I really AM working on that Sirius/Remus Two Households story, but until I can finish it - have an Auror short story :-)

SPOILERS: Books 1 to 4, my Auror series

CONTENT: Neville/Dean slash

RATING: High PG13

CLASSIFICATION: PWP, mild humour

WARNING(S): Narcotic use

SUMMARY: Neville experiments with a new plant; Dean experiments with Neville.

DISCLAIMER: The Harry Potter series and all the characters associated with it are the property solely of J. K. Rowling, her agents and publishers.  No infringement of any rights is intended from the creation of this story.  Nor is any money being made from it.  This story is written solely for the entertainment of the author and her friends; please do not archive or redistribute without permission.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Thanks to CF33 for the rabid plotbunny!  It took me a while, but I got there in the end.

NOTES: This is yet another pre-Circles of Power story, set after Coming Clean and A Touch of Domesticity.  It's a bit tamer than you might think, given the warning, as this is an Auror-universe story dealing with a borderline topic.

Comments would be welcome, as always.

Herbal Encounter

by Mad Martha

Hermione waited until the others were arguing over who got to clear the table and wash up before she struck.

"House meeting!"

Immediate groans.

"Hermione, there can't possibly be anything to talk about!" Ron protested.

"House meeting once a month," Hermione said stubbornly.  "It's in the House Rules - but that's okay, you can explain to your mum why you think her rules aren't important."

"That's below the belt," he grumbled, and she smiled sweetly at him.

"As it happens, I do have a couple of things to raise," she continued, when she felt she had him properly subdued.  "Firstly, Ginny is leaving school next month and she's been accepted into training at St. Mungo's.  She wants to know if she can move in here with us."

"Why?" Ron demanded.

Hermione gave him an irritable look.  "Because this house is nearer to St. Mungo's than The Burrow."

"That doesn't matter on the Floo network," Seamus remarked, and he leaned back in his chair, raising his hands defensively at her expression.  "Just saying!"

"She wants a chance to live away from Mrs. Weasley and cut loose a bit," Harry observed, and he weathered Ron's indignant look manfully.  "What?!  That's what you wanted, isn't it?  Why shouldn't Ginny as well?"

"That's different!"

"No it's not," Harry retorted.  "She's your sister, not a nun!  What do you think I meant by cutting loose, anyway?"

"If she thinks she can move in here and … and bring strange blokes back here, or - "

"Nice to know what a squalid little imagination you have!" Hermione said scathingly.  "And what business of yours is it if she does?"

"Is that what you moved in here to do, Ron?" Neville asked, interested.  "Bring back strange blokes and stuff?"

Seamus made a strange gargling noise, screwing up his face.

"Seamus moved in here so he could bring home strange women," Dean added innocently.  "Though I reckon Nev's got the market cornered on the strange ones, so that's why Seamus brings the others home instead."

"Maybe that's what Ginny wants to do," Harry agreed, flickering a tiny wink at the others.  "Bring home strange women, or even normal ones."

"She can do that if she wants," Seamus said, diverted from the horrible thought of man-on-man action by the prospect of in-house lesbianism.  "Maybe if she can't afford the rent, we could work out a deal - "

"I'm a trainee Auror," Ron said through gritted teeth.  "They've been teaching me how to kill people with a teaspoon, you know."

"It hasn't worked so far," Hermione told them all, eyeing Ron grimly.  "He's still working up to a teaspoon - I'm expecting the Ministry to announce a ladle shortage any day now."

"So Ginny wants to move in here," Harry said hastily, before a real quarrel could break out.  "There's a spare room, so what's the problem?  With another person here, the rent and expenses'll drop for the rest of us."

"Mum'll kill us," Ron said obstinately.

Hermione and Harry rolled their eyes.

"She won't, because Ginny's big brother is living here too," Hermione said with exaggerated patience.  "She knows she can rely on you to look after your sister."

The look Ron gave Hermione at this sent Dean into fits of laughter.

"Yeah, right," Harry mumbled, grinning.

"Besides," Hermione added more briskly, "since I'm living here as well, I don't think it'll be such a difficulty for your mum.  But getting Mrs. Weasley to let her live here is Ginny's problem.  Are we all agreed in principle that we don't mind her moving in?"

"Do you want a show of hands?" Harry asked, giving her a quizzical look.  But he raised his hand anyway.  "Aye!  I'm in favour."

Dean, Neville and Seamus put their hands up as well, followed by Hermione herself.  But Ron's arms remained resolutely folded.

"Ron …!"

"I want it understood that if she moves in, she looks after herself," he said stubbornly.  "I'm not bailing her out of any messes she gets herself into."

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances, and Harry swallowed another grin.  He knew Ron better than that.  He would huff and posture and make surly declarations, but his friends both knew that there was no way Ron would ever leave his sister in the lurch.

"Understood," Hermione said, and Harry could see the corner of her mouth twitching with a suppressed smile.

"I don't mind," Neville remarked, "but won't it be awkward?"

"Won't what be awkward?" Dean asked, puzzled.

Neville shrugged and gestured to Harry and Ron.  "With you two.  Won't you have to tell her about you?"

"Oh!  No, it's okay, she already knows," Harry replied.  Everyone looked at him, including Ron who looked rather shocked.  "What?  She's known since last summer."

"How?" Ron demanded.

"I reckon she just guessed," Harry said evasively.

"Can you argue about it later?" Neville asked plaintively.  "I'm meeting someone in half an hour."

"Good, Ginny can move in, I'll let her know," Hermione said quickly.  "There's just one other thing."

"If it's about the privacy charm last night," Harry said, embarrassed, "I'm sure I set it right, but for some reason it was down this morning - "

"That was me," Ron told him.  "I took it down when I went to the bog."

"Oh.  That's all right then."

"Actually, it's about the odd smell coming out of your room, Neville," Hermione said.  "You're not growing anything in there, are you?"

Neville shifted in his chair.  "Oh … um … it's just a plant from the nursery.  I'm giving it some special treatment.  Is the smell really noticeable?" he asked anxiously.

"Well … it's not really horrible, just a bit musty and - well, odd," Hermione said.  She shrugged.  "I wasn't sure if you were aware of it, that's all.  There's some air freshener in the cupboard under the stairs if you need it."

"Thanks, but I don't think that'd be good for it."  Neville looked a little flustered.  "I'll be taking it back to Kew soon.  A few days maybe - is that okay?"

"It's your room - if you can live with it, then that's your business.  I just thought I'd mention it."

"It's okay, I'll deal with it," Neville said, and she nodded.

"All right, then."  Hermione sat back.  "I'm done.  Who's washing up tonight?"

~~~

"Didn't you take that plant back to Kew?"

Neville nearly leapt out of his skin and fumbled the bundle of dried leaves he was taking out of his wardrobe.  When he looked around, Dean was standing in the doorway of his room, giving him a bemused look.

"Easy, Nev!" he said.  "Only me."

"Er … yeah, right.  Sorry."  Neville shoved the bundle behind his back with a rustling noise and a couple of leaves floated to the floor.  "What?"

"The plant - I could've sworn I saw you lugging it back to Kew the other day."  Dean bent down and picked up a leaf, turning it over in his fingers curiously.  "Your pomander's shedding, by the way.  And - whew! - this thing stinks!  What the hell is it?"

"Pomander?" Neville asked stupidly.

"Isn't that what it is?  My grandmother hangs lavender pomanders in her wardrobe to keep moths away.  They look just like that."  Dean made a face.  "Not sure I'd want my clothes smelling like this, though.  Seriously, what is it?"

"Uhrm," Neville muttered, red-faced.

"Nev?"  Dean waved a hand in front of his face.  "You okay?  What did I say to make you clam up, mate?"

"It's just a plant," Neville said.  His eyes were wide, like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a lorry. 

"Yeah, I saw that," Dean agreed, nodding and looking amused.  "If it's just a plant and you're using it to keep moths off your gear, why do you look like that?"

"Like what?"

Dean grinned.  He glanced over his shoulder; the passage seemed empty, but he pushed the door shut just in case.

"Like you're curing your own spliff," he said when he turned back to Neville.

Neville looked bewildered.  "Spliff?"

"Yeah, you know!  Pot - skunk - the forbidden green!  Marijuana."  He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth when Neville continued to look blank.  "It's a drug, Nev.  You smoke it like tobacco and it makes you high."

"I'm not doing that!" Neville squeaked, now very red in the face, and Dean laughed.

"Yeah, right! "  He ducked around him before Neville could protest and yanked the wardrobe door open.  Inside, instead of Neville's robes and other clothes - who knew where they were - were several more bundles of dried leaves hanging upside down from the clothes rail.  The wardrobe had been lined with something similar to sheet polythene and a heavy waft of the weird smell surged out into the room, making Dean sneeze and back away, laughing.

"Bloody hell!  I hope it's bloody good stuff, because that stink is foul."

Neville's shoulders drooped in defeat.  "I don't think it smells like that when you smoke it," he mumbled.

"Christ, I hope not!"  Dean raised his brows at him.  "Any good?"

"Aren't you going to ask me why?" Neville asked him warily.

Dean sniggered.  "Nah, mate, I reckon I can work that out on my own!  So - what is it and are you going to roll me one?"

~~~

Dean leaned back on Neville's bed and blew a couple of lazy rings of pale green smoke into the air in front of them.

"Not bad," he acknowledged.  "Who'd have thought it'd taste of mint?"

"Lemon," Neville objected.  His voice was husky from an initial bout of coughing.

"And lemon," Dean agreed.  "Lemon mint.  Whatever.  S'good."

"Hm.  Am I supposed to see sparkles?"

"Dunno.  S'your weed, mate.  Are they good sparkles?"

"Pretty," Neville said, contemplating the light show on the edge of his vision.  "Green and blue and pink and purple and yellow ...  Aren't you seeing the sparkles too?"

"Nope, but it's all swirly."

"All right then."

Neville settled back to take another long drag on his cigarette.  Really, it wasn't so bad once the coughing stopped.  Very relaxing and his head felt sort of flossy.  He was a little bit cooler than he had been, but heat was coming off Dean in nice rolling waves, which made up for it.

"So," Dean drawled after a while.  "Be honest with me, mate.  Ron and Harry - weird stuff, yeah?"

Neville looked up at the tapestry canopy of his bed and contemplated the deeper meanings of the patterns in the weave for a moment.  "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's weird, right?  They live in our dorm for seven years," Dean paused to take another pull on his joint, "they have girlfriends and everything, and then suddenly they've just got to climb inside each other's pants?  What's up with that?"

"Nothing, I reckon."

"Eh?"

Neville managed a shrug and experimented with letting the smoke drift out of his nostrils for a moment.  "Well … they're both all right-looking blokes," he said finally.

"You reckon?"  Dean wasn't sure he got this.  "But loads of blokes are all right-looking and they don't shag.  I don't.  Seamus doesn't.  You don't.  So why are Ron and Harry doing the horizontal mambo?  They could pull birds.  Have pulled."

"They fancy each other.  What's the problem?"

"They're blokes," Dean enunciated.

Neville peered at him suspiciously.  This involved propping himself up on his elbow and leaning over Dean precariously, and he wobbled a little until Dean grabbed his arm to steady him.  "You're not going to start acting like a prick, are you?  S'not a problem.  They're not trying to shag us.  They're just shagging themselves, so what?"

"But you don't want to shag a bloke and I don't want to shag a bloke.  What's with the bloke-shagging?"

Neville sighed and fell back onto his Martin Miggs pillow.  "Doesn't matter if it's a bloke, stupid.  It's the right person."

Dean's brow furrowed.  "Okay."

Neville heard the confusion in his voice.  "Maybe it's about other stuff," he expanded.  "Other things they like.  They're friends, you know?  It's important to them."

"They can be friends without shagging," Dean objected.

"Well, yeah.  But they're not just friends, right?  They're frieeeeeends."  He was momentarily pleased by this elucidation of the situation, and repeated it a couple of times just so that he could enjoy the sound of it.  Dean had to nudge him to get him back on track.  "S'not about … looks and stuff," he continued.  "S'about stuff that's important, not two dicks in a bed."

Dean sniggered.  "Two dicks in a bed!"

"Shurrup!"  Neville tried to elbow him, but he found himself leaning into Dean's shoulder instead.  It was nice so he decided to stay there.  "S'not about dicks.  S'bout stuff.  You know."

"Yuck," was Dean's opinion, but he sounded quite mellow.  "This is good weed.  And I like this cloud.  Very fluffy."

"Fluffy," Neville agreed vaguely.

"So," Dean said after a long while, when the joints were no more than tiny stubs between their fingers.  "Two blokes."

"Yeah?"

"Don't reckon I'd go for that much."

"I've done it," Neville confessed, rendered honest in a way that would have distressed him very much had he not been high.

Dean flailed a little, shocked.  "Yeah?"

"Yeah.  So what?" Neville demanded.

Dean subsided, staring.  "With a bloke?"

"Yep."

"Real bloke?  With a dick?"

"And balls," Neville confirmed.  "Nice arse," he added as an afterthought.

"But you shag girls!"

"With tits," he pointed out, feeling that this needed to be clarified.

"And blokes?"

"It's allowed."

"At the same time?" Dean asked, beginning to look more interested than horrified.

"Nah.  Though I s'pose you could."  Neville made vague hand gestures.  "You'd have to ... sort the bits out.  Or take turns.  Not sure 'bout that."

"Too many dicks," Dean decided.

"Depends what you're doing."

"Don't want to know about that."

"Feels good."

"How?" Dean asked suspiciously.

"Blow-job," Neville said succinctly.  "Or hand-job.  Both.  S'all good, feels good.  Even in a greenhouse."

"You blew a bloke in a greenhouse?"

"He blew me.  Or whatever.  Cactuses were annoying."

This was a bit much for Dean to take in.  He subsided onto the pillows again, thoroughly confused.

"Thing is," Neville said expansively, "doesn't matter about dicks or tits.  He kissed good … had nice warm hands.  Smelled nice too.  It's friendly, right?  Feels good.  Better'n a wank."

"Still wouldn't shag Seamus," Dean asserted, and he sniggered a little.

"Wouldn't want to," Neville agreed.  "His dick's been everywhere."

This struck them both as being exquisitely funny and they laughed uproariously for several minutes.  But when they'd calmed down again (and carefully disposed of the smouldering butt ends of the cigarettes), Dean said, "But it's not like you'd want to shag me, right?"

And because he'd said it in a curious way, rather than sounding as though he wanted reassurance that he wasn't fancied by blokes, Neville gave the question serious consideration.

"Wouldn't say no," he said finally.

Dean looked rather surprised.  "Really?"

"Yep.  You're not bad looking."

"Oh."  Dean contemplated this for an eternity or two.  "Neither are you," he decided, generously.

"I've got some muscles now," Neville confided.  "Look!"  He flexed his arm and Dean prodded the bicep.

"Not bad!"

"Yeah."  Neville nodded sagely.  "Plant pots."

"Who'd've thought?"

"And my dick's pretty good too these days."

"Yeah?"  Dean looked uneasily fascinated by this neat segue.

"Yeah, look."  It took him a couple of attempts to get his fly undone, as the tips of his fingers were feeling a little numb, but eventually he managed it.

"Do you always go commando?"

"Only in the summer.  There - what d'you reckon?"

Dean, acting on an obscure impulse that told him something more than a polite "not bad" was needed, inspected the organ in question.  "Yeah … yeah, you're definitely bigger than you were when we left school."

"What about you?"  Neville was in no hurry to zip up again.  The air felt pleasantly cool on the exposed equipment, and his jeans had felt a bit constricting anyway.  "You were pretty well-hung at school anyway, I s'pose."

Not to be outdone, Dean unbuttoned his fly and wriggled his jeans and underwear down.  They both solemnly considered his cock for a moment or two.

"That's a bloody good dick," Neville pronounced, and Dean was pleased and rather flattered.  "And you smell good - clean.  Clean's important, y'know?"

"Yeah, I get what you're saying, mate."

"So, yeah," Neville concluded, leaning back against the pillows and wriggling his shoulders into them comfortably, "I wouldn't mind giving you a go.  Not if you're, y'know, set up with someone already.  I'm not a scuz.  But if you fancy giving it a try, I'm your man."

Only ten minutes ago Dean would have been prepared to swear that such an idea would never appeal to him.  But Neville was undeniably warm and amiable and clean-smelling lying there beside him, and the weed they'd both smoked was telling him that as stupid ideas went, this one was actually rather intriguing.  After all, you can't judge what you've never tried.

And besides, his cock was already standing up and demanding attention, and he was going to have to deal with that one way or another …

"Nev, mate," he said, surrendering quite willingly to the impulse, "can you give us a hand here?"

Ever a helpful friend, Neville was only too happy to oblige.

~~~

"Merlin's nuts!" Seamus said, as they prepared dinner that evening.  "First Nev, now you!  What the fuck's that stink, mate?"

Dean twitched.  "What are you talking about?"

"You!  You reek like my Great-Aunt Aoife's cough drops!  What is that smell?"

"Don't know what you're talking about," Dean mumbled self-consciously.

"Well, you're the only one here who doesn't," Seamus complained.

"Got to agree with him there," Harry told Dean apologetically, as he reached around him to grab a couple of beers from the fridge.  "That's a pretty weird smell, mate.  Maybe Hermione's wrong and it's not Nev's plant.  Is the heating acting up in your room?  Perhaps some of the old radiators have leaked."

"I don't think so," Dean said, feeling more than a little flustered.  "Besides, I use a heating charm."

"You could do with a bloody good scourgify as well, if you ask me," Seamus said, annoyed.  "Jesus - stand down-wind, will you?"

"It's not that bad," Harry said, amused.

"You just came in, how would you know?  It grows on you, like athlete's foot!"

"Thanks - I know who my mates are around here."  Dean took himself off into the dining room, feeling twitchy and sniffing his shirt self-consciously.  He'd showered and changed his clothes!  Could it really be that noticeable?

Then Ron walked in with Neville and made an exaggerated recoil.  "Merlin!  Not you as well?"

"What?" Dean demanded indignantly.  Something intruded - the smell of a pungent cologne too liberally applied, overlaying something musty and familiar.  "Spill your aftershave, Nev?" he asked, alarmed.

Neville gave him the kind of wide-eyed look of innocence that only he could pull off.  "Oh, is it a bit strong?  Sorry.  It's new."

Dean decided that discretion was the better part of valour and didn't look him in the eye.

"If it's new, I don't want to know what it'll smell like after a couple of hours," Ron told Neville.  "Hellfire, Nev, where did you get it from - the bottom of the dustbin?"

"Cheers, Ron!"

"Well, you wouldn't want me to lie to you, and me an Auror, right?"

"It's called tact," Harry told him, handing him the second beer, "and you might as well forget it, mate, because you've never had any."  He paused and made a face.  "It is a bit strong, Nev.  And it's not hiding that weird fungus smell that's been hanging around you all week.  Look, if it's something you've been … I don't know, growing or something, then just tell us now and we can help you sort it out before Hermione finds out and kicks off about it."

"Or my mum," Ron added darkly.

"Yeah, all right," Neville said, with the air of someone owning up to his crimes.  Dean shot him a horrified look, but he'd underestimated him.  "Look, I was trying to grow this plant in my room, but it didn't work and it died on me and got a bit … rotten.  You know?  Don't give Dean a hard time about it, he just helped me get rid of it.  It stinks a bit more than I thought it would, though.  Sorry about that."

His sincerity was impressive.  Dean did his best to look suitably self-righteous as well.

"It's a lovely fairytale," Hermione's voice said grimly from the doorway, "and I might even have believed it, if you hadn't left a sample of it on the carpet outside your bedroom door, Neville!"

She stalked into the dining room, holding up a withered grey leaf.

"What is it?" Ron demanded, peering at it.  "Phew!  That's pretty rancid."

"It's the dried foliage of Todgulus erectis," Hermione declared, glaring at Neville whose sincerity had been replaced by a decidedly guilty look.

"In English, for the rest of the class," Harry requested.

"Old Man's Upright," she snapped.

Ron hiccupped and sprayed beer from his nose.  Harry handed him a clean handkerchief, amused and bemused in equal measure.

"Sorry, never heard of it …"

"It's a drug," Seamus said, putting his head around the kitchen doorway.  "If you smoke enough of it, you find yourself flying with Nelson's Column, if you get me."

"If you don't have a dangerous allergic reaction to it!" Hermione said.  "Neville, how could you?  You must know that it's dangerous and illegal!"

"Why, what happens if you have an allergic reaction?" Dean demanded, alarmed.

"You can suffer excessive morbid tumescence!" she said in a catastrophic voice.

"English, Hermione!" Harry protested.

"You get a stiffy that pokes your eyes out," Ron translated, and he tried, in the face of Hermione's outrage, to stifle his sniggers in Harry's handkerchief.

"It's not funny, Ron!  It can be fatal!"

"Fatal?" Dean cried, horrified.

"Relax, you prat," Ron told him, grinning.  "You're not lying dead with a big smile on your face, are you?  Or a big anything else for that matter!"

"Yeah, and you gits could have shared some of it with the rest of us," Seamus said accusingly. 

Dean's eyes turned irresistibly to Neville.  Neville's smirk was as badly suppressed as Ron's and only got bigger at the look they exchanged.

"Nah, mate," Dean said, giving in to a smirk of his own.  "I don't think so!"

~ finis ~