Unexpected

by uniquepov

Summary:

In the aftermath of the war, Neville needs to control and Draco needs to repent. Neither are entirely comfortable with those needs.

Notes:

• For deirdre_aithne.

I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did. Special thanks to T, C, and M for the beta work and S for the cheerleading. Any remaining errors are mine alone.

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear that I am up to no good. However, I promise to return everyone, good as new, when I'm done playing with them. I own nothing that you recognize, and I do not profit from any of it.

Neville stood, stretching backwards in a futile attempt to unlock the cramping muscles in his back. He’d been working along one of the exterior walls of the castle, going through the painstaking work of rebuilding, stone by stone, and although the stones could be placed with magic, the complex number of spells needed to weave the stones back into Hogwarts’ protective enchantments was almost as physically taxing as lifting the stones by brute force. He’d been working for several hours, and Neville was already hunched and stooping in exhaustion. He looked to his left, where Seamus seemed to still be holding his own a few metres away, and then to his right, where Luna was swaying on her feet.

“Alright there, Luna?” Neville called, and Luna turned to give him a beatific smile.

“Yes, I’m all right,” she called back. “I do think I’ll have a sit down for a moment, though. There’s a lot of Wrackspurts about, and they’re making me a little dizzy.” With that, Luna plopped herself down on one of the larger stones, turning her face up into a sunbeam which had chosen that moment to peek through the clouds and fall to earth, lighting her hair into a shining mass and making her seem almost to glow. Neville’s breath caught as he looked at her, and he crossed over to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he murmured to her.

“Thank you, Neville,” Luna replied, her smile turning mischievous as she squinted up at him. “I did have my suspicions, but it’s still nice to hear.”

“Seamus can’t take his eyes off you,” Neville continued, enjoying the blush that spread across Luna’s cheeks. After the final battle, he had sought Luna out, declaring his passion for her. Luna had smiled, almost sadly, a smudge of soot, blood, and grime marring one perfect cheek as she leaned in to press their lips together. In the moment of that kiss, Neville had finally known – in an instant of horrified realization – that while he did love Luna, he wasn’t in love with her, and in the giddy relief of having not only survived but won this seemingly endless war, he allowed himself to acknowledge that he was unlikely to ever be in love with any witch.

“Seamus only sees Looney Lovegood,” Luna said quietly. “But it’s nice to pretend otherwise.”

“I don’t think you’ll have to pretend for very long.” Neville chuckled as Seamus turned to look at them again, his expression hardening as he saw how close together the two were. “If he tries to hex me, you’ll vouch for me, won’t you?”

“He won’t hex you,” Luna said, her voice lilting into her familiar singsong tones. “You’re the Hero of Hogwarts.”

“Somehow, Luna, I don’t think that will matter much.”

Luna tilted her head to look at Seamus, turning her brilliant smile on him for a moment, and Seamus immediately straightened and smiled back. “He won’t hex you,” she repeated.

“He won’t, so long as I back off,” Neville said with a grin. “Which I’m doing. Right now.”

Neville headed back to work, taking up a position a bit closer to Seamus. “Why don’t you take a break, Seamus?” Neville asked, tilting his head subtly in Luna’s direction. “Keep an eye on Luna for a bit. She seemed a bit peaky.”

Seamus dropped the stone he’d been Levitating with almost indecent haste. “Yeah, alright,” he agreed. “She has been looking a bit tired lately.” Seamus headed over to where Luna was sitting and Neville allowed himself a small smile. He might not have found love amidst the aftermath of war, but he could certainly encourage it in the others.

***

Draco threw himself down beneath one of the trees that ringed the Astronomy Tower, perversely forcing himself to stare up at the balcony from which Dumbledore had fallen that fateful night. He’d spent the morning brewing potions in the dungeons with Slughorn and a handful of other former NEWTs Potions students, working to replenish the school stores. With the number of survivors staying on to help with the rebuilding, there was an unusually high demand for Dreamless Sleep, Calming Draughts, and other various things to help with the nightmares and terrors that dogged them all.

He pushed himself up, leaning against the tree trunk, and turned to look at the group rebuilding the courtyard just beyond the tower. Finnigan was there, panting after Luna Lovegood; Draco frowned – he’d never been able to think of her as ‘Looney Lovegood’ again, after finding her a prisoner in his family’s dungeons. He’d stared, aghast, as she’d looked at him, calm as you please, and said, ”Hullo, Draco. Are you all right?” Draco shook himself and continued surveying the group. Longbottom was there, as well. He was certainly the dark horse hero of the war – someone Draco had never thought would survive, let alone triumph. But Longbottom had surprised them all, becoming a leader in the vacuum left behind by the Golden Trio’s departure. He’d formed a resistance, smuggled students to safety, endured torture – if rumours were to be believed – at the hands of the Carrows, and pulled the Sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat at the penultimate moment of that final standoff.

Draco shook his head. Longbottom, a hero. He was rather surprised the world hadn’t come to an end already.

Draco closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the trunk of the tree. He was woolgathering about Longbottom. Clearly, he’d been working too hard.

***

Neville did not consider himself a hero, though he knew that others did. The Daily Prophet had made much of the ‘Hero of Hogwarts’ story, and he was even receiving a bit of fan mail in the morning deliveries. He knew that what he’d done, any of the others might have done as well. He’d just had the least amount to lose.

Neville sighed, rolling onto his back on the bed and staring up at the ceiling of the tent he’d been assigned to share with Seamus and Dean. It was Sunday lunchtime, and all the others were off in the Great Hall. Alone, it was harder to keep the demons of the past year at bay. He could hear Amycus Carrow’s cackling laugh, could see the murderous glint in her eyes as she threw Cruciatus Curses at him, one after another, not even giving him time to take a breath before the next one hit him. He could hear the heavy footfalls of her brother, Alecto, coming up behind his prone form to take a turn…

Neville’s hand snaked under his jumper, tracing the scar lines that he practically knew by heart. Some were no more than thin, slightly raised white lines. Others, the more recent, were still raw and angry red. He knew he should have gone to Madam Pomfrey for healing salve, but with so many others badly injured in the battle, he couldn’t bring himself to bother her. They would heal on their own, eventually.

He pushed himself to the side of the bed, grabbing his wand from the bedside table and waving it over his clothes to press the worst of the wrinkles out. He’d hoped to relax a little before going to see his parents, but it was no use. He had never minded being alone, before the war. He’d welcomed it; the silence and calm that came with solitude. Working alone in the greenhouses had been an almost meditative experience for him. Now, he struggled to concentrate on the work, turning around to look over his shoulder every few minutes. A baby Devil’s Snare had nearly got a vine around his neck while he was pruning it yesterday; he’d been so certain that someone was lurking just behind him, preparing to strike…

Neville forced the thought away. He’d fought very hard to be strong for everyone the past year, and they were still looking to him for guidance, for reassurance and strength in these uncertain days. He had no intention of failing them now. He’d fall to pieces when the work was done.

With a determined nod, Neville left the tent. The doors to the castle were open in invitation, but he made himself turn resolutely away. Alone, he made his way down to the gates of Hogwarts and Apparated to London.

***

Draco sat amidst the noise in the Great Hall, letting it wash over him without joining in. He preferred being in a crowded room, now; the shadows that he kept firmly pushed to the edges of his consciousness always managed to creep closer when he was alone. He’d seen too much, done too much, to feel completely comfortable in his own company. He wondered if he’d ever feel at ease by himself again.

Every time he closed his eyes, he could see the faces of those he’d watched the Dark Lord kill; could hear the laughter of the assembled Death Eaters as they tortured and murdered. He’d had plenty of opportunities to be brave, chances to save lives and change sides, vow to fight for the Light. Instead, he’d cowered in fear, done what was ordered of him. Until the last, at the Manor that spring, when he’d known it was Potter and Granger and Weasley, and chosen to keep his silence. If Potter managed to get himself killed, Draco had vowed, it wouldn’t be on his hands.

But it had been far too little, far too late, and Draco knew it. He felt, vaguely, as though he was unworthy of the acceptance and forgiveness he’d found as he helped to rebuild the school. He would almost rather have been sent to Azkaban, held accountable somehow for his cowardice and complicity. That feeling – of wanting to be punished for his actions – made him uneasy. He wondered if he was losing his tenuous grasp on sanity, if he’d soon be joining Goyle in St Mungo’s. He hoped not.

Thinking of Goyle reminded Draco that he was due to pay his friend a visit. Not that Goyle ever knew he was there – the experience with the Fiendfyre and watching Crabbe die had been too much for him, and his wits were permanently addled. Draco stared at his plate, his stomach doing queasy flip-flops, and decided he’d wait until next week. He would need all possible rest, if the pace at which the replenished potions were disappearing was any indication of his next week’s work.

***

Striding down the halls of St Mungo’s, Neville felt a familiar pang of loss wash over him. He paused outside the door of the Janus Thickey ward, taking a calming breath before pushing the door open and heading over to the single chair placed between his parents’ beds. His father was asleep, turned on his side and clutching a tattered plush teddy that Neville’s gran had produced from their attic. She’d told Neville, at the time, that the toy had been a relic of his father’s childhood, but Neville rather imagined that he had some dim recollections of clutching that same new teddy during his first few visits to St Mungo’s. He smoothed his father’s hair back, bending down to press a kiss to his forehead with a sad smile. “Sweet dreams, Dad,” he whispered.

Turning, he settled himself on the edge of his mother’s bed, rather than the chair. “Hi, Mum.”

Alice turned from her contemplation of the window to smile vaguely at him, reaching out to pat his knee. He laid his hand over hers, squeezing lightly, before she pulled her hand away. Neville ducked his head, taking a deep breath as he pulled a small paper sack of Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum out of a pocket of his robes and held it out to her. “Here, Mum. I’ve brought you some more sweeties.”

Alice gave him a wide, childlike grin as she snatched the paper sack from him and immediately grabbed a piece of gum, unwrapping it and putting it into her mouth as she alternately crumpled and smoothed the paper wrapper. After a few moments of chewing and blowing bubbles, she tired of the gum and threw it into the bin. Smoothing the paper wrapper one more time, she reached over to press it into Neville’s hand. He forced a smile onto his face. “Thank you,” he murmured.

Alice’s expression didn’t change as she nodded at him and then proceeded to dump out the sack of gum onto the bed and sort the pieces by size. Neville tucked the wrapper into an inside pocket of his robes and watched her. She sorted and re-sorted the pieces for nearly two hours before she began yawning, and Neville helped her scoop the gum back into its paper sack and put it away on the windowsill beside her bed. He tucked her in and pressed a kiss to the top of her head as she settled against the pillows. “Sleep well, Mum.”

Alice patted his hand again as her eyes drifted shut. Neville moved to the chair, hoping his father might wake for part of his visit, but finally, the soft chime that announced the end of visiting hours sounded, and he stood, settling the bedclothes over both his parents gently before squaring his shoulders and heading for the exit, his head held high.

Outside St Mungo’s, Neville took a series of slow, deep breaths the way Luna had taught him, trying to calm himself, find his centre, not let his emotions get the best of him.

“Bugger this,” he muttered after a moment, ducking into a side alley and casting a Glamour on himself. Every week after visiting his parents, the need for control clawed at him more, and the path to a certain nightclub in Knockturn Alley was becoming almost as routine as the hospital visits were.

Neville stepped through the doors of Nightshade, welcoming the darkness and the faint pulsing echo of music that surrounded him. He checked his wand with the burly security wizard at the entrance, then moved beyond him to the hostess to register his preferences. She nodded politely.

“You’ve been a guest with us before, Sir?” she asked. At Neville’s nod, she continued, “Well, then, there’s no need for further explanations. Please see any club host if you wish to book a private room. Enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you,” Neville replied. He pushed through the doors to the main part of the club, determined to lose himself and his troubles for a few precious hours.

***

Draco followed the rest of the crowd out of the Great Hall and down to the remnants of the Quidditch pitch. A pick-up game was being organized, and Draco was marginally satisfied that teams were chosen without him, despite his record as a Seeker, and he was left to watch on the sidelines with the others. Being picked for a team would have been too much forgiveness for him to handle; this was easier. As much as he’d always loved being on a broom; the feeling of flight was almost too exhilarating now. He shouldn’t be allowed too much enjoyment, too much happiness.

He hadn’t paid near enough penance. Not yet.

Draco looked around him. Luna was nearby, cheering on Seamus and the others as they flew around the pitch. Ginny Weasley streaked past him, a blur of red and gold, and Draco wondered, not for the first time, why she was here at Hogwarts and not off with Potter, wherever he was. Potter, Weasley, and Granger were working with the interim government, helping to create a kinder, gentler Ministry of Magic.

Draco snorted to himself. As if any politicians would every be anything but corrupt, power-hungry gits.

Still scanning the crowd, Draco realised with a flash of annoyance that he was actually looking for Longbottom. Granted, it had been far too long since he’d been intimate with someone, and Longbottom had come into his own, with broad shoulders and an adorable little potbelly, but –

Merlin’s beard, he had to get hold of himself.

***

Later that evening, Neville stumbled his way back up the path from the Hogwarts gates to the tents which had been set up for the survivors who were staying to help rebuild the castle. As he neared them, he could hear some of the others’ voices raised in merriment, and he veered off at the last moment. He wasn’t drunk, exactly, but he was still floating on the high he’d achieved with the evening’s activities and he didn’t quite feel ready to join the others.

He plopped down on a bench along the edge of the Black Lake, watching the reflection of lights from the castle shimmering along the surface. It reminded him of Nightshade, of the way the light had caught the blond man’s tears as Neville had brought the flogger down across his reddened back and arse, the submissive’s lithe body writhing beneath his hands…

“Hullo, Neville.” Luna’s voice, close to his ear, made him jump.

“Luna! What are you doing here?”

“It’s a bit too noisy to sleep, still,” Luna said. “I saw you walk this way and I thought I’d come say hello. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Why not just cast a Silencing Charm on your tent?” Neville asked, willing his heart to start beating inside his ribcage, rather than through it.

Luna shook her head decisively. “I need to be able to hear what’s going on,” she said, in a stark, serious tone, and Neville was reminded again that each of them bore scars from the war, even if they weren’t always readily apparent. He patted the bench beside him.

“Sit a while with me?”

Luna nodded, sitting beside him and leaning into him, laying her head against his shoulder. As they settled into companionable silence, Neville’s heart finally stopped pounding, and he even allowed himself to once again contemplate the blond submissive he’d played with earlier in the evening. Luna shifted beside him, breaking into his reverie. He turned towards her, only to find her studying him seriously.

“Luna? Is something the matter?”

“You are being careful, aren’t you?”

“I – what?”

“When you go… wherever it is that you go, after you’ve visited your parents.” Gobsmacked, Neville could only nod as he stared down into Luna’s earnest expression. “Good,” she continued, laying her head on his shoulder again.

“Luna, what -? I mean…” Neville trailed off helplessly. Luna lifted her head again, to meet his eyes.

“I don’t know what you do, exactly,” Luna told him. “But it used to be that you’d come back from visiting your parents looking worse than ever. Like you’d finally lost hope. Lately, though, you come back much later than you used to, and you seem… lighter.”

Neville wrenched his gaze away to stare out over the lake again. “Yeah,” he agreed softly.

“I’m glad. I just wanted to remind you to be careful. I think we’re all a bit giddy, with the war over.”

Neville nodded. “I know. But I am. Careful, that is. I promise.”

Luna wrapped her arms around Neville’s arm and hugged it tightly, cuddling against him. “Alright, then.” After a long moment, Luna added, “And when you’re ready, you can tell me where you go, and what you get up to.”

“Maybe, Luna. We’ll see, alright?”

“Alright.”

***

Draco Levitated several crates of completed potions through the halls towards the hospital wing. His mind was still focussed on the particularly complex potion he’d left brewing in the dungeons – it needed to simmer undisturbed for precisely forty-two minutes, and Draco had left for the hospital wing almost immediately upon it reaching that stage. He should have more than enough time to go over the inventory with Madam Pomfrey before –

With a start, Draco looked up to realise that instead of the hospital wing, he was standing outside the entrance of the Room of Requirement. He stared at the tapestry, willing his feet to move him away, back en route to his original destination, but he felt rooted to the spot. He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there when a large hand landed on his shoulder and a voice asked, “Alright there, Malfoy?”

Draco jumped and turned with a swallowed cry, the crates of phials clattering dangerously as he let the spell falter. Longbottom stood before him, holding his hands up, palms out. “Easy, easy,” he continued with a small smile. “I’m unarmed.”

Draco scowled, turning his attention to the crates and ensuring that none of the phials were cracked or damaged, hiding his continued discomfiture in sarcasm. “As if you’d be a threat, even armed,” he snapped, even as a flush crept across his neck and cheeks. He suspected Longbottom might be able to beat him in a duel, now, though he’d never admit it out loud. “What do you want, Longbottom?”

Longbottom merely shrugged, shuffling his feet a little. “I was on my way into the Room of Requirement,” he admitted quietly. “If you need it, though, what I have to do can wait.”

Draco stared at him for a long moment. Did Longbottom actually think he’d go into that place again willingly? Longbottom seemed to realise his mistake.

“Oh, right. Sorry, you probably aren’t going in there, are you? It’s only that you were standing there, staring like you were expecting the entrance to appear, so I thought–“

“Shut up,” Draco interrupted crossly. “Stop jabbering at me.” Longbottom subsided into silence and Draco managed a calming breath. “I’m on my way to the hospital wing.”

Longbottom’s brow furrowed and he drew a breath, as though about to point out how very far from the hospital wing Draco actually was. He surprised Draco, however, when he simply said, “Right, then,” and gave him a small nod.

Draco could feel Longbottom’s eyes on him as he walked away, but he refused to look back.

***

Neville stared after Malfoy, concern creasing his features. For a moment, he considered going after the other man, offering to take the crates to the hospital wing himself so that Malfoy could deal with whatever demons were plaguing him. He had his own demons, however, and after a moment, he turned back to the Room of Requirement and paced along the wall, focussing his will very carefully. He’d never asked the Room for something like this. He hoped it wouldn’t mind.

As he stepped inside the Room, he allowed himself to smile. The Room had never let him down in all the times he’d needed it, and today was no exception.

Neville ran his hand lightly over the whips and floggers assembled on a table near the door. A practice dummy materialised on the other side of the room and he grinned, plucking the bullwhip from the lot and uncoiling it slowly. Infinitely better to practice on something he couldn’t hurt. He needed to be in tight control of himself; it was a gift and a release to be granted control of someone else, but he had no wish to do permanent damage to anyone.

He flicked his wrist, the whip flashing out and striking the dummy on the lower back. Not bad, but he’d been aiming for the buttocks. He needed more practice. Luckily, the Room appeared happy to oblige.

***

Draco had delivered the crates to Madam Pomfrey with a surly, “Here,” and stalked back out the door, stomping through the corridors with a scowl that would have made Severus Snape proud.

“Damn Longbottom,” he muttered crossly to himself. Why did it have to be Longbottom who’d found him standing like a statue in the middle of the hall? Why had he given in to those particular demons in the first place?

He made his way back down to the dungeons, where his potion was just ready for the next ingredient, and forced himself to concentrate for the next several hours, until the potion had finally turned a bright, cheerful yellow, when he bottled it into phials, stoppering and crating them carefully.

Slughorn came bustling up to him. “Draco, my dear boy,” he began. “I’ll take those up to the hospital wing with the others. You’ve done more than your share of work today. Go outside and get some fresh air before dinner.”

Draco gave a short nod, turning on his heel and striding out of the dungeons and up the stairs. Once outside, however, he found himself wandering aimlessly, eventually settling on a wall in the courtyard near the Astronomy Tower, surveying the construction work that had been completed.

“Hullo, Draco,” a soft voice singsonged in his ear. Draco couldn’t help himself; he jumped. Again.

“Lovegood,” he managed, staring at the blonde girl who was settling herself beside him.

“I’ve told you that you can call me Luna,” she reminded him gently. “Everyone does. And after what we’ve been through together, first names seem fitting, don’t you think?”

Draco did not think so, but he managed to nod stiffly. “As you wish.”

Luna smiled at him as though she hadn’t heard the reluctance in his voice. Perhaps she hadn’t; she was humming softly to herself and kicking her heels against the wall beneath them. After a moment, Draco managed, “The reconstruction seems to be going well.”

“Oh, yes. It’s hard work, of course, but with everyone helping, we’ll set the castle to rights,” Luna said, giving the stone wall on which they sat a fond pat. “Hogwarts will soon be recovered enough to help herself, which will speed things up greatly, of course.”

“Help herself?” Draco groaned inwardly as soon as he asked the question, bracing himself for one of Lovegood’s crazy stories.

“You know the castle has her own set of enchantments. Right now, she’s too weak to help us rebuild. But Professors McGonagall and Flitwick have been helping her heal. Before long, she’ll be strong enough to work with us, rather than against us.”

Draco thought that over. He had seen McGonagall and Flitwick in various parts of the castle, casting spells at untouched expanses of wall and working in areas of the castle that had remained relatively untouched. Now, those actions clicked into place. “I see,” he said noncommittally.

“How are you doing, Draco? I hardly see you, except at mealtimes.”

“I’ve been busy in the Potions labs, brewing for the hospital wing. There are still a lot of sick and injured people up there.”

Luna nodded. “Down here, too,” she said cryptically. After a moment, she continued, “I can’t sleep at all without a Calming Draught, and Poppy told me that you’d been brewing them. Thank you.” Draco nodded uncomfortably, and Luna continued, “Can you? Sleep without a potion, I mean?”

Draco shrugged. “Sometimes. I expect everyone here needs the potions at times, given the rate we’ve been brewing them at,” he said nonchalantly.

Luna nodded solemnly. “Once you’ve stared into the abyss, you can always feel it staring back.”

Draco turned to stare at her. “What?”

“It’s from a Muggle philosopher named Nietzsche. He said, ‘Battle not with monsters, lest you become a monster. And when you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss also gazes back at you.’ It isn’t about war, I’m told, but I rather think that it’s basically how we’re all feeling, lately.”

Draco gave a slow nod. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“You don’t need punishing, you know.”

Draco couldn’t stop his jaw from dropping open. “What?”

“You heard me. You’re punishing yourself quite enough. You don’t need the rest of us to do anything more.”

“I assure you, I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” Draco huffed, turning away and staring out across the courtyard again.

“I just don’t want you to go looking for it,” Luna told him. “There’s still quite a lot of darkness in the world, and I would hate to see you caught in it again.”

Speechless, Draco could only shake his head disbelievingly.

Luna laid a gentle hand on his arm. “If it gets too bad, I know someone who can help you. Remember that, Draco.” With that, she hopped down off the wall, flashed him a brilliant smile, and skipped away.

Draco didn’t know how long he sat there, staring after her, but dusk had fallen and lights were shining from some of the tents and from the open doors of the castle when he finally pushed to his feet and went in search of dinner.

***

Neville had spent countless hours in the Room of Requirement the past few evenings, perfecting his techniques, but practice dummies wouldn’t react to his carefully aimed lashes and Neville could feel the need to control someone, anyone, clawing at him from the pit of his stomach. He’d never felt so grateful to have Sunday come around again.

He Apparated to St Mungo’s and made the familiar trek to his parents’ bedside. They were both awake, sat together on his mother’s bed and sorting the remaining pieces of gum from the sack that Neville had brought last time. He cleared his throat to cover the soft sob that almost escaped.

“Hello, Mum. Dad,” he said quietly, reaching into his robes and producing two paper sacks, one filled with Drooble’s Best and the other with an assortment of Honeydukes’ finest. “I’ve brought you some more sweeties.”

His mother reached out to snatch the sacks out of his hands, and his father looked almost resentful until she pushed the bag of chocolates at him. He grinned, childlike, and immediately unwrapped a toffee and popped it into his mouth. His mother plucked a smoothed-out wrapper from the windowsill and pressed it into Neville’s hand. He smiled, bending to kiss her cheek as he tucked the wrapper into an inside pocket of his robes. “Thanks, Mum.” He smoothed his father’s fringe back from his forehead and continued gently, “Don’t eat them all at once, alright?” His father nodded, almost as though he understood, and popped a second toffee into his mouth alongside the first.

Neville sighed, sinking down heavily into the visitors’ chair and watching his parents sort the pieces of gum by some criteria he couldn’t discern. Normally, when he was with his parents, his unspoken need would calm, as though even his subconscious recognized that this situation was beyond his ability to control. Tonight, though, it refused to yield, and Neville was edgy and restless. His knee bounced as he fidgeted in his chair, and even his mother kept patting his hand as though trying to soothe him.

After several hours, but before the chime which signalled the end of visiting hours, Neville stood, kissing both his parents and gently admonishing them to be good, to which his father popped another sweet into his mouth and his mother simply smiled.

Neville ducked out of the ward and all but ran from St Mungo’s.

***

Draco emerged from the curtains surrounding Goyle’s bedside just in time to see Longbottom run from the room. Draco spared a quick glance towards Longbottom’s parents, wondering if something had happened and Longbottom had run for help, rather than triggering the monitoring spell on the ward, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Intrigued, Draco sped up his movements, pushing through the doors to the ward just as Longbottom disappeared into the stairwell at the end of the corridor.

Draco frowned. It wasn’t like Longbottom to run. It was even less like him to leave before visiting hours were over. He took the express lift down to the ground floor, glancing around for Longbottom before shrugging and heading for Diagon Alley. His visit with Goyle had unsettled him and he decided to nurse a pint or two at one of the new pubs that had opened up, before heading back to Hogwarts. He’d heard one of the new establishments catered to gay wizards in particular. Perhaps he’d find someone to pass a few hours with, someone tall and strong, with broad shoulders and big hands, someone who’d press him against a wall and push him to his knees and let him suck…

Draco shook himself. Or perhaps, he’d just get a pint or two.

Just then, he caught a glimpse of Longbottom, striding along ahead of him. Draco wondered, briefly, if Longbottom might be heading for the same pub, but then he ducked down a little-used side street. Draco’s eyes narrowed. The narrow lane, he knew, led to Knockturn Alley. But what was the Hero of Hogwarts doing, heading for the ill-reputed street?

He’s probably lost, Draco thought to himself in exasperation. Bloody Gryffindors.

He broke into a jog, determined to round the corner onto the lane before Longbottom could have gotten down it. As he turned into the narrow passageway, however, Longbottom was nowhere to be seen. A tall, dark-haired wizard was nearly at the end of the street, just turning the corner onto Knockturn and showing Draco enough of a profile to know that it wasn’t Longbottom.

Draco moved as quickly and quietly as he could after the strange wizard, wondering what had happened to Longbottom and whether he’d spot the damned git once he came out onto Knockturn. Instead, the alley opened up onto a nearly deserted Knockturn Alley. Longbottom was nowhere to be seen, and the other wizard was entering some sort of nightclub halfway up the block.

Draco moved slowly down the street until he could read the name of the club – Nightshade – and took a measured breath. There was nothing else along this stretch of Knockturn Alley – the shops were several blocks down and the red light district half again as far. If Longbottom had come this far, he had to be inside. There was nowhere else he could be.

Draco took a deep breath, and made his choice.

***

Neville had nearly made it to Knockturn Alley before he had the presence of mind to stop and cast a Glamour on himself. He forced himself to stand still and take a few deep breaths before continuing on at a more sedate pace. He heard footsteps enter the narrow alley behind him just as he turned the corner, but with the Glamour in place, he knew he was protected. He moved purposefully towards the club, going through the check-in procedures with a brisk efficiency. He held up a hand to forestall the hostess’s spiel. “Yes, I’ve been here before. Yes, I will find a host should I want to book a private room. No, I do not wish to be matched with a submissive.” He heard the brusqueness in his voice and softened it with a smile. “I’ll find someone suitable to play with, I’m sure.”

The hostess nodded and stepped aside, ushering him into the club with a little more deference than usual. “Of course, sir.”

Neville blinked, but continued into the club. “Thank you.”

Once inside, Neville gave the room a cursory once-over before heading for the bar. It was early, yet, and the club wasn’t crowded. He’d order a pint and start looking for a likely play partner.

***

Draco cast a subtle Glamour on himself, turning his hair a few shades more golden, rather than his recognisable platinum, and his eyes a deep blue. He had no idea what he was walking into, and he had no intention of becoming tabloid fodder by unknowingly walking into a sex club or a brothel or some other such nonsense. The Glamour in place, he pushed inside the club.

His path was immediately blocked by a large security wizard. “Your wand, if you please, sir?”

Draco balked. “My wand?”

The wizard regarded him steadily. “Yes, sir. House rules require that all wands be registered with security upon your arrival, and again as you leave. In the event of any incident, sir.” Draco handed over his wand silently, but he had a feeling he failed to completely mask his relief when the wizard handed it back to him. “Thank you, sir,” the security wizard said. “You are now free to check in with this evening’s hostess.”

Draco gave him a nod and moved forward to the witch he had indicated, standing just beside the inner doors.

“Good evening, sir,” she greeted.

“Good evening,” Draco replied automatically. “I – admit to being at somewhat of a loss. This is my first time visiting your establishment.”

The hostess smiled brightly. “In that case, sir, welcome to Nightshade. May I ask how you heard about us?”

“A friend mentioned it to me,” Draco said vaguely.

The witch nodded. “Do you wish to declare your preferences at this time?”

Draco stared blankly. “My preferences?”

“Yes, sir. Dominant or submissive, hetero-, homo- or omnisexual, top or bottom,” she explained quietly.

Draco cursed the blush he could feel creeping up his neck. “Erm, do I have to declare things right now?”

The witch smiled knowingly. “Of course not, sir. You should know, however, that most of our patrons will not approach someone who has not openly declared, for fear of insulting them.”

Draco nodded as though he understood. “I assume there are some basic house rules, beyond registering our wands?”

“Indeed there are,” the witch agreed, producing a small pamphlet and pressing it into Draco’s hand. “The full text of the rules are in this, but here are the basics: One, don’t touch anyone without asking permission first, whether from the patron or their Dominant, as appropriate, regardless of their state of dress or undress.” At Draco’s nod, she continued, “Two, do not interrupt a scene in progress unless you are expressly asked to join in. Three, if you ask someone to play and are turned down, accept the refusal and do not ask again.”

“These seem like common courtesy to me,” Draco said.

“Mostly, they are. Respect people’s limits, no knife-, needle-, or bloodplay, and always follow the instructions of a member of the staff, should they intervene. All our hosts wear silver robes with crimson sleeves, to be easily identifiable.” Draco nodded again, just to show that he was still listening, and she continued, “Declared submissives have red or green armbands; green means they may be approached, red means they are to be left alone. Their sexual preferences are listed on the armband as well, but there is an informal code that most of our patrons adhere to – heterosexual patrons wear the band on the left arm, homosexual patrons on the right, and omnisexual patrons generally wear two. Similarly, Dominants have a lapel pin, worn according to the same code. A Dominant who is open to being approached by interested submissives will wear a green pin, otherwise, the pins are silver and crimson, like the staff robes.”

Draco’s mind was whirling, but he forced a smile onto his face and fell back on his training for pure-blood society. “Thank you very much for such a thorough explanation,” he said smoothly, clasping the witch’s hand and letting his fingers trail just an instant too long across her palm. “I’ll be sure to come seek you out, when I decide to declare myself. For now, however, I think I’ll just order a drink and find a quiet corner to watch for a while.” As he spoke, Draco manoeuvred himself and the hostess closer to the inner doors.

The witch smiled, her cheek dimpling. “Of course, sir. Enjoy your evening.”

Draco flashed her his most charming smile and pushed inside the inner doors. If Longbottom was here, this would be very interesting, indeed.

***

Neville looked up at the newcomer as he entered the club, giving him an appreciative once-over. Neville was always drawn to blonds, although he wasn’t quite ready to allow himself to acknowledge exactly why that might be. The man looked fit enough, hair hanging in his eyes in a way that made Neville’s fingers itch to reach out and tangle themselves in the golden blond locks. He shook himself. The man wasn’t wearing armbands or lapel pins, so he was undeclared. Neville wasn’t about to approach someone without knowing their preferences.

The blond moved to the bar, not far from him, and ordered a lager. Neville went back to contemplating his pint. Perhaps he should have stayed at the hospital. He’d just be sat waiting there, instead of here, and he really should spend the time with his parents. Not that they knew whether he was there or not. Neville ran his hand through his hair with a frustrated groan.

The blond looked up from his pint. “Bad day?” he drawled.

Neville sighed. “No worse than usual, I suppose. Sorry.”

The blond shrugged. “Life is pain, as they say.”

Neville nodded. “It is, that.” He gave the blond another discreet once-over. “I haven’t seen you here before,” he said, in what he hoped was a casual manner.

The blond gave him a sideways look and a smirk that suggested Neville hadn’t been as casual as he’d hoped. “First time.”

Neville smiled. “Well, if you have any questions, feel free to ask.”

The blond looked at him appraisingly, his eyes lighting on the green lapel pin on the right side of Neville’s robes. “So, if I understand the rules, you’re a Dominant?” At Neville’s nod, he continued, “And you’re open to being approached by male submissives?”

Neville grinned. “I see the hostess told you the code, as well.”

“My head is still spinning,” the blond admitted with a short bark of laughter.

“It‘ll be second nature in no time, if you become a regular.”

“I suppose,” the blond agreed. He opened his mouth as though about to say more, but seemed to change his mind.

“What is it?” Neville asked curiously. “Go ahead and ask.”

The man shook his head. “I thought I might run into a friend of mine,” he said quickly. “But he’s clearly not here, so what’s the point of bringing him into the conversation?”

Neville chuckled. “I see. Well, what would you like to talk about?”

The blond smiled. “Why don’t you tell me what you think a new patron should know?”

***

Draco held his breath after asking the question. The man at the bar was the same one he’d seen in the alley, he was certain. Up close, he was pleasant-looking enough, rather nondescript, with hazel eyes and an easy smile. He had broad shoulders and big hands, and Draco was suddenly glad he’d decided to follow Longbottom, rather than head for the nightclub in Diagon Alley. It was clear Longbottom wasn’t in the club, though, unless he was in one of the private rooms. Draco was having a difficult time imagining Longbottom in a club like this. He didn’t seem the type to look for this type of thing; Longbottom certainly wasn’t the dominant type, but at the same time, he’d come into his own enough that Draco had a hard time imagining Longbottom submitting to someone, like the man he was talking with. He had a mental flash of the man across from him pushing Longbottom to his knees, hands fisted in his hair, and had to subtly adjust himself. As he did, he realised the other man was answering his question.

“…and if you’re looking for an introduction into the scene, the club can match you with an experienced Dom or sub who can show you the ropes, so to speak. It’s a stress-free way to learn, really.”

Draco blinked, his mind racing as he tried to see what he recalled of the man’s speech. After a moment, he gave up with a sigh. “I suppose it’s all so new that I just don’t know,” he told the brunet.

The Dominant nodded. “I understand. It wasn’t all that long ago that I was the newcomer.”

Draco pounced on the opening the man had given him. “Have you always been drawn to this type of thing?”

The other man shook his head. “Not at all. I really didn’t know much about this type of thing, or about what the scene entailed. I was looking for something, but I had no idea what, until I found Nightshade.”

Draco nodded encouragingly. “Did you know right from the start which way- erm, I mean, that you were a Dominant?”

“That, I did know pretty quickly. I need to be in control.” The other man’s voice was hard as he continued, “After the last couple of years, that much was clear to me.”

Draco wondered what part this man had played in the war; what side he’d been on. The question must have shown on his face, because the man added, “I never thought we’d all survive, let alone win. There’s been so much that was out of my hands, I want to control as much as I can, now.” He gave Draco a sheepish grin. “Hope that hasn’t scared you off.”

Draco shook his head. “I can understand what you mean.”

The man looked at him appraisingly. “Perhaps you can. I normally wouldn’t push this issue, but... you’re undeclared. Is that because you were just looking around, or because you’re not sure what you’re looking for?”

Draco looked down into his glass. “I was just looking around,” he said glibly. He thought about whether he should go back out and continue looking for Longbottom, finish his pint and head for Diagon Alley, or just go back to Hogwarts and pretend this entire evening had never happened. He glanced sideways at the other man, at the size of his hands and shoulders and thought about what he’d originally wanted from this evening. Draco generally enjoyed letting his partners take the lead when it came to intimacy. Perhaps he’d found what he was looking for, even if he hadn’t consciously known he wanted it. He made his choice, took a deep breath and raised his eyes to the brunet’s, giving him a seductive smile. “I’m pretty sure I know what I’m looking for.”

The other man ducked his head, but not before Draco caught a flash of a smile in return. “Is that so?”

Draco nodded. He moved to stand much closer to the other man, laying his hand down on the bar right beside – but not touching – the Dominant’s hand. “What’s your name?”

“Nigel,” the other man replied. “Yours?”

“Theo,” Draco lied.

Nigel nodded. “Well, Theo, see something that catches your interest?”

Draco let his hand brush Nigel’s and looked up at him through his fringe. “You.”

***

Neville’s breath caught as the other man – Theo – brazenly came on to him. It was not a particularly submissive move, but then, Theo had said that he was new to the scene. He was just the sort of bloke that drove Neville crazy, though, and if Theo wanted to play, he would be more than happy to Dominate him. The visit with his parents, and the stress of the week, was clawing at him, and he desperately needed to vent that energy somehow. He took a steadying breath and reminded himself that the other man was inexperienced and quite possibly had no idea what he could get himself into.

“Is that so?” Neville repeated. “That’s very flattering, but are you truly prepared to submit? You only came in a few minutes ago, and you said yourself that this was all new to you.”

Theo gave him a winning smile. “You told me the best way to learn was to find an experienced teacher. I think you’ll do just fine.” His smile faltered and his eyes flicked downward. “If you wanted to, that is.”

Neville gave in to the desire that had been raging inside him since they’d started talking, reaching out to tangle his hand in Theo’s hair and tug his head back sharply. “You’ve no idea how much I want to,” he murmured into Theo’s ear. The blond shivered in his arms.

“What would you like to do?” Theo managed.

Neville loosened his grip on Theo’s hair, sliding his hand down to cup the back of his neck possessively. “Tell me what you think you’d enjoy,” Neville told him firmly. “You can see the stations out on the main floor. There are more at the back.”

Theo looked over at the scene stations. “I’m not sure what most of it is for,” he confessed after a moment.

Neville smiled indulgently. “Well, come on, then. I’ll give you a guided tour.” He straightened, draining the last of his pint and looking expectantly at Theo. The blond took a last gulp of his drink and nodded at him.

“After you,” Theo said with a small smile.

***

Draco trailed hesitantly after Nigel, letting the other man show him around the club. There were two large wooden ‘X’s with manacles at the end of each arm, which Nigel called St Andrew’s Crosses, with a frightening array of whips and floggers laid out beside them. There were three padded spanking benches, several suspension stations, and along the back wall were two long padded tables near a display of various coloured candles. Draco swallowed hard.

“Interested in waxplay, are you?” Nigel’s voice, close to his ear, made Draco start.

“Er – yes, I think so,” Draco managed after a moment.

“Would you like to try? I promise to go easy on you,” Nigel said, a small smile playing across his lips.

“Will you?” Draco asked softly, ducking his head and looking up at Nigel through his fringe.

Nigel groaned. “Not if you keep playing games like that,” he teased.

Draco smiled, his obvious effect on the other man giving him confidence. “What if I told you that I like playing games?”

“I’d say you came to the right place,” Nigel replied, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist. “I’d also say your avoidance of my question means that you’re not quite ready for waxplay.”

Draco rested one hand on Nigel’s chest. “Perhaps… not quite yet,” he admitted with a shy grin. “But I would be very interested in trying out one of those benches.”

“Is that so?” Nigel purred. “Well, I think that I just might be able to arrange a demonstration for you.”

With that, he dipped his head to capture Draco’s lips in a firm kiss.

***

Neville ran his hand over Theo’s back, enjoying the way the taut muscles quivered under his hand, even through the layers of clothes. Theo was bent over the bench, grasping the wrist manacles tightly.

“Ready?” Neville asked. At Theo’s nod, Neville brought his arm back and landed a sharp blow to the underside of Theo’s arse, where his buttocks met his thighs. Theo yelped in surprise, his hands coming up to cover his arse as he half-stood. Neville tsked, gently pulling Theo’s hands away from his body. “That’s not where those are supposed to be. Stay in position or I’ll have to tie you down,” he told Theo firmly, watching in satisfaction as the other man nodded and bent back over the bench, once again grasping the manacles. “Good boy,” Neville told him approvingly.

“Thank you,” Theo murmured, his voice muffled by his position.

Neville gave him several more hard blows, testing him, but Theo did not break position again.

“Good boy,” Neville repeated, biting back a groan at the way Theo shuddered at his words. He bent down and brushed his lips against Theo’s ear. “Do you like that?” he whispered. Theo nodded. Neville brought his hand down against his arse in reprimand. “Words, pet,” Neville said firmly.

“Yes,” Theo gasped out. “Yes, I like it.”

Neville hummed and straightened, bringing his arm up again and setting a steady pace of firm smacks to Theo’s arse. Within moments, Theo was squirming against the bench and letting out a quiet stream of whimpers.

Neville stepped behind him, pressing the prominent bulge in his own trousers against Theo’s arse, trapping him against the bench. Almost instantly, he felt Theo arching up beneath him, pushing back against him in wordless offering.

“Wanton little thing, aren’t you?” Neville chuckled, reaching down to tangle his fingers in Theo’s hair and tugging his head back sharply. “Is this what you want?” He ground his hips against Theo’s arse as he spoke.

“Yes,” Theo gasped. “Merlin, yes!”

“Not just yet, I don’t think,” Neville said, letting Theo’s head drop as he stepped away from the other man. He brought his arm up and delivered a sound smack to Theo’s arse. “I’m not quite through punishing you, yet.”

Theo let out a sob, burying his face in his arm as his body rocked beneath the force of Neville’s blows.

Neville paused, caressing Theo’s arse gently with both hands. “Now, I want you to count for me,” Neville told him softly. “Nice and loud, count each one.”

Theo nodded, letting out a soft moan. Neville brought his hand down sharply against the underside of Theo’s arse. “One,” Theo gasped. Two more blows followed. “Two. Three,” Theo managed. Neville continued spanking Theo firmly until the other man counted out a sobbed, “Fi-fifteen.”

“Shhh,” Neville soothed, pulling Theo up from the bench and leading him towards a secluded booth at the back of the club. He settled himself on the bench and pulled Theo into his lap, cradling Theo’s head against his shoulder. “Shhh, that’s a good boy. You did so well for your first time.”

Theo nuzzled against Neville’s neck in answer. Neville chuckled and wrapped his arm firmly around Theo’s waist. Neville teased his hand down Theo’s chest and pressed his palm against the bulge in Theo’s trousers. Theo tucked his head against Neville’s neck in embarrassment, and Neville pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Don’t be embarrassed,” Neville whispered into his ear. “I’m glad I had that effect on you.”

Theo pulled back, looking at Neville, eyes wide and dark with arousal. Maintaining eye contact, Theo began bucking his hips up into Neville’s palm. Neville groaned, pressing his palm more firmly against Theo, letting the blond rut against him. “That’s it,” Neville whispered. “Show me.” Neville moved his hand in counterpoint to Theo’s movements. “That’s right,” Neville continued. “Are you close?”

Theo nodded frantically, his eyelids fluttering closed.

“Keep looking at me,” Neville ordered, his fingers tangling in Theo’s trousers as he stroked Theo’s cock firmly. He slid his other hand up Theo’s back to tangle in his hair as Theo’s eyes flew open once more. “Just like that. Come for me. Please.”

Theo gasped, his back going rigid and his hips stuttering wildly as a wet patch appeared on his trousers and spread across his lap.

Neville’s mind registered the dampness under his hand, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from Theo’s. He watched their colour flicker from blue to grey, and the golden hair in his fingers paled to a startlingly familiar platinum blond.

The man in his arms calmed, apparently unaware that his Glamour was no longer in place, and snuggled bonelessly against Neville’s chest.

Neville’s mind whirled as he tried to process what had just happened. He knew he should say something about how well the other man had done, giving him soothing praise and comfort, but all he could manage was a soft, uncertain “D-Draco?”

***

Snuggled comfortably against Nigel’s chest, drifting towards slumber, it took Draco’s mind a moment to process the sound of his name from Nigel’s lips. When it did, his eyes snapped open and he stared at the other man in horror.

It wasn’t possible that anyone knew him here. Draco felt his stomach sinking into his shoes as he realised that his Glamour must have slipped, exposing his true appearance. However, that should only have caused a stranger to – at best – connect the dots to his Malfoy heritage. The fact that Nigel not only knew but used his given name meant that they were on speaking terms, at least. Draco studied Nigel’s face. He was certain that he had never seen the other man before, which meant–

Oh, dear Merlin. Longbottom.

Draco pushed himself up out of Longbottom’s lap and stammered something incoherent before he bolted for the exit.

***

Neville ran from the Apparition point through the Hogwarts gates and towards the tents, many of which were lit from within, giving them the appearance of Japanese lanterns in the gloaming light. As he came into the clearing, he could make out subdued voices from a number of the milling crowd.

“…all right?”

“…white as a sheet…”

“…didn’t look so well…”

“Hullo, Neville.” Luna’s voice sounded in his ear, and Neville spun to face her.

“Luna! Have you see Draco Malfoy?”

Luna regarded him silently, an uncharacteristically grave expression in her grey eyes. She nodded solemnly.

Neville waited impatiently for her to elaborate. When she remained silent, he prompted, “Well? Do you know where he is?”

“I don’t think he wants to see you right now, Neville,” she replied.

“I know, but –” Neville paused and took a calming breath. “Luna, please. I need to make sure he’s all right.”

“He went looking for it,” Luna said sadly, almost to herself.

“Looking for what?” Neville scanned the area, hoping to catch a glimpse of Malfoy’s platinum hair.

“I told him I knew someone who could help him. It would have been so much better to go into all of this with his eyes open, don’t you think?”

“Dammit, Luna, what are you on about?” Neville snapped as he turned back to stare at her.

But Luna had flown.

***

Draco threw himself down beneath a tree near the edge of the Black Lake. He didn’t want to deal with people at the moment, and the tents were too crowded for privacy. He particularly did not want to deal with Longbottom until he’d had a chance to sort out his own troubling responses to the evening’s events.

Longbottom was a sexual Dominant. A gay Dominant. One small part of Draco’s brain was squealing like a five-year-old on Christmas morning. The majority of his brain, however, was racing towards full-on panic.

He’d never done anything like what he’d done tonight. Not the sex; he’d had anonymous sex with other bar boys before – more times than he cared to admit, if he was being honest with himself. No, it was the siren call of submission that surprised him.

Draco remembered how it had felt being bent over the spanking bench; the padded leather giving only a slight yield against his squirming hips. He’d never been harder in his life, feeling that strong, broad hand coming down against his arse over and over, driving him against the bench. It had been like being fucked, harder and rougher than he’d ever been before. The feelings had been intense; more intense than anything he’d ever experienced, and Nigel had never even laid a finger on his bare skin. It had woken a craving in Draco, a deep-seated desire that exploded and raged like Fiendfyre within him. He’d never considered himself particularly submissive before. In that moment, though, he’d have been willing to do just about anything Nigel had wanted. He’d rutted shamelessly against the bench, his cock painfully hard and leaking in his pants. He would have pleaded to be fucked, prostrated himself to be whipped, gotten on his knees and begged to suck Nigel’s cock.

He’d have done absolutely anything that the man had asked.

And as if that weren’t mortifying enough, his ‘Nigel’ had turned out to be Longbottom!

Draco tried to marshall his thoughts and decide on a plan of action. It was his word against Longbottom’s, after all, and ‘Hero of Hogwarts’ or no, Draco suspected that he could garner enough doubt in the court of public opinion to slide by. Obviously, going back to Nightshade again was out of the question. Draco fought down the wave of disappointment that ran through him at that thought. Why did the most satisfying experience of his life have to be with Longbottom? The only thing worse would have been if Nigel had turned out to be Potter.

Or Weasley, Draco thought with a shudder.

“You should probably talk to him, don’t you think?” Luna asked quietly as she settled beside him.

Draco started. “Lovegood, how do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Sneak up on – nevermind. Talk to whom?”

“To Neville, of course.”

Draco went still beside her. “I don’t know what you mean. Why should I talk to Longbottom?” Luna just looked at him knowingly. Draco sighed, turning away to look back over the lake. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I just can’t, all right?”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

Draco hummed noncommittally.

“Draco,” Luna laid a gentle hand on his arm. “I told you that I knew someone who could help you. Why did you go looking for it?”

“I didn’t!” Draco said indignantly. “I just… fell into it, I suppose.”

“Even if that’s true, you’ll still need to talk to him eventually,” Luna told him softly.

Draco sighed again. “Perhaps, Luna. But not right now.”

***

Neville caught himself searching the Great Hall for a glimpse of Malfoy and he sighed. It had been days since their encounter at Nightshade, and he had yet to see Malfoy anywhere. Neville knew that Luna had spoken to Malfoy, that first night, but she remained maddeningly silent on the subject, simply telling him that he had to “give Draco some time to decide what it is he needs.”

Which was really less than helpful, when Neville got right down to it.

He really needed to talk to Malfoy. That night at the club had sparked something in him; something he didn’t quite understand. The need to control was still there, but it was stronger, intensified somehow; it was as though he’d put on blinders, and all he could see was Malfoy, squirming beneath his hand. Malfoy on his knees, lips wrapped around his cock as Neville’s hand fisted tightly in his hair. Holding Malfoy tightly to him, that same hand fisting Malfoy’s cock as Neville captured his mouth in a bruising kiss, Malfoy spread out beneath him, fisting his own cock as Neville buried himself in Malfoy’s arse. Neville forced himself to take a few calming breaths and adjusted himself surreptitiously under the table.

Neville pushed his food around on his plate, not really eating any of it. His stomach had been in knots since Sunday, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on calmly, just waiting for Malfoy to drop the weight of the world down onto his head.

He could see the headline now – Hero of Hogwarts in Sex Scandal Shocker! He ran his hand through his hair distractedly. He knew that it was his word against Draco’s, and since he’d never gone into the club without a Glamour, Rita Skeeter and her cronies would never be able to find someone to corroborate Malfoy’s story. It wasn’t just the fear of exposure that had kept him on edge since Malfoy had run from him at the club.

It was the inexplicable feeling of loss that had washed over him, as he’d watched Malfoy disappear.

Neville pushed his plate away and stood, making his way out of the Great Hall and towards the dungeons with a determined stride.

***

Draco’s head snapped up as he heard Slughorn exclaim, “Longbottom, my boy! What brings you down to our little corner of the world?”

“I’m looking for Malfoy,” Neville said darkly. Draco fought the urge to Disillusion himself, continuing to chop potion ingredients.

“Of course, of course! Young Mr Malfoy is just in the next room. Through there,” Slughorn effused.

Draco forced himself not to look up as he heard Longbottom enter the laboratory.

“Malfoy,” Longbottom said quietly from the other side of the workbench. Draco kept his attention on his knife, methodically slicing his small portion of belladonna root. “Malfoy?”

“Go away, Longbottom. I’m busy. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m working with a poisonous –“

“Nightshade.”

Draco’s head snapped up. “What did you say?”

“Atropa Belladonna,” Longbottom said matter-of-factly. “Also known as Deadly Nightshade. Highly toxic, but very effective as a calming agent and sedative when distilled down properly.”

Draco ducked his head. The plant. Longbottom had been talking about the plant. “Indeed. So it really would be best if you left me to it. Since the majority of Hogwarts needs these potions on a nightly basis, I’m sure we’d all prefer that I brew this properly, so as not to poison everyone.”

Longbottom fidgeted. “Malfoy. Draco. We need to talk about what happened.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Longbottom.”

“Sunday night. The club?”

“Again, I haven’t the foggiest. Would you mind leaving me alone now?”

“Malfoy,” Longbottom growled. “We are going to talk about what happened.”

Draco slammed the knife down on the counter to hide his shaking hands. “Do not presume to think that you can order me around,” he snapped, his voice low and dangerous. “Get out.”

Longbottom’s shoulders squared and his back straightened. “That’s not what you were saying Sunday night,” he bit out in response. Draco’s eyes widened.

“How dare you?” Draco whispered furiously. “How dare you come in here and try to threaten me?”

“Threaten you?” Longbottom’s expression morphed from anger to confusion. “Malfoy, I’m not –“

“Save it,” Draco said. “Just get out.”

As he turned back to his potion, Draco tried not to examine the fact that the wave of relief which washed over him at Longbottom’s departure was followed quickly by an even stronger wave of disappointment.

***

Neville threw himself down under what he’d privately begun thinking of as his tree, along the shore of the Black Lake. The sun was low in the sky, and light sparkled along the surface of the water. In the distance, he could see the Giant Squid splashing its tentacles in the shallows.

“Don’t be mad at me,” Luna said as she appeared at his side.

Neville sighed. “I could never be mad at you,” he said quietly.

“I think he’s ready to talk to you now.”

Neville gave Luna a sideways look. “He’s not.”

“You won’t know unless you try.”

“I’ve already tried, Luna!”

“Yes, but that was before,” Luna pointed out.

“Before what?”

“Before he was ready, of course.”

“Luna, I swear–“

“Neville,” Luna interrupted, laying a hand on his cheek. “Go talk to him.” She turned his head and Neville spotted Malfoy sitting alone in the distance, tossing pebbles into the lake.

Neville shook his head.

“Don’t be so stubborn that you lose your chance,” Luna told him.

“I’ve already lost my chance.”

“That’s not true,” Luna said. “You just have to know how to approach him.”

“Well, I don’t know how to, obviously,” Neville said gloomily.

Luna frowned. She looked over at Malfoy, and then back over her shoulder. Neville turned to see Seamus hovering near the courtyard wall, watching them.

“Go on, Luna,” Neville continued. “Seamus is waiting.”

Luna reluctantly got to her feet. “I think you’re being perfectly silly, you know.”

“I know,” Neville said quietly.

Luna pressed a kiss to the top of his head and left him to his thoughts.

***

Draco watched Lovegood and Longbottom sitting side by side, but they were too far away for him to hear what they were saying. When Lovegood pressed her hand to the side of Longbottom’s face, Draco turned away, his stomach doing odd flip-flops. A few moments later, however, his curiousity got the better of him and he snuck another glance in their direction, just in time to see Lovegood kissing the top of Longbottom’s head and walking back towards the castle. Draco’s heart sank.

Longbottom had something going with Lovegood. That was how she knew what Longbottom got up to. His stomach flip-flopped again. He wondered if Longbottom had spanked her; if he’d held her cuddled in his lap afterwards and touched her the way Longbottom had done with him. Jealousy flashed through him like wildfire.

“You really shouldn’t jump to conclusions like that,” Lovegood’s voice said behind him. Draco jumped, swearing softly.

“Merlin’s beard, Lovegood, will you quit doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Sneaking up on me like that!”

She smiled as she settled herself down beside him. “I’m not sneaking up on you. You’re just distracted.”

Draco stared out over the lake. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Draco, you need to go talk to him. He’s too stubborn to try again,” Lovegood said quietly, bumping her shoulder against Draco’s as they sat side by side.

“What are you talking about?” Draco said, letting the jealous anger that had been simmering inside since he’d seen Lovegood kiss Longbottom seep into his voice. “Aren’t you two happy enough together? You have to amuse yourselves by toying with my feelings?”

She looked at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”

Draco looked pointedly at a lovebite that was rather prominent on Lovegood’s neck, just below her jawline. “You and Longbottom,” he bit out.

Lovegood’s tinkling laugh surprised him, and he looked up into her eyes. “Draco, Neville and I are not involved. Neville’s not interested in girls, and besides,” she shot a playful look over Draco’s shoulder, and he turned to see Seamus Finnigan watching them intently. “Seamus wouldn’t like it.”

Draco turned back to her with a gobsmacked expression. “Finnigan?”

Lovegood nodded, a blush spreading across her cheeks. “We work,” she said softly. “Like you and Neville would work, if you’d just give him a chance.”

Draco shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

Lovegood sighed. “You both are so stubborn,” she said sorrowfully. “You must be plagued by Wrackspurts. I’ll have to get you both charms to keep them away.”

“What are Wrack–“ Draco began, but Luna had already pushed herself up and was skipping back towards where Finnigan was waiting for her. He looked back over at Longbottom and groaned, burying his face in his heads.

Merlin’s beard, how had everything gotten so ruddy complicated?

***

Neville had spent the entire evening sitting by the lake, and the entire next day preoccupied and distracted. Even an afternoon working in one of the greenhouses, trying to salvage some of the rarer plants, failed to soothe his jangled nerves. Finally, he stood, tossing his gloves onto a nearby bench and brushing the dirt from his clothes. He headed back towards the castle. When things got this bad, there was only one thing for it, and since he had no intention of going back to Nightshade until he sorted out what had happened with Malfoy, there was only one other place for him to go.

As he walked, he let his thoughts wander back to Malfoy. If he was being honest with himself, he knew that one of the reasons he had been so fixated on Luna, during that horrible year, was because her blonde hair and grey eyes had reminded him of Malfoy. He’d been unable to admit that to himself until they’d won and Luna had given him that sad smile and kissed him. He also had to admit that he had been drawn to blond submissives, at the club, because of his unacknowledged desire for his erstwhile classmate.

When he’d seen Malfoy’s Glamour falter, Neville had thought he was dreaming. Feeling Malfoy snuggle against him, his release damp and sticky beneath Neville’s hand, had set something free inside him, an unfamiliar feeling fluttering deep in his chest. Merlin help him, he might just have fallen in love with Malfoy in that instant.

It had all come crashing down just as quickly; watching Malfoy run away from him had made Neville feel as though a giant had stomped on him, squashing that tiny, fluttery feeling as soon as it had begun.

He reached the seventh floor hallway and paced in front of the tapestry, waiting for the door to the Room of Requirement to open. He needed to get his head around everything that had happened, and the best way he knew to do that was to give in to the need clawing at him, and stay inside the Room until the feeling subsided.

He breathed a sigh of relief as the door swung open before him, and he stepped inside. The Room had provided a spanking bench nearly identical to the ones at Nightshade, and he felt his heart sink and the need claw at him even more frantically as he was reminded of how Malfoy had looked, bent over the bench, and how he’d felt after, cradled in Neville’s arms.

Neville looked around the room, but the practice dummy did not materialise. Instead, there was a large bed in the corner, four-postered and curtained like the beds in the Gryffindor dorms, but with lush purple drapes that were not evocative of any Hogwarts House. There was also a plush sofa in the corner, in front of a grate with a crackling fire. Neville sank down onto the sofa with a groan. He’d just have to do his deep breathing, after all. For once, the Room had left him on his own.

***

Draco slammed the stirring rod down onto his workbench as the potion he was working on turned a sickly lime green, instead of the correct sunshine yellow. One of his ingredients must have been bad, or else he was so distracted that he’d made a mistake. Either way, the batch was ruined. He Vanished the lot and cleaned up his workspace before leaving the dungeons. He’d get nothing accomplished in his current mood.

He made his way to a small windowed alcove on the seventh floor, not far from the Room of Requirement. In his sixth year, when he was trying so hard to find a way to juggle everything, keeping the Dark Lord happy and his family alive, he had often sat here, looking down over the castle grounds and waiting. For inspiration, for guidance, or for redemption, Draco still wasn’t certain.

He hadn’t come up here willingly since the Battle, but it seemed he’d been going through a lot of firsts and revelations lately. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about his encounter at Nightshade with Longbottom. He realised that he’d discovered something about himself, something he hadn’t known he needed, and he knew that he wanted to explore it. He just didn’t know if he had the courage.

There was one way to test his courage, though; something he hadn’t done since Crabbe had died. He could face the Room.

He walked slowly and deliberately towards the tapestry and the entrance, surprised to see it appear before him almost immediately. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

***

Neville started up when the door swung open. The Room had never let someone else inside whilst Neville was alone; not since the war. He shot a panicked glance towards the spanking bench, and then turned towards the newcomer. He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him as he watched Draco walk through the door.

“Malfoy?”

Draco looked just as startled to see him. “Longbottom? What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?”

Draco looked uncertain and scared and affronted, all at once. “The Room let me in. I didn’t know you were in here. I’ll just be going.” He turned and moved back towards the door, which was still ajar.

“Malfoy, wait,” Neville called, a note of command in his voice. He was grateful and relieved to see that Draco stopped, though he didn’t turn around. “Please,” Neville continued. “We should talk.”

Draco slowly turned to look at him. “I suppose we should,” he agreed stiffly.

“Would you like to sit down?” Neville indicated the sofa. Draco nodded and pushed the door closed gently behind him before moving towards Neville and sitting awkwardly at the far end of the sofa. “Thanks,” Neville said quietly.

“You’re welcome,” Draco murmured. “I suppose we do need to talk about what happened.”

Neville nodded. The silence stretched between them for a long moment.

“Malfoy, I –“

“Longbottom–“

They broke off with an awkward chuckle. Neville indicated for Draco to speak first.

“How long have you been going to that club?” Draco asked.

“A few months,” Neville said with a shrug. “I found it by accident, but as soon as I was inside, something clicked for me.”

Draco nodded. “I know what you mean.”

“Something clicked for you, too?” Neville asked. At Draco’s nod, he pressed, “Then why did you run away?”

Draco ducked his head. “I suppose because I was embarrassed. And surprised. But mainly embarrassed and afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“That you’d tell people about me. A Malfoy who takes orders? Malfoys give orders; they don’t obey them. Plus,” Draco hands were clenched tightly in his lap as he continued, “I was afraid of what I’d discovered about myself.”

“What had you discovered?” Neville asked quietly. “Will you tell me?”

There was another long pause, during which Neville began to think that Draco wasn’t going to answer. “I discovered that I like obeying orders.” Draco raised his eyes to meet Neville’s. “Mostly, I discovered that I really like the idea of obeying orders from you.”

Neville’s breath hitched. “You – you do?” he stuttered nervously.

Draco nodded and shifted closer to Neville on the sofa. “I do.” Draco paused and reached out his hand, letting it brush Neville’s lightly before resting it between them in invitation. “I really do.”

Neville couldn’t stop the wide smile from spreading across his face as he took Draco’s hand in his. “I do, too,” he confessed. “I’ve never had anyone affect me like you did, that night.”

“I’m glad,” Draco replied. After a moment of just letting his hand rest comfortably in Neville’s, he added, “This was not what I was expecting when I came in here.”

“Me, neither,” Neville admitted. “What were you expecting?”

Draco stilled beside him. “I haven’t been inside the Room since the day of the Battle, when Crabbe–“ Neville squeezed his hand to let him know he understood. “I came in here to face one fear,” Draco continued wryly. “I suppose that the Room decided that I needed to conquer a different one.”

“Maybe it did, at that,” Neville agreed. “I came in to work through some tension. The Room had other ideas for me, as well.” At Draco’s curious look, he explained, “Sometimes I come up here to practice my technique,” he admitted, indicating the floggers and paddles that were arrayed beside the spanking bench. “The Room usually provides me with a practice dummy to work on, but today, it didn’t.”

“Is that so?” Draco said softly, shifting even closer to Neville. “Perhaps it knew something we didn’t.”

“Perhaps,” Neville agreed, as he dipped his head to capture Draco’s in a kiss.

Draco nipped at Neville’s lower lip as they pulled apart. “You could practice on me,” he murmured into Neville’s ear.

Neville’s breath caught again. “I’d love to,” he admitted with a grin. “But are you sure? You said yourself that this is all new to you.”

Draco nodded, tangling their fingers together. “And you said that the best way to learn is to find a good teacher,” he said softly. “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather learn from.”

“I won’t be easy on you. I’m not as nice as everyone seems to think,” Neville told him seriously.

“I don’t want easy,” Draco told him. “I want to be pushed to my limits. I want you to be the one to do it.”

“Why me?” Neville asked.

“Because you came after me,” Draco said seriously. “Because you kept trying to talk to me. Because you care.”

Neville smiled.

“Not that I’m going to be easy on you, either,” Draco continued. “I’m not going to fall to my knees and beg you to order me about. That’s not me.”

Neville dragged Draco into his lap, tangling his fingers in the blond’s hair and tugging his head back sharply, enjoying Draco’s gasp. He brought his lips to Draco’s ear. “You’ll be on your knees for me in no time,” Neville said darkly. “But I promise that you’ll enjoy every moment of it.”