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Neville wasn't sure when he fell in love with Harry. He had always been aware of his, his entire life it seemed, what with his grandmother saying things like, "Oh, why couldn't you have been more like Harry Potter," even before Neville started Hogwarts. At that time, he had been an apparent squib and Harry had been the idol of all little children. Neville was ashamed to admit he secretly hated him until he got to know him. What kind of toddler defeated a dark wizard? He gave children everywhere (especially Neville) a high bar to reach, and Neville knew he'd never reach it, even if he stood on his tiptoes.
Then he met Harry, and he wasn't the fabled hero of his childhood. He was only a bit taller than Neville, for one, and much thinner. Neville had always been self-conscious of his weight, but he'd never tried to diet. With great food at school and a culinary wonder of a grandmother at home (her pastries were the best in England!), he never culled his appetite to better his looks. As he stared in the mirror, already a sixth year and no more attractive or less fat, he wished he had, even if dieting was for girls.
Harry was smart, funny, and he'd saved Neville's Rememberball from Malfoy, even bringing it to Neville while he was in the hospital wing with a "Get better soon!" and a smile. He was the only person who ever visited him in the hospital wing that year, and maybe that's when Neville started falling in love. Or was it later? When Harry saved the school from Quirrell later that year, Neville hadn't even cared. He had spent an entire night unable to sleep, scared out of his mind and helpless in the Gryffindor Common Room, unable to move. The full-body bind didn't wear off, and an early-rising Prefect had set him free. Neville spent hours hating Harry, Hermione, and Ron that night, but he spent longer hating himself for being so week.
And then news about Harry's accomplishment spread throughout the school, and Neville visited Harry in the hospital, still so very angry. Harry had said, "I'm sorry, but we had to. I'm glad someone got you free," and smiled, and Neville couldn't be angry. Gran said he was a true Gryffindor that way—he could never be angry for long. Neville thought it was a Hufflepuff trait, but Gran seemed so happy that he lived up to his house in at least one thing, that Neville didn't outwardly correct her. He didn't yell at Harry, either—just let himself be calmed by that smile and forgave.
Forgiving was a Hufflepuff trait, too, but four years later, Neville wished the entire wizarding world were Hufflepuffs, just so Harry could have some peace from the glares and whispers. Neville told Harry he believed in him, and for a moment he thought Harry might smile at him again, and thank him—and maybe— maybe, he'd kiss him, too.
But Harry brushed it off, and soon forgot. Dean and Seamus told him they thought he was a bit crazy, but a good guy all the same. For the first time in a long while, Neville made new friends. Dean and Seamus had always seemed to different for him to get to know, but they were funny and nice, and accepted him into their little sport-obsessed group.
And slowly, Neville stopped wishing for Harry to notice him. He locked his feelings into a little box and threw them into the very bottom of his heart. He pretended Harry was just another guy, just another wizard Neville barely knew.
And when Harry kissed Ginny in the middle of the Gryffindor Common Room the next year, Neville pretended to feel no pain, just in case Harry looked his way when he opened his eyes. Harry didn't look.