A Most Un-Gryffindor Behaviour - a gift for seatbeltdrivein
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Title: A Most Un-Gryffindor Behaviour
Author: khasael (pinch-hitter)
Gift for: seatbeltdrivein
Rating: soft R
Word Count: 3756
Pairing: Neville/Draco
Warnings: sex between males (non-graphic and possibly potions-fuelled), un-Gryffindor behaviour
Summary: Neville answers an anonymous advert asking for Herbology assistance. He provides help to someone who needs it, and receives more than expected as payment.
A/N: Thanks to my lovely beta, N. seatbeltdrivein, I do hope you like this. It kind of caught me by surprise.
Neville wasn’t sure how this had come to pass. When one of your best friends was the saviour to the wizarding world, rules had a way of bending before you. So, it seemed, did other things.
Two days ago, he had answered an ad tucked away in a busy page of The Daily Prophet. He’d almost missed it, and then it had shimmered. His eye had tracked back to it, and his interest was piqued before he could talk himself out of considering the proposition.
Have a green thumb? Looking for some herbs and flowers that are hard to find in this climate. If you think you might be able to help, either as a gardener or a finder, please send a reply via owl. More details given to serious parties. Generous compensation.
Neville wasn’t stupid, no matter what some of the crueller students had said during his years at school. He had a good idea that whichever plants were needed weren’t hard to find because of the growing conditions, but rather because they were restricted at best, or possibly illegal. But a friendship with new Minister for Magic Harry Potter had advantages beyond having someone to lunch with and getting good seats for Quidditch matches. Neville’s garden was extraordinary, and he really had Harry to thank for much of that.
So he had sent off an owl to the mystery buyer asking for details and wanting to know exactly how ‘generous’ the compensation was to be. He was assured that the monetary payment would be adequate.
He’d met the buyer in the park, first walking up and down the path twice to see if anyone else was holding a copy of Witch Weekly, their code for the rendezvous. There was only one person holding the glossy pages and Neville briefly considered walking away. But the promise of a generous payment gave him pause. He could do so much with that-expand his garden to twice its size. Buy a top-of-the-line broom. Ensure his parents had anything they could need to make the lives they lived a little easier
Sighing, he’d walked up to the figure who was picking some unseen lint off his robes. “Malfoy? You placed the advert?”
The pale face whipped up to look at Neville. “Longbottom? Oh, I should have known. Come to take me to Potter for brewing something illegal?”
“Is it illegal, what you’re planning?”
Malfoy sighed. “No. Not illegal. Just questionable.”
Neville nodded. “Why am I not surprised?”
“It’s not like that,” Malfoy snapped. “I need them to help someone. Besides, how is it you’re able to provide them? Turned your back on the Gryffindor way?”
“I have special permissions.”
“Of course you do. Straight from our new Minister, no doubt.”
“Look, Malfoy, do you want my assistance or not? I can get what you’re looking for. Who are you looking to help?”
Malfoy stared him down for a moment before his head dropped. “My mother. She’s not well.”
“Oh.” Something tightened in Neville’s chest at the thought. He supposed he’d do an awful lot of things to be able to fix his parents. He’d never really known them, but that didn’t mean he didn’t love them, albeit in a somewhat abstract way, or that there wasn’t some small spark of hope that lived deep within him that hoped maybe, even if they couldn’t be healed, they might at least get a little better some day. “You swear it’s not to harm anyone?”
“I’ll make an Unbreakable Vow if you want. If you really can help, that is. Meet me at the Apothecary in Diagon Alley early in the morning. Seven. Make sure you have exactly what’s on this list.”
Neville took the rolled piece of parchment, fingering the delicate green silk string tied around it. He thought again of his parents and the pained look on Malfoy’s face when he mentioned his mother. “Okay.”
Malfoy stood, leaving the copy of Witch Weekly sitting on the bench. “Good.” His chin was lifted up, a posture Neville recognised all too well. He’d always thought it was so Malfoy could look down at others more easily, but now he wondered how much of it was an act. “By the way, Longbottom. You’ve filled out nicely since Hogwarts.” With an enigmatic smirk, Malfoy Disapparated, leaving Neville to gape at the spot where he’d just stood.
* * *
Neville showed up promptly at seven, the requested plants in a rucksack. He knocked on the door. The shop was dark, and he could see no movement. He didn’t think Malfoy would go through this elaborate charade for nothing, but the longer he waited, the more he began to doubt what he was doing here.
He’d spent all night thinking over his meeting with his former schoolmate. Once he’d gotten over his initial shock over the person who’d placed the advert (and ‘shock’ might not be the right word, come to think of it. If Neville were to list people who might be brewing something rare or dangerous, right after Slughorn, who would be in it for the money, came Draco Malfoy, who would likely be doing it for no good reason at all), he’d been determined to go through with the deal and walk away. He’d never speak a word of it to anyone. Especially not to Harry. Harry still distrusted Malfoy, and finding out that Neville had sold some of the rarer items in his collection, that same collection that he had promised Harry was for personal use only, would not go over well. Neville doubted whether his assurance that Malfoy wasn’t up to anything evil would matter. Well, then again, it might. Harry wasn’t as quick to anger as he used to be. He put all of his passion into his career and his family. Still, it wouldn’t make for pleasant lunch conversation.
After a moment, a light flickered and Neville heard the soft sound of the door unlocking. It opened before he could touch it. “Hurry up and get in here,” Malfoy hissed. “I thought I told you to use the back door.”
Neville was quite sure Malfoy had said no such thing. He wasn’t nearly so forgetful now as he had been as a child. Besides, he had replayed their meeting over and over in his head-especially the last line Malfoy had uttered-and he would have caught those instructions. A simple look at Malfoy told him arguing would be a bad idea. His robes were rumpled and his hair, which Neville had never seen out of place, was dishevelled as if hands had been running through it all night. Neville pushed aside the thought that he wouldn’t mind running his own fingers through the blond strands. “Sorry,” he said, aware he had nothing to actually be sorry for. “I’ve brought everything you asked for. If you’ll just pay me, I’ll be off.” His mum was fond of Honeydukes chocolate. Perhaps he’d stop by St. Mungo’s later with a gift. She wouldn’t know it was him, but he’d get to see her smile.
Malfoy looked up from a cauldron that was already bubbling with some thick liquid. “Not yet. I’ll pay you for your trouble, I will, but there’s the chance I’ll require some assistance. I don’t suppose you’re any better at Potions than you were back in school?” Malfoy took one look at Neville’s flushed face and sighed. “No, of course you’re not. Then sit on the stool there and don’t touch anything unless I ask. This potion isn’t exactly stable at some stages, and I’d rather not blow up the shop because you stirred clockwise when it should have been anticlockwise or you diced when you should have minced.” He narrowed his eyes when Neville remained standing in place. “I said sit.”
Neville didn’t argue. There was a frantic energy radiating from Malfoy, an intensity that was both intriguing and frightening. He sat and took a look around the back room of the apothecary in an attempt to not think about how the sweaty flush on Malfoy’s face was a little arousing. There were phials of different shapes and colours everywhere. Most were simple glass, but there were a few made of crystal and possibly even precious gems. The place was fastidiously organised-all except for the table before Malfoy, which was cluttered with ingredients and scraps of paper and assorted mortars and pestles. After several minutes of looking around, Neville grew bored. “How long will this take?”
Malfoy looked up, his face now sickly pale, his lips grey, and Neville thought he might have been forgotten until he’d spoken. Malfoy blinked dazedly, and the tremble in his hand as he held a large crystal spoon was apparent. “Not much longer. If…if I pass out, just make sure the dragon’s blood gets added once the potion turns lime green-no other shade.”
“Shouldn’t I take you to St. Mungo’s, in that case?”
Adding some of the roots Neville had brought with him, Malfoy shook his head. “Look, this potion matters more than my well-being. If I lose consciousness, you are not to be the heroic Gryffindor. Add the four drops of dragon’s blood. Don’t stir. Then and only then may you play hero. Just drag me to the window. I’ll be fine.”
Neville nodded. What exactly was in the potion? Malfoy had said his mother wasn’t well, and Neville guessed from Malfoy’s jerky movements and the secrecy of their situation that whatever was wrong with her, it was something the Healers at St. Mungo’s couldn’t-or wouldn’t-treat. What could be wrong with her? Curse? Disease? He was about to open his mouth and ask when Malfoy wavered on his feet, the crystal spoon crashing to the floor. A short moment later, Malfoy followed, collapsing onto the stone. He muttered something as Neville stood over him, his eyelids fluttering. Neville caught one word--potion--and looked up at the cauldron.
A large part of him was insistent that he ignore Malfoy’s instructions and help him, because he obviously was not well. But some other part, likely the part of him concerned with self-preservation, stopped himself from hauling Malfoy up and Apparating them to seek medical treatment. Malfoy was still conscious. Definitely unwell, but what would Malfoy do if the potion didn’t come out because Neville had failed to follow instructions? The bubbling in the cauldron became louder and Malfoy groaned, attempting to get to his feet. That decided Neville. Potion first, before Malfoy made himself worse trying to do it himself, and then medical help.
He stood up, pushing Malfoy firmly back down. The trembling body sank to the stone floor again, and Neville grabbed the small bottle filled with a metallic dark green liquid. He filled the dropper cap and peered into the cauldron. It was a pale, translucent green, growing darker by the second, as the bubbling became more frantic. Neville watched carefully. Could he be positive that it was lime green, and not emerald, or celadon, or buckthorn? As the thick liquid changed hues, Neville fretted. If he didn’t act, he’d certainly lose the window. Holding his breath, he pictured a lime in his head, and as soon as the shade of the liquid matched the shade of the fruit in his head, he added the first drop, followed quickly by three more. Whatever was in the potion was giving off fumes that made Neville feel as though he was watching the world through warped glass while his blood seemed to be filled with bright light. It was disorienting, but not entirely unpleasant.
As the last drop hit the potion, the liquid became as still as glass and flashed grey-blue. Neville sincerely hoped that was what was supposed to happen. Either way, it couldn’t be helped now. He bent down and hauled Malfoy close to the window, throwing it open once they got there. He nearly threw the other man bodily onto the windowsill, making sure he was taking the fresh air into his lungs. Neville breathed deeply until things came back into focus. He shook Malfoy’s shoulders. “Are you alright?”
Malfoy looked at Neville with rapidly clearing eyes. “Yes.” He seemed about to say something, a ‘thank you’, perhaps, but then he changed tactics. “The potion. How is it?”
Stammering, Neville felt himself shoved aside roughly. Malfoy walked over to the cauldron and stopped. Neville approached cautiously. “Is it…? Did I…?”
Malfoy turned to face him, a beatific smile stretched across his face. “It’s perfect. You’re pureblood, right?” Without waiting for confirmation, he grabbed Neville by the wrist. He pulled Neville’s hand close and filled a clean dropper with the potion. He dropped one single drop on the palm of Neville’s hand and gripped him tightly, watching Neville’s face raptly.
Neville was going to ask what on earth Malfoy thought he was doing, but then a warm feeling flooded through him, starting with his arm and flowing into his chest, radiating back out from there, and he forgot what it was he’d been about to say.
“How do you feel?” Malfoy asked, his voice soft.
“I feel bloody wonderful,” Neville said dreamily. He’d never expected he could feel so relaxed, so pleasantly at peace, with Malfoy standing so close to him. He smiled at Malfoy. “You’re very attractive, did you know?” A small voice, deep within his head, chided him for that. While the statement was true, it was not the kind of thing one should ever admit to a Malfoy. They’d only use it as ammunition for something or other. But as the potion worked its way deeper into him, Neville found that he didn’t really care.
“Is that so?” Malfoy asked, one eyebrow arched.
“Yes. You should really try this potion. Makes everything feel better. And like anything you’re thinking is alright, no matter how ridiculous. I haven’t felt this good in…ever.”
Malfoy fairly shook with something that looked like relief. “It works,” he whispered. In something closer to his normal voice, he cocked his head and looked at Neville. “What ridiculous things could you be thinking?”
“That I’d like to bend you over that apothecary table and show you how much fun we could have.” Neville paused. “I’m not entirely sure where that came from. You’re going to hex me, aren’t you?”
There was silence for several moments. “No, I don’t think so. It seems I haven’t paid you for your help. Not only do I owe you for those ingredients you were able to procure, there is the fact that you were of great assistance when I was unable to complete the potion at the critical juncture. That’s worth more than I was prepared to pay. Perhaps additional compensation can be made?” His voice rose on the last line, turning it into a question. Neville realised through his pleasant haze that it was the first time he’d ever heard Malfoy unsure about something.
Neville pulled Draco to him and placed a finger underneath the pointy chin. “Additional compensation would be just fine.” The potion was drowning out the sensible voice in his head, and he tilted his head forward and breathed a long, hot breath softly into Malfoy’s ear, watching the skin there flush bright pink. “We could have a lot of fun.”
Malfoy drew in a ragged breath. “It seems like we very well might.” He threw himself at Neville, quick and lithe, and Neville thought of a striking snake as he watched the movement. Then lips were upon his, hot and slick, and a tongue pushed its way into his mouth, and Neville wondered if Draco could do other snake-like things, perhaps with that tongue. As he ran fingers through soft blond hair, he began to wonder exactly what the potion Malfoy had placed on his skin actually did. He was afraid to ask. His gran would turn in her grave if she saw this. Not because Neville was currently pressed against another wizard (she’d known about his preferences. She’d been a sharp old witch for her age), but because it was Malfoy, whose entire family she’d quite disliked.
They fumbled together awkwardly for a moment, and the little voice in his head that spoke in a cautious tone was altogether silent as he spun Malfoy around, bending him at the waist over the cluttered counter. “Wait,” Malfoy said, and it took much of Neville’s remaining restraint to pause after he had removed his pants. He’d never gotten used to the feeling of wearing trousers underneath his robes. It didn’t look like Malfoy had, either.
“What? I’ve made sure we won’t spill the potion,” Neville said, patting himself on the back for his foresight. It was exactly the kind of thing he might have done years ago, that would get him a tongue-lashing from Malfoy. Neville’s eyes glassed over as he thought about literal tongue-lashings.
“No, I know. But Malfoys do not bottom, grateful for help or not.”
Neville laughed at the haughty tone Malfoy managed to hold onto. “I bet I can make it worth your while,” he said in his best attempt at a seductive voice. Judging from the shiver that ran down Malfoy’s body and the moan that escaped his lips, Neville thought he might have just succeeded.
“Quite the unconventional Gryffindor, aren’t you?” Malfoy said with a gasp. “If you’re going to convince me, I suggest you get to it.”
Neville decided Malfoy was right. Who knew how long he had before the potion wore off? He would enjoy himself while he could, and if Malfoy came to his senses and decided that this wasn’t as mutual as it appeared, Neville would just make sure to avoid him. Being in the DA had taught him a lot of things-defending himself against hexes was certainly a useful skill.
For his earlier protests, Malfoy didn’t actually complain when it came down to it. Neville was surprised at just how eager Malfoy’s movements were. They found a steady rhythm, and Malfoy was moaning and breathing harshly and Neville felt himself so close to release, when the bell above the shop door jingled.
“Didn’t you lock the door behind you?” Malfoy hissed. Neville blinked. He obviously had not. The shop still wasn’t scheduled to open for another… twenty minutes ago. “Damn it, Longbottom! I swear to Merlin, if you stop right now, when it’s finally getting good…” He growled deep from within his chest.
Neville wasn’t sure he could have stopped if he wanted to (and he most certainly did not want to. His body was very emphatic on that point). And the thought of getting caught with Malfoy in this position, instead of being like a bucket of ice water on his desire, only made him more turned on. With a grunt, he came, and a few moments later, Draco did the same, biting his fist to muffle his cry.
There was a noise outside on the sales floor, closer to the back office now. “Hello?” Neville raised his head as quickly as his spent energy would allow. He shoved himself off Malfoy and adjusted his robes after whispering a cleaning spell over the two of them. “Mr. Malfoy? Are you in?”
Malfoy straightened his own robes and tamed his hair. “Just a moment,” he called, somehow able to sound composed under the circumstances. “Don’t you dare move,” he told Neville, glancing over his shoulder as he walked out to meet the witch out front.
As soon as Malfoy was gone, Neville collapsed heavily onto the apothecary table. What the grey-blue potion’s purpose was, he still had no idea, but he wondered how much it was to blame for what had just happened. In another hour, perhaps two, he’d probably feel guilty, and more than a little dirty. But on the other hand, what they’d just done had been amazing, after it had stopped being awkward. And he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t wanted something like that, even before the potion had been placed on his skin. He’d just never thought it would ever happen.
The bell above the door chimed again, and Malfoy scurried back through the doorway. “You didn’t leave.” He looked oddly happy about that. It was a strange day, Neville thought with a small smile. Lots of unexpected things.
“You told me not to.”
“Very astute.” He moved smoothly to stand in front of Neville. “Thank you again, Longbottom. I really cannot thank you enough for the help in my work. And for the fun afterward.” He smirked, and the blush Neville felt creeping up his neck told him that the potion was certainly wearing off.
“What exactly was that potion?”
“Different things for different people. And different in sickness and in health. In you, an otherwise healthy and upstanding model of Gryffindor nobility, it was an inhibition dampener, a confidence-booster, and something like Pepper-Up Potion, all rolled into one.”
“What would it be in you?”
Draco scoffed, his back turned as he fiddled with things on the counter before him. “I don’t know. You might have found me pleasant to be around, or affectionate, or oddly friendly. Or perhaps I’d have decided it was time to walk down Diagon Alley in Muggle clothing with my hair mussed.”
“I did find you pleasant to be around,” Neville murmured.
“Well, that’s also unexpected. Tell you what, Longbottom. The next time I have need for something I cannot supply on my own, I’ll call upon you. How does that sound?”
“Is it to be this sort of payment?” He did feel a little dirty, but he could live with that. Maybe.
“Payment? Oh, no. You’ll find the amount we agreed upon in your Gringotts account already. This was simply a bonus. A show of my gratitude.” He flashed a perfect set of teeth at Neville. “And you might just find that contrary to what you think you know about me, I can be very grateful.” He steered Neville out the back door. “And Longbottom?”
“Yes?”
“I think I might just be brewing up something else questionable soon. Next Saturday, perhaps? Evening, this time?”
Neville smiled cautiously. “Okay.”
“Excellent.” Malfoy tossed him a small phial of the blue-grey liquid, decanting the rest into a much larger flask. “Keep that around. You never know,” he said with a grin as he shut the door behind Neville, who could only stand in the alley and thank Merlin that Harry had seen fit to bend the rules for his friend. Neville liked things flexible.
Title: A Most Un-Gryffindor Behaviour
Author: khasael (pinch-hitter)
Gift for: seatbeltdrivein
Rating: soft R
Word Count: 3756
Pairing: Neville/Draco
Warnings: sex between males (non-graphic and possibly potions-fuelled), un-Gryffindor behaviour
Summary: Neville answers an anonymous advert asking for Herbology assistance. He provides help to someone who needs it, and receives more than expected as payment.
A/N: Thanks to my lovely beta, N. seatbeltdrivein, I do hope you like this. It kind of caught me by surprise.
Neville wasn’t sure how this had come to pass. When one of your best friends was the saviour to the wizarding world, rules had a way of bending before you. So, it seemed, did other things.
Two days ago, he had answered an ad tucked away in a busy page of The Daily Prophet. He’d almost missed it, and then it had shimmered. His eye had tracked back to it, and his interest was piqued before he could talk himself out of considering the proposition.
Have a green thumb? Looking for some herbs and flowers that are hard to find in this climate. If you think you might be able to help, either as a gardener or a finder, please send a reply via owl. More details given to serious parties. Generous compensation.
Neville wasn’t stupid, no matter what some of the crueller students had said during his years at school. He had a good idea that whichever plants were needed weren’t hard to find because of the growing conditions, but rather because they were restricted at best, or possibly illegal. But a friendship with new Minister for Magic Harry Potter had advantages beyond having someone to lunch with and getting good seats for Quidditch matches. Neville’s garden was extraordinary, and he really had Harry to thank for much of that.
So he had sent off an owl to the mystery buyer asking for details and wanting to know exactly how ‘generous’ the compensation was to be. He was assured that the monetary payment would be adequate.
He’d met the buyer in the park, first walking up and down the path twice to see if anyone else was holding a copy of Witch Weekly, their code for the rendezvous. There was only one person holding the glossy pages and Neville briefly considered walking away. But the promise of a generous payment gave him pause. He could do so much with that-expand his garden to twice its size. Buy a top-of-the-line broom. Ensure his parents had anything they could need to make the lives they lived a little easier
Sighing, he’d walked up to the figure who was picking some unseen lint off his robes. “Malfoy? You placed the advert?”
The pale face whipped up to look at Neville. “Longbottom? Oh, I should have known. Come to take me to Potter for brewing something illegal?”
“Is it illegal, what you’re planning?”
Malfoy sighed. “No. Not illegal. Just questionable.”
Neville nodded. “Why am I not surprised?”
“It’s not like that,” Malfoy snapped. “I need them to help someone. Besides, how is it you’re able to provide them? Turned your back on the Gryffindor way?”
“I have special permissions.”
“Of course you do. Straight from our new Minister, no doubt.”
“Look, Malfoy, do you want my assistance or not? I can get what you’re looking for. Who are you looking to help?”
Malfoy stared him down for a moment before his head dropped. “My mother. She’s not well.”
“Oh.” Something tightened in Neville’s chest at the thought. He supposed he’d do an awful lot of things to be able to fix his parents. He’d never really known them, but that didn’t mean he didn’t love them, albeit in a somewhat abstract way, or that there wasn’t some small spark of hope that lived deep within him that hoped maybe, even if they couldn’t be healed, they might at least get a little better some day. “You swear it’s not to harm anyone?”
“I’ll make an Unbreakable Vow if you want. If you really can help, that is. Meet me at the Apothecary in Diagon Alley early in the morning. Seven. Make sure you have exactly what’s on this list.”
Neville took the rolled piece of parchment, fingering the delicate green silk string tied around it. He thought again of his parents and the pained look on Malfoy’s face when he mentioned his mother. “Okay.”
Malfoy stood, leaving the copy of Witch Weekly sitting on the bench. “Good.” His chin was lifted up, a posture Neville recognised all too well. He’d always thought it was so Malfoy could look down at others more easily, but now he wondered how much of it was an act. “By the way, Longbottom. You’ve filled out nicely since Hogwarts.” With an enigmatic smirk, Malfoy Disapparated, leaving Neville to gape at the spot where he’d just stood.
* * *
Neville showed up promptly at seven, the requested plants in a rucksack. He knocked on the door. The shop was dark, and he could see no movement. He didn’t think Malfoy would go through this elaborate charade for nothing, but the longer he waited, the more he began to doubt what he was doing here.
He’d spent all night thinking over his meeting with his former schoolmate. Once he’d gotten over his initial shock over the person who’d placed the advert (and ‘shock’ might not be the right word, come to think of it. If Neville were to list people who might be brewing something rare or dangerous, right after Slughorn, who would be in it for the money, came Draco Malfoy, who would likely be doing it for no good reason at all), he’d been determined to go through with the deal and walk away. He’d never speak a word of it to anyone. Especially not to Harry. Harry still distrusted Malfoy, and finding out that Neville had sold some of the rarer items in his collection, that same collection that he had promised Harry was for personal use only, would not go over well. Neville doubted whether his assurance that Malfoy wasn’t up to anything evil would matter. Well, then again, it might. Harry wasn’t as quick to anger as he used to be. He put all of his passion into his career and his family. Still, it wouldn’t make for pleasant lunch conversation.
After a moment, a light flickered and Neville heard the soft sound of the door unlocking. It opened before he could touch it. “Hurry up and get in here,” Malfoy hissed. “I thought I told you to use the back door.”
Neville was quite sure Malfoy had said no such thing. He wasn’t nearly so forgetful now as he had been as a child. Besides, he had replayed their meeting over and over in his head-especially the last line Malfoy had uttered-and he would have caught those instructions. A simple look at Malfoy told him arguing would be a bad idea. His robes were rumpled and his hair, which Neville had never seen out of place, was dishevelled as if hands had been running through it all night. Neville pushed aside the thought that he wouldn’t mind running his own fingers through the blond strands. “Sorry,” he said, aware he had nothing to actually be sorry for. “I’ve brought everything you asked for. If you’ll just pay me, I’ll be off.” His mum was fond of Honeydukes chocolate. Perhaps he’d stop by St. Mungo’s later with a gift. She wouldn’t know it was him, but he’d get to see her smile.
Malfoy looked up from a cauldron that was already bubbling with some thick liquid. “Not yet. I’ll pay you for your trouble, I will, but there’s the chance I’ll require some assistance. I don’t suppose you’re any better at Potions than you were back in school?” Malfoy took one look at Neville’s flushed face and sighed. “No, of course you’re not. Then sit on the stool there and don’t touch anything unless I ask. This potion isn’t exactly stable at some stages, and I’d rather not blow up the shop because you stirred clockwise when it should have been anticlockwise or you diced when you should have minced.” He narrowed his eyes when Neville remained standing in place. “I said sit.”
Neville didn’t argue. There was a frantic energy radiating from Malfoy, an intensity that was both intriguing and frightening. He sat and took a look around the back room of the apothecary in an attempt to not think about how the sweaty flush on Malfoy’s face was a little arousing. There were phials of different shapes and colours everywhere. Most were simple glass, but there were a few made of crystal and possibly even precious gems. The place was fastidiously organised-all except for the table before Malfoy, which was cluttered with ingredients and scraps of paper and assorted mortars and pestles. After several minutes of looking around, Neville grew bored. “How long will this take?”
Malfoy looked up, his face now sickly pale, his lips grey, and Neville thought he might have been forgotten until he’d spoken. Malfoy blinked dazedly, and the tremble in his hand as he held a large crystal spoon was apparent. “Not much longer. If…if I pass out, just make sure the dragon’s blood gets added once the potion turns lime green-no other shade.”
“Shouldn’t I take you to St. Mungo’s, in that case?”
Adding some of the roots Neville had brought with him, Malfoy shook his head. “Look, this potion matters more than my well-being. If I lose consciousness, you are not to be the heroic Gryffindor. Add the four drops of dragon’s blood. Don’t stir. Then and only then may you play hero. Just drag me to the window. I’ll be fine.”
Neville nodded. What exactly was in the potion? Malfoy had said his mother wasn’t well, and Neville guessed from Malfoy’s jerky movements and the secrecy of their situation that whatever was wrong with her, it was something the Healers at St. Mungo’s couldn’t-or wouldn’t-treat. What could be wrong with her? Curse? Disease? He was about to open his mouth and ask when Malfoy wavered on his feet, the crystal spoon crashing to the floor. A short moment later, Malfoy followed, collapsing onto the stone. He muttered something as Neville stood over him, his eyelids fluttering. Neville caught one word--potion--and looked up at the cauldron.
A large part of him was insistent that he ignore Malfoy’s instructions and help him, because he obviously was not well. But some other part, likely the part of him concerned with self-preservation, stopped himself from hauling Malfoy up and Apparating them to seek medical treatment. Malfoy was still conscious. Definitely unwell, but what would Malfoy do if the potion didn’t come out because Neville had failed to follow instructions? The bubbling in the cauldron became louder and Malfoy groaned, attempting to get to his feet. That decided Neville. Potion first, before Malfoy made himself worse trying to do it himself, and then medical help.
He stood up, pushing Malfoy firmly back down. The trembling body sank to the stone floor again, and Neville grabbed the small bottle filled with a metallic dark green liquid. He filled the dropper cap and peered into the cauldron. It was a pale, translucent green, growing darker by the second, as the bubbling became more frantic. Neville watched carefully. Could he be positive that it was lime green, and not emerald, or celadon, or buckthorn? As the thick liquid changed hues, Neville fretted. If he didn’t act, he’d certainly lose the window. Holding his breath, he pictured a lime in his head, and as soon as the shade of the liquid matched the shade of the fruit in his head, he added the first drop, followed quickly by three more. Whatever was in the potion was giving off fumes that made Neville feel as though he was watching the world through warped glass while his blood seemed to be filled with bright light. It was disorienting, but not entirely unpleasant.
As the last drop hit the potion, the liquid became as still as glass and flashed grey-blue. Neville sincerely hoped that was what was supposed to happen. Either way, it couldn’t be helped now. He bent down and hauled Malfoy close to the window, throwing it open once they got there. He nearly threw the other man bodily onto the windowsill, making sure he was taking the fresh air into his lungs. Neville breathed deeply until things came back into focus. He shook Malfoy’s shoulders. “Are you alright?”
Malfoy looked at Neville with rapidly clearing eyes. “Yes.” He seemed about to say something, a ‘thank you’, perhaps, but then he changed tactics. “The potion. How is it?”
Stammering, Neville felt himself shoved aside roughly. Malfoy walked over to the cauldron and stopped. Neville approached cautiously. “Is it…? Did I…?”
Malfoy turned to face him, a beatific smile stretched across his face. “It’s perfect. You’re pureblood, right?” Without waiting for confirmation, he grabbed Neville by the wrist. He pulled Neville’s hand close and filled a clean dropper with the potion. He dropped one single drop on the palm of Neville’s hand and gripped him tightly, watching Neville’s face raptly.
Neville was going to ask what on earth Malfoy thought he was doing, but then a warm feeling flooded through him, starting with his arm and flowing into his chest, radiating back out from there, and he forgot what it was he’d been about to say.
“How do you feel?” Malfoy asked, his voice soft.
“I feel bloody wonderful,” Neville said dreamily. He’d never expected he could feel so relaxed, so pleasantly at peace, with Malfoy standing so close to him. He smiled at Malfoy. “You’re very attractive, did you know?” A small voice, deep within his head, chided him for that. While the statement was true, it was not the kind of thing one should ever admit to a Malfoy. They’d only use it as ammunition for something or other. But as the potion worked its way deeper into him, Neville found that he didn’t really care.
“Is that so?” Malfoy asked, one eyebrow arched.
“Yes. You should really try this potion. Makes everything feel better. And like anything you’re thinking is alright, no matter how ridiculous. I haven’t felt this good in…ever.”
Malfoy fairly shook with something that looked like relief. “It works,” he whispered. In something closer to his normal voice, he cocked his head and looked at Neville. “What ridiculous things could you be thinking?”
“That I’d like to bend you over that apothecary table and show you how much fun we could have.” Neville paused. “I’m not entirely sure where that came from. You’re going to hex me, aren’t you?”
There was silence for several moments. “No, I don’t think so. It seems I haven’t paid you for your help. Not only do I owe you for those ingredients you were able to procure, there is the fact that you were of great assistance when I was unable to complete the potion at the critical juncture. That’s worth more than I was prepared to pay. Perhaps additional compensation can be made?” His voice rose on the last line, turning it into a question. Neville realised through his pleasant haze that it was the first time he’d ever heard Malfoy unsure about something.
Neville pulled Draco to him and placed a finger underneath the pointy chin. “Additional compensation would be just fine.” The potion was drowning out the sensible voice in his head, and he tilted his head forward and breathed a long, hot breath softly into Malfoy’s ear, watching the skin there flush bright pink. “We could have a lot of fun.”
Malfoy drew in a ragged breath. “It seems like we very well might.” He threw himself at Neville, quick and lithe, and Neville thought of a striking snake as he watched the movement. Then lips were upon his, hot and slick, and a tongue pushed its way into his mouth, and Neville wondered if Draco could do other snake-like things, perhaps with that tongue. As he ran fingers through soft blond hair, he began to wonder exactly what the potion Malfoy had placed on his skin actually did. He was afraid to ask. His gran would turn in her grave if she saw this. Not because Neville was currently pressed against another wizard (she’d known about his preferences. She’d been a sharp old witch for her age), but because it was Malfoy, whose entire family she’d quite disliked.
They fumbled together awkwardly for a moment, and the little voice in his head that spoke in a cautious tone was altogether silent as he spun Malfoy around, bending him at the waist over the cluttered counter. “Wait,” Malfoy said, and it took much of Neville’s remaining restraint to pause after he had removed his pants. He’d never gotten used to the feeling of wearing trousers underneath his robes. It didn’t look like Malfoy had, either.
“What? I’ve made sure we won’t spill the potion,” Neville said, patting himself on the back for his foresight. It was exactly the kind of thing he might have done years ago, that would get him a tongue-lashing from Malfoy. Neville’s eyes glassed over as he thought about literal tongue-lashings.
“No, I know. But Malfoys do not bottom, grateful for help or not.”
Neville laughed at the haughty tone Malfoy managed to hold onto. “I bet I can make it worth your while,” he said in his best attempt at a seductive voice. Judging from the shiver that ran down Malfoy’s body and the moan that escaped his lips, Neville thought he might have just succeeded.
“Quite the unconventional Gryffindor, aren’t you?” Malfoy said with a gasp. “If you’re going to convince me, I suggest you get to it.”
Neville decided Malfoy was right. Who knew how long he had before the potion wore off? He would enjoy himself while he could, and if Malfoy came to his senses and decided that this wasn’t as mutual as it appeared, Neville would just make sure to avoid him. Being in the DA had taught him a lot of things-defending himself against hexes was certainly a useful skill.
For his earlier protests, Malfoy didn’t actually complain when it came down to it. Neville was surprised at just how eager Malfoy’s movements were. They found a steady rhythm, and Malfoy was moaning and breathing harshly and Neville felt himself so close to release, when the bell above the shop door jingled.
“Didn’t you lock the door behind you?” Malfoy hissed. Neville blinked. He obviously had not. The shop still wasn’t scheduled to open for another… twenty minutes ago. “Damn it, Longbottom! I swear to Merlin, if you stop right now, when it’s finally getting good…” He growled deep from within his chest.
Neville wasn’t sure he could have stopped if he wanted to (and he most certainly did not want to. His body was very emphatic on that point). And the thought of getting caught with Malfoy in this position, instead of being like a bucket of ice water on his desire, only made him more turned on. With a grunt, he came, and a few moments later, Draco did the same, biting his fist to muffle his cry.
There was a noise outside on the sales floor, closer to the back office now. “Hello?” Neville raised his head as quickly as his spent energy would allow. He shoved himself off Malfoy and adjusted his robes after whispering a cleaning spell over the two of them. “Mr. Malfoy? Are you in?”
Malfoy straightened his own robes and tamed his hair. “Just a moment,” he called, somehow able to sound composed under the circumstances. “Don’t you dare move,” he told Neville, glancing over his shoulder as he walked out to meet the witch out front.
As soon as Malfoy was gone, Neville collapsed heavily onto the apothecary table. What the grey-blue potion’s purpose was, he still had no idea, but he wondered how much it was to blame for what had just happened. In another hour, perhaps two, he’d probably feel guilty, and more than a little dirty. But on the other hand, what they’d just done had been amazing, after it had stopped being awkward. And he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t wanted something like that, even before the potion had been placed on his skin. He’d just never thought it would ever happen.
The bell above the door chimed again, and Malfoy scurried back through the doorway. “You didn’t leave.” He looked oddly happy about that. It was a strange day, Neville thought with a small smile. Lots of unexpected things.
“You told me not to.”
“Very astute.” He moved smoothly to stand in front of Neville. “Thank you again, Longbottom. I really cannot thank you enough for the help in my work. And for the fun afterward.” He smirked, and the blush Neville felt creeping up his neck told him that the potion was certainly wearing off.
“What exactly was that potion?”
“Different things for different people. And different in sickness and in health. In you, an otherwise healthy and upstanding model of Gryffindor nobility, it was an inhibition dampener, a confidence-booster, and something like Pepper-Up Potion, all rolled into one.”
“What would it be in you?”
Draco scoffed, his back turned as he fiddled with things on the counter before him. “I don’t know. You might have found me pleasant to be around, or affectionate, or oddly friendly. Or perhaps I’d have decided it was time to walk down Diagon Alley in Muggle clothing with my hair mussed.”
“I did find you pleasant to be around,” Neville murmured.
“Well, that’s also unexpected. Tell you what, Longbottom. The next time I have need for something I cannot supply on my own, I’ll call upon you. How does that sound?”
“Is it to be this sort of payment?” He did feel a little dirty, but he could live with that. Maybe.
“Payment? Oh, no. You’ll find the amount we agreed upon in your Gringotts account already. This was simply a bonus. A show of my gratitude.” He flashed a perfect set of teeth at Neville. “And you might just find that contrary to what you think you know about me, I can be very grateful.” He steered Neville out the back door. “And Longbottom?”
“Yes?”
“I think I might just be brewing up something else questionable soon. Next Saturday, perhaps? Evening, this time?”
Neville smiled cautiously. “Okay.”
“Excellent.” Malfoy tossed him a small phial of the blue-grey liquid, decanting the rest into a much larger flask. “Keep that around. You never know,” he said with a grin as he shut the door behind Neville, who could only stand in the alley and thank Merlin that Harry had seen fit to bend the rules for his friend. Neville liked things flexible.