Chancy Is The Night - Part 3/4
Title: Chancy Is The Night (3/4)
Author: E. M. Pink, i.e. e_m_pink
Link: Also on ehcu, my friendslocked fic comm. So read it here. :D
Type: Fiction
Length: Novella - basically about 24,000 words. In this chapter, about 5,000.
Pairings: Neville Longbottom/Male Canon Character
Cliché I’m subverting? Vampire!fic
Warnings: Dub-con, some bloodplay. Implied cross-gen pairing. Some cracky undertones.
Rating: NC-17, as this stuff is graphic.
Summary: Many years after the second war, Neville has weathered several twists and turns in his life and of those in his world. It is on the brink of another that he finds himself in a strange place, with an even stranger companion. And not one that he would ever have chosen…
Notes: Obviously post-war and post-Hogwarts, of course. Implied het. This was done with help from my kind beta, Kristina, my kind friend, Kheha, and my generous flist. Thanks to everyone who had an opinion on this - your enthusiasm carried me through the rough patches! Oh, and thanks to everyone who helped with notes about ferries and so on, your help really, er, helped.
Part III
The ferry was about as noisy and taxing as it usually was, only substantially more, with Ted distracting Neville the entire time. Neville, after professing the need to stretch his legs, quickly came to a realisation: almost everyone huddled nearby in the discreetly wizarding section of ferry was a vampire or, like himself (Neville grimaced), travelling with one. They all nodded politely and one or two even made strained conversation, their eyes fixed eerily on the concealed wound on his neck, but Neville knew immediately that he was essentially on hostile territory. Ted took possession of his arm as soon as he got back, scowling over the back of his seat at the slightly weary-looking blonde that had even given him a slightly toothy smile as she played absently with a bracelet on her arm.
“You can look around if you like, Neville,” Ted said, breaking into Neville’s subdued, morose thoughts, “but I don’t want you prostituting yourself in front of everyone here, understand?”
“Prostituting myself?” Neville hissed, reddening. Good god, but he’d had enough of this, had enough of -
“Bending over to pick up her purse,” Ted said angrily, “Stroking your neck as if she’d have a chance to -”
“Did getting turned make you insane, Nott?” Neville asked coldly, gritting his teeth. “Look, just because you bit me while I was tied up -”
Ted’s eyes narrowed. “I had consent, if you must know -”
“What? The fact that I was begging you not to bite me, or the fact that I was ready to give up my fucking friend so you’d leave me alone?” Neville hissed back, his voice getting louder and louder. “Christ. Your fucking thought process alone gives vampires a bad name.”
But instead of fixing him with a cold stare and trying to refute his (quite salient, thank you) points, Ted gave him a surprised look. Then smiled. “You know the worst thing about war? You miss a lot of change.” Neville’s mouth fell open. “I’m glad you grew up, Longbottom - this would’ve been very trying if you hadn’t.”
A long moment passed, in which Ted stared at Neville and Neville tried not to blush. Snorting, the vampire finally settled back into his seat and closed his eyes.
He, Neville thought, bewilderedly, to himself, is truly insane.
* * *
Their arrival in Calais was something Neville had gone over and over and over and over in his mind about - how not to unnecessarily upset Ted, how to still firmly put him in his place, how to demand that Neville and his neck were to be treated with respect and not ravished and bitten and seduced at every turn. Things like that, generally, had fouled up Neville’s thought processes in the last half hour or so of their journey, and had made him glare at Ted every so often and feel increasingly pissed off when his usually quite effective glare (he’d cut Snape down once with it. Snape Snape, yeah. Did he remember it? Every second - he’d probably be telling it to his grandchildren. Perhaps when the greying bastard was actually dead) was only acknowledged with a smile. And not a sort of tight, smirking, you’re angry at me and don’t I know it sort of smile, oh no.
A smile smile. As if everything was going exactly the way Ted wanted it, and he was more than happy to sit and bask in Neville’s (really quite effective) glare.
The consequence of all that, of course, was that by the time Neville and Ted had been ushered out onto the streets of Calais (and, for Neville pinched on the bum at least once or twice, by two supposedly innocent-looking female vampires), Neville was livid. Not with a capital L, because that was livid for lovers. He wasn’t Ted’s lover, was he? He was Ted’s bloody victim.
“We,” Neville said nastily, as soon as they were alone and seemingly approaching one of the nasty little wizarding tour booth thingies that always seemed to be everywhere in Calais, “are not renting a hotel room, understand?”
Ted gave him a perplexed look. “No, we’re not.” Neville blinked, but dismissed the idea that Ted might actually be agreeing with him. He wouldn’t put it past the bastard to wrong-foot him, convince him that he was ordering train tickets to somewhere, and then usher him into a hotel for a drink “…while we wait”. “What’s the game on Draco these days, anyway?”
Neville scowled; diversionary tactics, if he ever saw them, but it was a valid question, and in the interests of fair and even not-so-fair argument, it was always important to answer those. “Last time I saw him, he was rhapsodising about this hairdressing job in Lille. Muggle hairdressing.” Ted’s eyebrows seemed to raise of their own accord as he elbowed them rudely through the line for the tour booth thingy. “I know - completely useless, eh? But if we go, we might find someone who knew where he was headed.” Ted, now conversing in rapid, irritatingly sexy French with the keeper of the booth, simply gave him an absent nod as he began to fiddle in his pockets and fire off rapid-fire numbers (at least, Neville thought they were. Mandatory French lessons had been a long, long time ago, thankfully) and gesticulate wildly and give Neville despairing glances.
It was all over in a surprisingly short time, what with the emotion involved. Ted brandished the tickets with an unnecessary flourish, his cool fingers (Neville tried hard not to remember the feel of them) displaying interestingly healthy colour as he pointed to all sorts of relevant little details about when it left and so on.
The train, that was. Neville stopped his eyes looking at fingers, and suddenly heard the sound of “…leaves in about fifteen minutes, so we’ll have to Apparate. Up to it?”
Neville’s eyes widened. “After what you just put me through?” Ted sighed, and his face contorted a bit, as if he was trying to look understanding. “I’m not going to any kind of room with you - not if it were the last available affordable housing space in the right part of London - !”
“Neville,” Ted said, a little too gently, “I’m not asking you to Apparate to a hotel.” Neville gritted his teeth, seized at one of the tickets (obviously overnight, or at least for the next morning) to prove his point, and suddenly found that they were not overnight at all, and certainly not next morning.
He handed them back, his teeth hurting from how hard he was gritting them. This morning, actually, might be more appropriate. Ted gave him a slow smile, then tugged him into a dark-ish alley, looking disturbingly like he wanted to kiss him. While Neville was being kissed, he tried not to gag.
Well, not to swoon, really. As much as he hated Ted right now, he had such an interesting mouth, and such technique…
* * *
“Neville?” Wide grey eyes stared at him, touchingly incredulous. “Longbottom - is that you?” Neville nodded slowly, feeling very, very wrong-footed. Today seemed to actively be conspiring against him, for crying out loud.
First of all, there had been Apparating about the place with Ted, which hurt like a Crucio topped with some judicious blood-letting where the nerves hurt the most, all marinated in that irritating crushing sensation one got with Apparation with normal people.
Then, of course, there had been the whole ‘prostitution’ thing, as well as the irritating way Ted had seemed to take no notice of the fact that Neville had been highly ticked off about the whole seduction thing, despite how well it was working out for his cock.
Then Ted had had the gall to actually be sensible, and make Neville look like some sort of paranoid idiot made unfit and unjustifiably paranoid by the War. “Paranoid of your own shadow”, Ted had been muttering all during the train trip to Lille. Neville knew that his reaction to the tickets for the train might have been a bit much, but still -
“Good god, you’re actually fit,” Draco said, looking him up and down with that smirk Neville remembered so well. And which, from Ted’s narrowed eyes, he remembered just as well. “Turn around and let me look at you - and do come in, Equally Fit Friend of Neville’s…”
Ted gave a chilly smile and sauntered right in. Neville closed the door after him, trying to nod and smile at Draco’s inane chatter as he poked despairingly at Neville’s slightly shaggy cut and smiled up and down Ted’s long hair as customers and stylists stared at them both.
It was a while before Draco finally twigged. Neville sat through joke after joke of school days and nefarious activities and Lumbering Longbottom before that moment arrived, and nodded desperately around even more references to how Ted looked ‘so familiar’ and how, in particular, his arms, once bared, looked even more ‘familiar’.
By twig time, Neville was just ready for it to be over, ready for him and Ted to drag Draco off and question him tersely about his dad and everything, but not ready for this, in particular. This meaning that frighteningly hard look in Ted’s eyes as Draco gasped and tried to hide his stammer and his sneaky look in the direction of Neville’s throat. Of all the times Neville had been particularly ashamed of being with Draco, this was one of them. For goodness’ sake, if a supposedly devious bloke couldn’t manage a contrite face or even a respectfully curious, yet deeply compassionate manner under the right circumstances, what was he good for?
“But, er, you weren’t kicked out of Hogwarts for va-vampirism,” Draco was whispering, now, after tugging them happily into his cramped storage room for a little chat. “Blaise said you were done for, er, lascivious and immoral -”
“Tell my new mate everything, why don’t you,” Ted spat, eyes hard. And cold. Neville sighed. Did he mention hard? “Including what I said just before I left. You remember that, don’t you Draco? Surely you remember that, if you can remember the exact fucking taper of my arms -”
“But Blaise said you were joking,” Draco said, in a very small voice. “I thought that was true, really -”
Ted’s eyes widened. “I was on the edge of savaging myself with a knife! A knife, I tell you!”
“Well, when someone you know does it at least once a term, you kind of tend to disbelieve it after -”
“Look, you two,” Neville cut in sharply, giving Draco a repressive glare before he dug himself any deeper into the seething hole that was possibly somewhere in the vicinity of Ted’s heart (if he had one), “this isn’t going to solve anything, all right?”
“Oh, I’ll solve him -”
“Ted, please,” Neville said earnestly, trying not to feel nervous that he’d insinuated himself between Draco and the advancing Ted on purpose, which looked increasingly bad an idea the closer Ted got, “we need his info, remember?”
“I don’t suppose you know that there are three easy blood rituals I can use to do that after I’ve drunk him dry?”
Neville winced. “It’s just not quite the solution I’m -”
“Oh thanks for nothing, Neville!” Draco had now backed into a corner, and though his wand was in his hand already, it was quivering just a little as Ted slipped easily around a panicky Neville, a mostly murderous look on his face.
“I suppose you never really noticed anyone but yourself,” Ted was saying, coldly, fangs extending. “And you better believe I’ll enjoy every fucking drop of drinking your aristocratic little arse dry - I’ve had Neville, wouldn’t you know, and his is just as red as anyone else’s -”
“You’ve had Neville?” Draco demanded, and suddenly Neville, now paused in trying to insinuate himself between his molester and his ex-lover, could see the whole thing going downhill a lot faster than he’d thought. “What do you mean -”
“I mean that I’ve fucked him,” Ted sneered, “and rather more than once -”
“Neville, you idiot - I deliver you from Snape, of all people, and you run into Theo’s arms? Fucking pathetic -”
“Excuse me?” Neville shivered, Ted’s tone was that cold. “Do you mean to say -”
“Oh fuck yes - and you better believed that he fucked me through the fucking mattress, you understand? Longbottom’s far from pure, I can personally assure you that -”
Neville’s mind went, for a moment, absolutely blank, so terrifying was Ted’s roar. Then, a moment later, it went truly blank, as something had hit him so hard in the head that he could see stars, and…very pretty…
* * *
Neville woke to a nastily throbbing head and the acute feeling that he was not alone. Sitting up despite the pain in his head, he found that his limbs felt slow and heavy, as if he’d been cursed with some sort of severe energy-depriving spell or something -
The door opened, to reveal a rather frosty-looking Ted. “Awake, are you?” Neville nodded slowly in reply as Ted swept in, his face tight with myriad emotions, one of them Neville was sure was fury.
The question, he decided, watching Ted’s almost nervous movements as he crossed over to the couch Neville was reclining on, was who the fury was for. The question was answered almost immediately as Ted seized his hand and began to sniff closely at his wrist, long, deep sniffs that sent shivers up and down Neville’s arms and made him dimly remember that odd little class about vampires being able to tell how healthy someone was. Ted seemed to be satisfied, anyway - after a few deep sniffs, he dropped Neville’s wrist like a hot poker and began to look menacing in the way that usually led to Serious Conversations.
Neville caught his breath. This one would be serious indeed -
“I was hoping you would accept an apology.”
Neville blinked. Did he just say…? But, from Ted’s impassive, yet serious countenance, he felt he had. But - Neville wanted to question it. Hadn’t it taken the better part of his relationship with Severus to get the man to respect his feelings outwardly? And hadn’t it been the straw that broke the already fragile camel’s back with him and Draco? And yet, Ted, Slytherin to the core -
“If you don’t want one, now would be a good time to speak up, Longbottom,” Ted said, the cruelty in his voice offset by the slight flash of concern in his cool eyes. Neville drew himself up, resolving firmly to enjoy this, at least a little bit.
After all, how many times did one get someone as regal as Ted willing to abase themselves for something Neville couldn’t remember clearly? Neville pursed his lips to hide a smirk, and snuggled back a bit into the comforting cushions of the sofa. “I’d like it long and hard, please,” he said, then suddenly blushed, realising what exactly might be inferred from that statement. “Something ornate, I mean.”
“I know what you mean, Neville,” Ted said, the expression on his face leaning a little away from serious now. He cleared his throat, and Neville tried not to jump. “I sincerely apologise for losing my temper at an inopportune moment, and indirectly causing you harm -”
“Wait a minute - indirectly?” Neville asked, butting in. “Does that mean -”
Ted’s lips twitched, a little maliciously, but his answer was colourless. “Yes. Draco hit you with something strong, so.” Ted leant forward a little, subtly pushing for an answer. “Does that mean you forgive me?”
“Not until you ask me the awkward questions you’ve been dying to,” Neville said, voice cracking as he tried to tease, his mouth going dry as he looked at the surprise in Ted’s eyes and remembered what real teasing meant, from this - this person.
“Gladly,” Ted replied, and silence ensued for a minute as Neville tried to suppress the question of whether Ted was joking or not, and promptly failed.
“Look, me and Draco -”
“Yes?” Ted said, impatiently. “You and Draco…what?” Neville glowered at him. “As your mate -”
“Don’t play that card,” Neville insisted, cutting him off. “I did not consent.” Ted sniffed and looked away. “And anything serious between me and Draco ended five bloody years ago, all right? We sort of had it off this summer, but that doesn’t - er - count - and anyway I was surprised that we muddled along properly for as long as a couple of months back then, to be honest.” Ted looked irritatingly approving, causing Neville to go on - it couldn’t be right that he thought it was as simple as that, certainly not - “It was - well - it started after I’d just finally split with Severus -”
“With Severus?” Ted’s tone was mild on the surface, but the way he lingered over that name…Neville sighed. Naturally jealous lo- jealous people could be a real pain in the arse sometimes. Wondering why on earth he seemed to attract them like flies, Neville ran the facts through his mind, trying to get them in the right sort of order.
“Erm - we were together, um, me and Snape, for about three or four years, before I got into the whole, er, vampire adjudication scene. He didn’t like that, so it was easy to part ways and all that, even before I got into things with Draco.” There. Non-threatening, vague about the dates (he remembered Draco and others resenting how he remembered the exact date and month he’d had his final explosive fight with Severus, never mind that he tried telling them that it had been on his birthday, and had been the third memorable time someone who was clearly a vampire had seemed to have been freakishly into him), and all spun to reflect the fact that he’d been on the point of moving on. Perfect.
“Don’t give me that, not when you still call him ‘Severus’ in that worshipful tone,” Ted said scornfully, making Neville deflate significantly. “Look, all I want to know’s that you’re not hung up on his skinny old arse, all right? Or on Draco’s skinny young arse. Adjusting to your new mate would be harder then, wouldn’t it?” A slightly scary smile was once again on Ted’s now depressingly happy face, and Neville smiled nervously back, privately thinking he’d just have to shelve the issue for now.
Now, once he was back in good old England, and could serve the issue before the High Vampire Council -
Somewhere beyond the room around him, a doorbell rang tackily loud, almost shrill, piercing through the slightly open door even as footsteps (probably Draco’s) hurried to answer the door. And then, strangely, Draco’s slightly nervous laughter carried over - the kind that came out when he was trying to hide something and not quite sure as to how, which implied that -
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Draco, just let me see…” Someone tall and dark shoved open the door, obviously halfway through the process of shedding their clothes, and Draco’s laughter, close behind them, faltered.
Neville didn’t even bother trying a smile, he was so surprised. The person standing shocked before him and the hovering Ted was…Angelina Johnson?
Whose open-mouthed moment, predictably, didn’t last long. Not that Neville blamed her, after a sneaky look at Ted - he just gave off this air… “Draco.” Neville blinked, trying suddenly not to smile - he’d hung about Harry’s crew long enough that he’d witnessed Angelina’s Boss Tone coming into play. “Draco. Draco.”
Draco squeezed into the room beside her - around her, Neville could see now - and cracked a nervous smile. “Angel, I can explain.” Neville was now really hard pressed to hold back laughter. Draco? With Angelina? With The Nickname?
“Then explain.” Angelina looked drawn now, crossing her arms over what Neville felt increasingly surprised to see was a rather bigger belly than he’d ever seen on her before. “Now, Draco.”
“See, Neville walked into the salon this morning, and -”
“Cut,” Angelina sighed exasperatedly, “to the chase.”
“ - and I Stunned him. Instead of Ted.” Draco’s smile was faltering. And well that it was - Angelina looked positively livid, and had whipped out her wand before Neville could say so much as an embarrassed ‘Hi’ in corroboration -
“What kind of fucking story is that, Draco?” she began, her voice level rising slowly but surely. Draco opened his mouth to explain, but was immediately cut off. “You know, I don’t even - oh, for Merlin’s sake, Neville Longbottom walks in with some vampire you don’t know behind him, and you stun Neville? For fuck’s sake, that doesn’t even make sense -”
“It would bloody make more sense if you actually let me finish, you know -”
“We’ll just be leaving, then,” Ted cut in, sending a shock of unwelcome surprise through Neville’s lounging body. He rose easily, tugging Neville to his unwilling feet and starting to shepherd him around the now-arguing couple.
“Too right you will,” Angelina said, ignoring some point from a flushing Draco, starting to breathe a little fast. Typically, as things usually were with Draco, her lack of attention to his rising voice didn’t last long. “Draco, I am carrying our baby. I do not have time to deal with situations -”
But now Draco was glaring in Neville and Ted’s direction as Ted dragged Neville towards what he assumed was the door to Draco’s house. “So you’re just leaving, then? No fucking thank-you, Ted, not even to an old mate?”
“When that ‘old mate’ stupefies my fucking boyfriend into fucking pulp, fuck no. Be seeing you, Miss Johnson.” And Ted’s arm was tight around Neville’s waist in a vise of grim determination, forcing him out the door and overriding every feeble struggle Neville could bother to call up, all the way until they’d lurched into the nearby stairwell.
So he lives in an apartment, Neville thought briefly, a little bitterly. Draco Malfoy - the Man Above Apartments. Merlin -
Having one’s train of thought cut off by painful, sudden Dual Apparation was certainly never pleasant, but for that particular thought train, Neville actually had to stifle an automatic thank-you to the now-scowling Ted, who had quite obviously deposited them near the train station they’d come down into Lille from. Ted didn’t seem to notice Neville’s sudden lack of protest as they rushed to board the next train to Calais. Ted didn’t seem to notice much of anything at all on the whole train ride, in fact - staring blankly out of the windows and fixing Neville with hard looks when he tried to excuse himself to go to the loo was all that he seemed inclined to do.
Happily, his possessive behaviour didn’t extend to actually following Neville to the loo for either possessive or sexual reasons, which meant Neville had just enough time to send off an emergency Patronus Harry’s way. As uncomfortable as Neville found it pissing with a huge silvery horse fidgeting oddly in the toilet with him and trying vainly not to stick the odd leg through the walls on his command, it was worth the long message and extra-speedy flight he poured into the spell, hoping to Merlin and God that Harry would have the sense to get someone to meet Neville at the ferry station in Dover.
It was also worth the few minutes Neville spent with just his spent cock in his hand, thinking about the strange mess his life had become, and about the sole agent responsible for it all. Ted was frightening and yet strangely protective, and perhaps the most sexually aggressive person he’d ever been with in some willing capacity. Blushing, Neville sighed - oh, he knew by now that some of it was willing, however little he conceded that amount might be. But -
“Mesdames et Monseiurs, il y a quinze minutes au Calais…”
“Fuck.” Neville gulped, straightening out of his uncomfortable position against one obstructed wall. He hated this the most - he never seemed to have time to make a decision about Ted, for or against, whatever. He’d had time, oh, plenty of time with Severus. He’d even had time with Draco, as mercurial as he’d tended to be. He’d had time with almost everyone, even down to Su Li, when she’d been voluntarily turned about two years ago (and that had been a tentative, if wistful no). But with Ted?
Nope. Neville opened the door a little harder than it deserved, and didn’t bother to say more than the necessary, useless, “Excusez-moi,” to the highly impatient man waiting outside.
No time, indeed. It was really starting to rankle.
* * *
Neville’s breath was starting to come short. He wasn’t sure why he was doing this - well, apart from the fierce expression in Ted’s eyes that told him it might be a nice, easy way to smooth things between them for now - and frankly wondered why on earth he’d seen to suggest this in the first place. Didn’t he get to walk away with something to lean on from this awful, awful situation? Some general sense of pride, perhaps?
As it turned out, no.
Also, as it turned out, Ted tended rather to the hairy side down here, and Neville was finding increasing horror in the fact that it was turning him on. He was currently on his knees in the slightly whiffy cheap hotel room Ted had drummed up practically on setting foot once more in Calais, outwardly declaiming a need to ‘put out feelers among the vampires he knew here’ while his hard blue eyes expressed a sore need to put out a quite different sort of feeler, preferably very close to Neville’s arse.
Only Neville was a little sore from last night - as long ago as it seemed, it felt rather recent to his poor arse - and had foolishly eyed the material covering Ted’s hardening cock and somehow managed to voice the idea of him going down on Ted instead. He’d had some kind of weird notion that Ted would say no to anything but penetration given the somewhat cold, possibly Draco-inspired look that was still in his expression, and had been wrong.
Very wrong. Neville gulped a little, trying not to consciously splay out his fingers on slightly bony curves of Ted’s half-bared hips, trying not to lick his lips or audibly sniff at the heady, sweaty smell of him. Failing.
Oh, failing.
“Don’t be stingy with my balls,” Ted was saying, lowly, “You can be - a little rough, with them.”
Neville murmured, a general noise of assent, and Ted sighed, his cock, now glistening slightly at the tip, twitching in time to his slow sigh. “Just get on with it, all right?” Another heavy twitch occurred, and Neville was off into action, brushing here and there, trying not to press down or really massage in any way as his left hand drifted slowly into service.
Ted let out a long sigh, his head falling slowly back to the scratchy wallpaper on the wall behind him - behind them. “Fucking get on with it,” he half-ordered, half-sighed. Neville took it as a sign, not even trying to tell himself that he wasn’t enjoying it, wasn’t secretly relishing how much Ted was twitching under his hand and mouth, how much Ted groaned as he began to slide his mouth up and down, as slow as he could make it. Saliva was staining Neville’s cheek, saliva that Ted seemed to like having rubbed into his sensitive skin. When Neville’s left hand began to finally reach down and tug, Ted’s hips wriggled off the wall, just a bit, and it wasn’t very long before Neville was speeding up, sliding up and down, squeezing tightly because Ted was almost whining in pleasure, and good god that was hot and bitter, and was scary, as it was making Neville hard.
Neville groaned, it was so humiliatingly typical, and Ted writhed manfully, nearly pushing his cock down Neville’s throat in his steely fervour. Neville somehow shoved him away, coughing. Ted’s eyes, which Neville hadn’t noticed closing, blinked open slowly as he slumped back, looking unusually guilty. Neville rose shakily onto his knees, trying not to cough any more, and Ted helped him up a little, tugging him firmly forward so he half-fell into his arms. His hands were strangely comforting, for so-called hands of steel.
“I’m going out in a minute,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. Neville tried to stay steady, ignoring the stupid, mindless part of his brain that was suggesting he wriggle mindlessly into Ted’s warmth until Ted put a hand or hip to good use - “I expect you’ll want to do the same thing - get notion of the feeling in the vampire community around here, whatever your lot calls it.” His mouth moved achingly closer to Neville’s ear, “Thirty minutes, tops - it’s not safe after five, understand? Our Dover ferry leaves six thirty sharp.” Neville nodded, still strangely caught up in the headiness (oh god) of what he’d just been doing, been tasting -
The kiss made his head spin, which wasn’t surprising. His throat and neck felt generally sore, and his body seemed to be starting to realise pitiful crackers on trains and hasty drinks of water did not food make, and somehow it produced the strange but memorable feeling of wanting to taste every inch of Ted - no, a person’s mouth. Ted bit his lip at the end. Neville tried to catch his breath.
All in all, same old things, same old people. Only a little more (a lot more) good than Neville liked to admit. But that was okay, that had to be okay - it was just a few more hours in Calais and maybe Dover (yes, yes Dover) with Ted, and then Harry would sort things out; Severus would make Ted understand that this mate-for-everlasting-life thing was a myth, and perhaps force him to let it go if necessary, and Neville would go back to frequenting seedy bars and making eyes at interestingly unsavoury people.
That wasn’t denial. That was just how it was going to be.
* * *
“Watch where you’re going, wizard,” someone muttered threateningly. Neville picked himself out of the stall he’d just been knocked into, apologising all the way, not even bothering, this time, to look around for the person who had engineered his fall. He was on his way out, anyway, that counted for something -
“I don’t want your money, young man,” the hostile proprietor said, again and again, until Neville nodded peaceably and tried to go on his way. Tried being the operative word, as people (vampires) shoved and stumbled and gave fake mumbles of ‘Je m’excuse’ when he turned around and tried to see what was going on.
He hadn’t been ten minutes in this place, and already he could sense the tension. And none of it sexual, like he was used to, oh no - the older-looking vampires sneered condescendingly at him when he asked for directions, and the younger ones either ignored him or gave him hostile stares and flat directions to the small souvenir shop he’d been looking for in the first place. Ted had been more than right when saying wizarding Calais wouldn’t be safe after five - before five was starting to look heavily debatable for Neville, even for someone as innocent-looking as he was.
It was, frankly, time to get out. Gran would understand if he couldn’t pick up some small token to show off his time here, Neville would have put money on it -
Something crashed nearby, breaking into the wall just to his left. “Oi!” Neville ducked, but soon recognised it was the wrong move to make. In minutes, he was surrounded by hostile attackers, all spouting insults in various languages and looking fairly resistant to adjudicating.
“Look, I didn’t say anything,” Neville said, for the fifth time, shrunken crossbow already in one hand, shrunken stakes in the others. “Look, get back, I’m not consenting, I can’t -”
But it made no difference. “Putain!” One person yelled, their voice shrilled. “Wizard whore!” Came from someone else.
“I know the law, you bastards - calm, or I’ll arm myself -”
“Get him!”
Neville didn’t waste a moment. “Engorgio,” he whispered, and suddenly everyone was edging away as he calmly loaded the crossbow, backing carefully to the wall on his left so that no one could weave behind him.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t quite counted on someone being there in the first place. Shrieks of rage erupted as Neville fired in panic, his arm muscles screaming in agony as he tried to fight out of the inhuman grip now on him. The bastard holding him was screaming instructions to his other attackers, and only tightened his arms when Neville tried to fire off some kind of fucking spell, only to have his wand wrenched away and a sharpened stake thrust painfully into his grasping hands.
The hideously familiar hooking feeling seemed to blank out his thought processes immediately after that, and by the time Neville managed to get his hands and knees after the jarring, nauseating pain, he was in yet another room. One with no chair, no less, but, after all, these things were unpredictable. Neville knew not to fight to sit up, occupying his panicky mind with the task of finding some kind of fucking exit to this -
Well. Right, no exit.
Neville gulped. The process felt painful. His arms felt bruised beyond imagining, and his hands - well. His wand was gone, too. His crossbow too, even more unlucky, but at least he still had stakes in his pockets. And he’d have them, too, if no one searched him, which was unlikely but still pleasant to hope for.
Nevile shook his head, slowly. Pleasant, indeed. He wanted to scream. Long, hard, and perhaps loud enough that someone, anyone, Ted, would come, would help him.
Neville snorted. Likely, that was. Right now, his gut feeling told him that he was fucked, as fucked as he’d been last night. This morning. This afternoon.
This evening. Neville hung his head.
“Fuck.”