Oliver or help on a homework assignment from Percy - the two young men had decided that arrangement would work better, given their respective talents.

Somehow, even when he wasn't busy, Percy found himself putting off talking to Neville.

"I really should talk to him," he muttered to himself several times. But, to tell the truth, he didn't know how. It would hardly look right for him to track Neville down when he was supposed to be attending to his duties. It would single the boy out, and people would wonder ~why~ the guidence counselor wanted a private word with him. That would put poor Neville in the spotlight for no real reason. Percy could just imagine what bullies in Slytherin would make of the situation.

* Right, * he thought. * I'll have to wait until he comes to me. *

Of course, this was easier said than done. Neville disappeared every time Percy went into the Gryffindor common room, and his name was never on the sign-up sheet for tutoring sessions. It didn't take a genius to realize Neville was avoiding him. He frowned as he thought that, looking over the sign up sheet for the next week before he set it down and picked up the book he'd begun reading last night.

Did the boy hate him now? Was he ashamed? Was he... ~frightened~? The last question gave Percy a jolt. What if he'd scared Neville with that kiss? Had he been too forceful? Was he too old for Neville to feel comfortable with? Was Neville too young for ~Percy~ to be comfortable? Why was Pecry even still considering a relationship with the boy? It was bad enough that they were four years apart in age. But now that Percy was in a position of trust in the school, if he and Neville ever ~did~ have a relationship, it would be disastrous if anyone ever found out. Not only would he be taking advantage of a pupil, but a ~male~ pupil, which - in the eyes of the vast majority - would be ten times worse. His career would be ruined, not to mention Neville's life at school.

Percy shook his head to clear his mind of these troublesome thoughts. He'd just have to set Neville straight, so to speak. When he actually got a chance to talk to him alone. Which wasn't looking very probable.

*Arrg!* Percy thought, sick of the circular track his train of thought was stuck on. He sighed explosively and tried to concentrate on his book. It was a Muggle mystery novel. He'd been intrigued by the idea of finding the culprit of crimes without the use of truth potions and scrying spells. The amount of mental jogging actual Muggle detectives go through to solve a murder was arduous and painstaking. Percy tried to solve the crime himself, too, as he read, and he'd gotten quite good at it. He already had a suspect in this novel, and it certainly wasn't the butler who dunnit.

Just when he was about to turn the page to reveal the culprit when the door to his and Oliver's room burst open. He jumped, startled, and whirled in his chair to see an ~extremely~ irate Snape storming in, a half-hidden black-robed form in tow. Percy stood as Snape began to bellow.

"Weasley! You're supposed to be tutoring the students of Gryffindor, are you not?" he snapped.

"I am, Professor," the redhead said with a nod, trying to get a good look at who exactly Snape had dragged in. The student, however, edged out of his line of sight. Still, knowing what he knew of the Gryffindor house class shedule and who in the fifth year class could anger Snape this much, he guessed with an unnerving mix of hope and dread who the student was.

"So, why have you not taken note of Longbottom's dismal failures in my Potions class?" Snape demanded, thrusting Neville forward. "See what the idiot's done to himself?"

Neville stood before Percy clutching his Potions textbook, a look of abject misery on his face and his eyes lowered. Percy could see now why he'd tried to stay out of sight. The fifteen-year-old was covered - presumably from head to toe, if the face and hands were any indication - in green and purple spots, stripes, and interesting geometric patterns. It looked as if he'd run afoul of a color-blind tatoo artist on acid.

"Botched his Chameleon Potion," the teacher sneered in disgust. "Weasley, I know that you're an almost competent potion-maker. I ~insist~ that you tutor Longbottom. I won't have him disrupting my class any further. If his caudron is exploding, boiling over, or trying to crawl away, ~he's~ grown an extra limb. I can't be expected to advance the other students if I'm constantly trying to correct ~this~ one's mistakes."

"I'd be happy to help," Percy said, hoping he didn't sound as nervous as he felt. He also felt a flare of anger at Snape for verbally abusing Nevillel. Still, the older man had a point, though Percy hated to admit it. Neville was notorious throughout the school for his lack of talent in Potions.

Snape favored him with a scowl. "See that you do. You can start right now by teaching him the correct way to brew the Chameleon Potion."

"Will that get rid of these - side-effects?" Percy asked as tactfully as he could, shooting Neville a sympathetic glance - which was wasted because the boy was still staring at the floor.

The potions professor grinned nastily. "No. I'm afraid that the potion he already tested will have to simply work itself out of his system. Any further ingestion of the Chameleon potion would only lengthen the duration of the current effects. Good luck, Weasley. You'll need it."

With that, Snape swept from the room. The door slammed behind him so quickly, though, that it whacked his rear. The affronted yelp the two heard through the door made up for the teacher's rudeness. Percy snickered, which caused Neville to glance up. They caught each other's eyes, and cracked up laughing. Granted, it was nervous laughter, but it was better than awkward silence.

"Maybe it's time Oliver and I got that door fixed," Percy suggested lightly, when he'd regained the ability to speak. Neville gave a smile that was at once shy and sly and he shook his head. Percy chuckled. "You're right. That thing comes in useful, every now and again. But seriously, now. What happened in class?"

Neville sighed, becoming embarrassed again. He shuffled his feet. "Well, we were working on the Chameleon Potion, like he said. Malfoy was throwing pickled snake tongues across the room at Harry, and I think about five fell into my cauldron. Then Crabbe and Goyle thought it would be funny if they tipped my cauldron onto me. Thus the - er - stripes and things."

"Ah, I see. Well, let's get started. Open your book to the Chameleon Potion and tell me what ingredients we need. I'll get everything together," Percy suggested.

"Percy," Neville began before Percy could bustle over to his supply cupboards. His tenative tone froze Percy in his tracks.

"Yes?" the taller boy asked with a silent sigh.

"About the Yule Ball... I... " Neville trailed off, ovbiously uncertain.

"Neville, I'm so sorry that I didn't write you," Percy blurted out into the silence that followed. "I truly meant to, but after the whole mess with the Tri-Wizard Tournament, I was swamped. And after, I - I didn't know what to say anymore."

"Oh. I, uh, I guess I see. I mean, I don't expect anything more from you," Neville said sofly, the green and purple on his face darkening. He frowned then. "Wait, I didn't mean that like it sounded. It's just... I understand why you didn't write."

Percy resisted a sigh of relief. "Thank you. And of course you'll understand why we can't... um..."

*God, I can't even ~say~ it now,* he thought at himself in disgust, but Neville was nodding.

"I understand."

"It's just that if someone found out, well, who knows what would come of it? I'd lose my job; you'd be teased relentlessly, maybe even physically attacked. It wouldn't work out," Percy explained uncertainly. He watched the younger boy closely, but he couldn't read the expression on Neville's face.

"I understand," he repeated.

"Good," Percy said with forced briskness. "Now, down to business. Please open your book and we'll begin."

As Neville followed his instructions, Percy tried to convince himself that this was for the best. After all, there was nothing but objections to the idea that they could be together as a couple. It would be dangerous and unprofessional. Still, he couldn't shake the nagging sensation that he was making a mistake...

TBC!

Review, please!