*Insert Cheesy Generic Title Here*

Being the awkward kid sucked. The one who's not attractive, reasonably smart but not in any "cool" topics, athletically inept and lacking all other amazing talents, introverted and somewhat unsure of himself.

Neville hated being the awkward kid. No matter how hard he tried, he would never grow out of the shadow of Harry Potter, and he couldn't even have the satisfaction of being one of Harry's counterparts. No one was as intelligent as Hermione, the loyalty between Harry and Ron was too strong to be broken, and there just wasn't room for a fourth musketeer. And so Neville Longbottom sat in Charms class, not paying much attention to the lecture at all.

His bored eyes wandered about the room, stopping for a glance out the window or catching the flicker of another restless student changing position in their seat. After a few minutes, his eyes came to rest on Seamus, who was seated across from him. Neville had known Seamus for close to six years now, and had always been a tinge envious. Seamus was fairly well liked, and certainly had more normal friends than Loony Lovegood, was funny, decent at Quidditch, and while not very book-smart, he didn't have to admit that his best subject was the study of bloody stupid plants. And Seamus was pretty good looking, or at least Neville thought so. He thought about Seamus: His soft, sandy hair; his graceful yet masculine jawline; his well-shaped, blue eyes; his infectious smile; his slender, muscular build; his narrow hips that extenuated the gentle curve of his rump; the respectably large bulge at his groin that always showed through his towel after he showered...wait...boys aren't supposed to notice those things on other boys...are they?

This final thought troubled Neville - enough that he actually tried to pay attention to the lesson in an attempt to get his mind off of it. It did not work. On the way out of class, he received an elbow in the ribs from Dean.

"Hey Neville," Dean whispered mischeviously, "Why were you staring at Seamus so hard in class today? You fancy him in bed?"

"Wh-What? No. I wasn't staring."

"Come on, Neville, I'd've sworn that you'd have had a waterfall of drool coming out your mouth if it weren't shut...and it's not the first time I've seen you sneaking peeks at him."

"Shut your face, Dean."

"Look, it doesn't bother me if you like boys. But for your own wellbeing, you should try to be less obvious when you're oggling, especially in public, and especially when there are Slytherins around."

"It had nothing to do with Seamus," Neville insisted "I was just daydreaming. Even Hermione had trouble paying attention to that lesson, and you know it."

"Mmhmm," Dean replied in a very non-committal tone, and walked away.

~~~~~

That night, Neville laid awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. 'And what if I do like boys?' He thought to himself, 'Gran would have a fit, of course, but would she really have to know? It's not like I'd be living with her forever, and she doesn't know what happens here at school. But what about the others? Harry, Ron and Hermione? And Seamus, of course...he probably likes girls anyway, and wouldn't appreciate me dropping that kind of bomb on him...'Hey, Seamus, how's it going? That's good. I'm fine too, by the way, I want you in my pants.'...that wouldn't do at all. And of course Dean is right about what the Slytherins would do to my life if they found out. Especially Malfoy.'

Neville rolled over in his bed, and was now facing Seamus'. The other boy was sleeping soundly - Neville could tell by the slow, rhythmic rising and falling of his bare chest. Seamus never wore a shirt to bed, and Neville secretly appreciated that tonight. Come to think about it, Seamus rarely wore pajamas at all, and some nights, he'd even shuck his undershorts after slipping under the sheets. Neville felt a light pressure in his pajama bottoms, then in the dim light, he noticed a pair of discarded jockey shorts between his bed and Seamus', and the pressure grew stronger as he realized that tonight was one such night.

Neville discreetly slid one hand down the waistband of his pajamas, and as his fingertips played through pubic hair and over his testicles, he felt his penis expand to full size. A few short strokes later, and Neville knew that he would need to finish it, and to do that, he'd need somewhere more private. Withdrawing his hand, he reached for his bathrobe, swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stuck his feet into his slippers. As he made his way towards the door, a floorboard creaked noisily, and Dean sat up in his bed.

"Neville, is that you?" he asked groggily.

"Yeah. Sorry about the noise."

"Why are you still up?"

"Just going to the bathroom. Go back to sleep, Dean."

After Neville was out the door, his hand surveyed the situation at his groin, and finding it still quite firm, he continued on his way. When he reached the bathroom, and was safely locked in one of the stalls, he dropped his bathrobe, unbuttoned his shirt, and pulled down his pants. He soon fell into an up-and-down rhythm, and remembered that it had been Seamus who, two years ago, had shown him what masturbation was. He hadn't been interested in it much back then, but wondered if Seamus ever suspected that Neville would one day be thinking about him while he wanked off...