Summary: All Hell will break loose tonight. Sequel to Consequences
Spoilers: Half-Blood Prince
Draco stood up next to the toilet and wiped his mouth, the ghost of that idiot girl circling around him. "What are you going to do? Are you going to leave me?"
He ignored her. Dumbledore had left the castle and he had things to do. He'd have vomited again except he had nothing left but bile, and he needed that to do the job.
He ran to the owlery and grabbed the nearest school one, and attached the coded note, sending the bird to Madam Rosmerta. She would have no qualms - Imperios made things easier. Sometimes, he wished he was under compulsion, too, but his Aunt Bella had taught him how to toss that off.
He hated Aunt Bella. He hated all of it, and all of them. He hated Snape - Mother told him about the Unbreakable Vow.
He hated the Dark Lord.
He hated himself most of all - for being a failure, for being weak, for not listening to Snape last year. For not letting Potter kill him.
He straightened his robes and walked out of the Owlery and back towards Slytherin as if he'd just been sending a note to his mother. Not that it matter - for a change, Potter wasn't stalking him. He was probably snogging that Weasley girl - they were positively disgusting about it. And he was only fooling himself and other Gryffindors. Even the Hufflepuffs were sniggering at them.
Not that Draco paid attention to Hufflepuffs.
It had only been that one time last September, after that foolish dare he'd taken. One time when he'd been possessed by more gentle strength than Draco had ever imagined could exist. When he realized that if he'd only had the choice, he'd have belonged to someone else - someone warm and alive who would take the pain away, not bring more.
He was in the only good dreams Draco had anymore, and those were more than he deserved.
If he'd thought he'd had a future - if he thought he'd live past this night - if other impossible things could happen - he'd hope to be with him. He tried to imagine it now - being tended as carefully as he tended his plants, being warm at night in his arms, belonging to him like that damned toad. The Dark Lord didn't own all of him, not yet. Some part of Draco Malfoy belonged to Neville Longbottom, and right now that was the thing he was least ashamed of.
"Longbottom. Get away from here." He clenched his fingers around his wand.
"No. I don't think so." Longbottom took hold of Draco's shoulders and moved him closer to a torch set in the wall. "There's something terribly wrong here. You've been sick - I can smell it on your breath. And you look - Draco, tell me what's wrong. Please."
Draco wanted to obey - wanted to tell it all to Longbottom - to Neville. But it wouldn't help. It had all been set in motion and there was nothing Neville could do. There never was anything Neville could do. It would only hurt both of them. "I wish... I can't. I...can't. I'm sorry."
He'd just apologized to Longbottom - a blood traitor of a Gryffindor. He also made no move to escape Neville's hands. He waited to see what Neville would do about his disobedience.
He didn't need to wait long. Neville let go of one shoulder to stroke Draco's cheek and then draw his finger down his neck. Draco, unused to comfort, leaned into the caress. "It's all right. You don't need to tell me anything. Just - let me do what I can."
"All right." Draco found it hard to breathe.
"Come with me, then. I know a place we can go." Neville put a hand on the small of Draco's back, and led him through an unfamiliar route to an all-too familiar corridor. The Room of Requirement was not a workshop now, nor the room full of lost and discarded objects where he'd found his Hand of Glory. It was a bedroom - a very old-fashioned and plain one with a large wooden bedstead with simple curtains, a bedside table, a chest of drawers and a fireplace. There were Gryffindor banners on the walls, plus a poster of Viktor Krum and one of the Ireland team who'd won the World Cup.
"Is this your room, then?"
"Yeh. Except that the bed's bigger." He ushered Draco in and let the door close behind them. He went to draw the bed curtains. If that was what Neville wanted - well, fine. He took off his robes.
"What are you doing?"
"We're here to have sex, right? Well, that does entail some amount of being naked, and since we have privacy here, I thought..." He took off his shoes and socks and stripped off his pants. Neville gasped.
"Haven't you been eating?" Draco looked down at the part of his chest visible beneath his open shirt. He'd always been bony, and since he couldn't keep any food down...
"I've been eating. I'm not starving myself to death."
"I'm such an idiot. If I'd seen...come here, then." He sat on the bed and patted next to him. Draco frowned for a moment and then, leaving his clothing in a heap, he sat next to Neville, who flicked an eye over Draco's nearly naked body again, and shrugged. "You could have gotten dressed again. Or taken off the shirt."
Neville hadn't said to do either, and he'd clearly wanted Draco next to him right away. He'd fight to keep his arm covered, though. And, anyway, what would be the point? Draco shrugged. "Do you mind?"
"No." He smiled. "Not with you so very beautiful." He trailed his hands down Draco's chest, pausing to tickle his nipples before going lower. "I just wanted to get you out of that corridor for a bit." His hands went lower, stroking Draco's narrow hips and thighs, dipping between his legs but not going higher. Draco shivered anyway. "You're getting goose flesh. Are you cold?"
Draco shook his head, unable to speak. Neville smiled, and licked his lips before moving those hands of his over Draco's back, dancing his fingers and making Draco shiver more. He grew aroused, his cock rising and falling with each move of Neville's hands.
"Shhh." Neville leaned forward then and kissed him. This was not like that first kiss, so long ago. There was heat here, right from the beginning - a passion with no pretense of coolness or ambition. Neville wanted him, not because he was Draco Malfoy, but because he thought...he thought Draco was beautiful.
Father was beautiful. Mother was beautiful. Aunt Bella had been, once. Draco was skinny and pointy and his hair never did as he wanted it to.
Neville wasn't beautiful, but there was something in his eyes and in the way he held his face that made Mother and Father's beauty seem thin.
He could look at Neville forever, he thought. He would not see him again after tonight, he knew. Or if he did, it would be at the wrong end of a wand.
He thought about Neville killing him, about killing Neville. He didn't want to think about killing at all. Not now.
He returned Neville's kiss, adding his own fear and pretending it was passion, turning it into passion, letting Neville draw him onto the bed before he stopped. "Draco, I'm sorry."
"I just wanted to talk to you tonight. Maybe snog a bit. Take away that thing you've been carrying all year." He looked at Draco's arm. Neville knew, but he was going to let Draco not say anything.
Draco didn't know if he loved him or hated him for that.
"You can't. No one can. All you can do is help me forget for a little. Please, Neville. Anything you want, anyway you want. Please." Now he was begging the blood traitor. Who was running his hands up and down Draco's chest. He didn't care. Neville's loyalty was unquestioned, unquestionable. His own was failing the test.
"All right, then. I will."
And he did, using his hands and tongue and cock, with more skill than Draco knew existed, and with heartbreaking sweetness and gentleness, and steel under all that. Draco knew he was lost then, knew he could fall in love with this boy. Maybe he already had on that September day. And when the last spasms left his body, and the Mark on his arm began to burn, he could no longer hold back his tears for what could have been and for what was going to happen.
"Draco? Did I hurt you? What can I do?" Neville caressed him, held him, covered his head with soft kisses.
"Nothing. Neville, in...in...you're going to hate me soon."
"No! I don't...I can't...I...I won't hate you." He sounded confused. "I've never hated you, Draco."
"You will. I'm sorry. I wish I could be different, but you will. And I won't be here. And, God, I'll miss you, and...I hope I never see you hate me. I'm sorry." And he cried more, for the job he had to do and the pain he'd just given and how it would never end. And then he pulled on his clothing, the Hand of Glory heavy in his pocket, and kissed Neville good-bye, letting Neville wrap his arms around him one last time. He knew he'd never feel as safe again.
And it all happened - the cabinet and the Death Eaters, and he watched from a distance as one of them tossed Neville aside as if he weren't the strongest and bravest man Draco knew, and then there was Dumbledore, and Potter and Snape, and he didn't kill Dumbledore afterwards, and God help him, his first thought was that maybe Neville wouldn't hate him.
And then he ran through the castle with Snape until they arrived at the Manor, and then Draco reached into his pocket again, and there was his Hand.
And there was also Trevor.