HAPPY HOLIDAYS, LENAPINEWOODS!
Title: Christmas in the Dragons' Den
Recipient: lenapinewoods
Author: kiertorata
Pairing: Neville Longbottom/mystery Slytherin, highlight if you want to spoil yourself: *all of them, kind of, but Blaise Zabini in particular*
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 8500 words (I know right! So much more than I usually manage!)
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Warnings and contents: language, references to break-up and character death, alcohol (this fic is mostly about drinking, you have been warned), handjobs, blowjob, bisexuality, slash, het and femslash
Summary: Neville is not quite sure how he ends up spending Christmas with Draco Malfoy and his friends, but what starts out as a miserable night turns out to be not that bad after all.
Notes: Dear Lena! ♥ You have the best prompts, and we have pretty similar tastes in fic, so it was such a pleasure to write for you. This is a Christmas fic and it stars Neville like you hoped, and I managed to throw in some party games too, so I hope you like it! This was incredibly fun to write, and I'm just really thankful for you challenging me to write something, because it let me pour all my holiday stress, pent up homesickness and melancholy into something that was actually productive. Beta-ed by the lovely midoriyue on a short notice! Any mistakes remaining are mine. And thanks to Helen for the helpful feedback! Happy holidays to anyone who reads this!
Christmas in the Dragons’ Den
The Department was quiet but for the ticking of the clock. Neville walked by the closed office doors, conscious of the sound his heels were making in the empty halls. Many of the doors exhibited wreaths and other Christmas decorations in addition to the normal cut-outs from scientific publications.
Plants rustled as he entered his office, trying to get his attention. He spelled the lights on and pulled his cloak off, sweating in the heat of his office. It was a little too warm for comfort, but he had set it to suit the needs of most of his office plants.
He sat down at his desk and tried to find a quill under the stacks of paper and rubbish. His desk had never been the most organized, and recently it had gotten particularly out of hand. When he finally did find a quill, the tip broke the moment it touched his parchment. Neville sighed in frustration, wondering if it was worth the effort trying to spell it back to use. His mending spells had never been that trustworthy.
He needed to water his office plants, but he couldn’t get himself to approach the pots sitting on his shelf because he knew that beside the Anjelica and the Madagascar Jasmine, behind the bonsai Alihotsy tree were the overturned frames containing photographs of his Gran and Hannah. His eyes scanned the rest of his shelf and lingered for a moment on the leather-bound print of his dissertation, until spotting Magical Plants of Britain, from Hannah, and Rare Fungi and their Properties, also from Hannah, that he couldn’t get rid of because they were crucial to his work.
Too much in his office reminded him of painful things, but it was still better than being at home. At home, he would have had to stare at the Christmas tree he couldn’t decorate because he still wasn’t ready to go through his grandmother’s stuff. He would have had to eat the dry turkey and sticky pudding he had bought from the store because he hadn’t had the energy to cook for weeks. And to sleep in a bed that still felt foreign and cold without Hannah’s warm body next to him.
He didn’t know where he was going to sleep tonight, but that would be a problem for later. For now, he was glad that he had some form of distraction from his loneliness.
Maybe he’d conjure up a bedroll and sleep in his office. Or, if he wanted to further escape the miserable reality of his life, he could curl up in the humid soil of the Tropical Greenhouse no. 1 and let the hum of the Brazilian Buzzing Tree lull him to sleep.
The idea of that almost made him want to laugh at his pathetic situation. It had been three weeks since his break-up with Hannah, and Neville knew that he couldn’t keep pining forever. But then his grandmother had passed away a week ago, leaving Neville more alone than he had ever been. It had been just like the blasted old woman to pass a week before Christmas. Gran had always complained about what an ordeal decorating the house and buying presents was.
Under normal circumstances, Hannah would have been the person he’d go to with his feelings, but he couldn’t do that when Hannah had just spent their last conversation insisting that Neville leave her alone.
“I don’t know if I can see you for a while, Neville,” she had said. “I need some time... to work on myself. To get to know myself again.”
Neville didn’t know what that meant. All he knew was that he missed her terribly and that finding oneself tended to be more fun together than alone.
The Alihotsy tree almost looked like it was trying to give him a look of reprimand.
“Oh alright, you miserable old brute,” Neville said, getting up from his chair. “I wasn’t really going to let you die.”
The tree really did look a bit shriveled, its leaves tinted brown at the ends. Neville muttered an altered version of Aguamenti, a spell he had developed for his more fragile, exotic specimen. He started watering the other plants in his office, adding drops of nutrition potions to some of them and mumbling little comments as he worked. “Sorry,” he said to the Treacle Plant Susan and Ernie had given him when he had moved into the office. “It’s me, not you.”
He returned to the distressed Alihotsy after his round.
“There, there. I’m not going to abandon you,” Neville said soothingly. He petted the leaves of the tree and it shivered pleasantly under his touch. The Alihotsy had always been a bit needy.
“Really, Longbottom?”
Draco Malfoy leaned against the doorframe, wearing his dark-blue winter cloak and an expression of amusement. He shot a pitying glance from the plants to Neville’s gobsmacked face and tapped his leather shoe against the floor, always slightly restless even when attempting to be casual.
“I don’t want to know what else you get on to with your plants when you think no-one’s around,” Malfoy said with a slight turn of his lip, a remnant of his old sneer.
“Malfoy!” Neville said, nearly dropping his wand. “I thought I had the office to myself,” he added quickly, although there was never any point in trying to explain anything to Malfoy. The man had a way of either completely ignoring what was being said to him or twisting it into something different and throwing it back at you in some form of ridicule. That he was almost nice about his taunting these days was beside the point.
Malfoy and Neville were not exactly friends, but they had shared monthly pints with the younger members of their research team too many times not to be exactly indifferent to each other either. Ignoring how Malfoy liked to remind him every so often how Potions was superior to Herbology, Neville would almost go far as far as to call them workmates.
Neville knew Malfoy had been a right little shit towards Harry, Ron, and Hermione in school. What with attempting to antagonize the entire school and buzzing around the Quidditch pitch flaunting Neville’s stolen Remembrall, he wasn’t the most redeemable of wizards. But he was funny in a biting way and a respectable Potions researcher.
And in retrospect, many of his antics had seemed like pretty harmless coping methods for dealing with one’s father hosting a mass murderer under his roof. Neville thought he might surprise Malfoy with a Remembrall as a gift someday. He felt his lip quirk at the image.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Neville said. “What are you up to so late in the office anyway?”
“Had to tend to a potion, obviously,” Malfoy said, looking at Neville like he was dumber than a flobberworm. “The Draught of Enchantment is in a critical phase and needed hand-administered ingredients before the next simmering phase. It’s important to add the moonseed freshly cut and under the right moon phase, as you well know.”
Neville didn’t, but he pretended to listen as Malfoy rambled about his work. Malfoy loved talking about his job, and that was something Neville could understand. These past few days, his plants had been pretty much the only thing that had kept him from crumbling to pieces.
“Potions don’t wait, unlike your self-watering greenhouses,” Draco said. “I’m sure your garden plants could survive perfectly happily even when you’re not fawning over them every day like a mother hen.”
“I came to work on a paper,” Neville said, deciding to ignore the last bit. He followed Draco’s gaze to his desk, which was covered in old chocolate wrappers and takeout boxes and had very clearly not been sat at for days.
“Which explains perfectly why you’d want to spend Christmas Eve at the office rather than, I don’t know, anywhere else,” Draco said, his demanding stare back on Neville. “As much as Professor Wilson would be delighted to see how dedicated you are to your research, even she would consider this pathetic. And that woman is married to her job.”
Neville had nothing to respond to that. The short distraction Malfoy had originally brought was gone, and the reality of his sad predicament washed over him again, highlighted by the fact that even Malfoy seemed to have plans for Christmas Eve. Well, Neville would succumb to his miserable fate and start writing that paper he had been putting off as soon as Malfoy had the decency to leave him alone.
The Alihotsy shook it’s leaves as if to say that Neville was being unreasonable, but that it was his own business if he wanted to ruin his life. Neville pushed the pot further into the shelf, deciding to ignore it. Draco let out a dramatic, resigned sigh.
“Put on your cloak, Longbottom,” he said. “We have a party to go to.”
***
“Draco!”
A woman dressed in the shortest emerald green dress Neville had ever seen greeted them in the hall just as they started pulling their cloaks off.
“I would hug you, but I’m a bit preoccupied,” she said to Draco, nodding at the two glasses she was carrying. “Hello, Gryffindor.”
Neville recognized her as she turned to look at him. Her hair had grown out and her features were less pug-like than at school, but there was no mistaking Pansy Parkinson with her wicked eyes and curvaceous frame.
“Anything you want to explain to us, Malfoy?” she said with an amused snigger, and Draco’s face went playful in a way Neville had never seen before.
“Only that while lions may tempt me, my heart will always be with my first love,” he said, bowing slightly. Pansy let out a shrill giggle, making Neville wonder if there was some joke he was not understanding. Slytherins were weird. Neville thought wistfully of his greenhouses and lonely office, where he might have to spend hours perusing old journals for references, but where he wouldn’t feel like a third wheel.
“So,” he said, clearing his throat just to say something. “Getting drunk on Christmas?”
“None of us felt like going home this year,” Draco said.
“Am I a shitty daughter? Yes. Do I care just now? No,” Pansy said. She tipped the shot into her mouth as a symbol of rebellion.
Neville observed Draco watch her with a curious mixture of affection and exasperation. “What kind of twat are you, not offering Longbottom a drink?”
“I’m not the host, Blaise is. Let him worry about it,” Pansy said, frowning at the aftertaste of the shot. She pointed her wand absently in the direction of the kitchen, Neville was impressed at her ability to hold a wand considering how inebriated she appeared to be. “Accio shot.”
A shot of some dark amber liquid appeared into his hand.
“Maybe Longbottom might still want a beer at this point,” Draco pointed out.
Neville stared into the shot glass for a moment, wondering if it was some variation of firewhisky. It had been a few months since he had last had anything stronger than beer. What the hell, he thought and poured it down his throat. It stung going down, but Neville was almost glad at the feeling.
Blaise Zabini was ready to swap the empty shot glass into another drink when he finished. It was tall, red and on the rocks, and Neville wondered if the choice had to do with him being a Gryffindor or if Zabini thought he couldn’t take a proper drink. But when he took a sip, the vodka hit his tongue like a Stinging Hex and he had to stop himself from swaying just a little bit.
“Blaise does the best cocktails,” Pansy said, grinning at Neville’s reaction. “Blaise dear, another Unicorn Blood for me?” Her current glass was half-full, but she didn’t seem to notice.
Her comment brought Neville’s attention to the man who was apparently their host. Zabini was taller than him, but only by an inch. He was dressed impeccably in a black shirt and finely-tailored trousers that must have cost a fortune but still managed to look casual on him. It made Neville feel frumpy in his wrinkled jumper. For the first time, he started to regret not shaving since the funeral.
He caught Zabini looking at him.
“Sorry I didn’t bring anything,” Neville felt required to say.
“You brought Malfoy. Salazar knows he spends enough time in his lab,” Blaise said, shrugging.
“Well, thanks for having me anyway,” Neville said and scratched his stubble. Something about Blaise had always made him nervous. Maybe it was the way he never knew what thoughts were going on behind those dark eyes and reserved face. He now thought he saw something resembling humour flicker in the man’s eyes, but he wasn’t sure.
Blaise didn’t say anything, just led Neville and the others out of the hall into the sitting room.
“So, I expect you to give us the scoop on all the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs,” Pansy said to Neville, and he gave her a strained smile.
When they had left the office, he had thought they would be going to Malfoy’s place. Looking around, this flat was about as far from what he imagined Malfoy’s flat would look like as could be. Based on Malfoy’s gaudy preferences in office decor, this place hosted much fewer china dragons and expensive-looking objects that reeked of dark magic.
Blaise’s colour choices were more subdued, with earthy tones complimenting dark leather furniture. The place looked elegant in an effortless way, but it was still cosy enough hosting a roaring fire and candles floating by the walls. Neville was even happy to notice an orchid on the coffee table.
Draco and Pansy took the empty sofa and Blaise disappeared into the kitchen, and Neville was left to decide which of the empty seats he wanted to take. One was next to Goyle, who held a whiskey glass in one hand and a biscuit in the other and looked preoccupied with the decision of which to tackle first. The other sofa was occupied by a dark-haired girl he didn’t know. She looked put-together, but in a different way to the other Slytherins. Her look was dark and unconventional, yet there was something purposeful about it.
Although Goyle had probably changed since school times, Neville still felt a little intimidated by his size and menacing eyebrows. He took one more look at him and decided that the girl was a safer option. When he sat down, Goyle looked up and said, “Hello, Longbottom,” in a surprisingly nice tone.
The girl didn’t let him off that easy.
“You’re sexy in a scruffy sort of way,” she said after looking him up and down. She watched Neville turn red and gape at her uncomfortably before bursting into laughter. “You should see your face. I’m Astoria, nice to meet you.”
She extended an arm and Neville shook it, surprised to find it warm.
“Neville Longbottom,” Neville choked out.
“Oh, I know. War hero and all,” Astoria said, black nails retreating back to her glass. She smiled at Neville and took a sip from her dark-green, bubbling cocktail.
“Astoria, don’t bully him too much,” Draco said, barely glancing at them. He returned to his gossip with Pansy, who giggled so hard at something that some of her drink spilled into her lap.
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist,” Astoria said. “You just looked so...”
“Handsome?” Neville tried. He was not going to let this Slytherin tease him endlessly.
“I was going to say innocent,” Astoria said and laughed at Neville’s discomfort again.
Neville looked around the sitting room, desperate for some kind of diversion. His eyes grazed over the shiny, onyx-glazed coffee table and the tin of chocolates. It was the Magical Christmas Assortment Box he had always shared with Gran during Christmas time, although he had never been allowed more than a few because “Merlin knew he was already too chubby”.
Now he grabbed a handful and stuffed them into his mouth.
It was funny how he could spend years working on his self-esteem and feel like a total badass after the war and be reduced to an insecure eleven-year-old within minutes in a group of Slytherins.
“So, what is it you do, Neville?” Astoria asked, tapping her fingers on her glass. “I assume you know Draco from work.”
“I’m a Herbologist,” Neville said. “At the Ministry Research Centre, like Malf-Draco.” He felt a bit calmer after washing the chocolates down with a generous gulp of his drink.
“I dropped Herbology after fifth year. I always preferred more theoretical subjects,” Astoria said. She twirled her straw in her drink. “But I like the idea of getting my hands dirty the way I suppose you do with your work. Do you actually water the plants and such, or is it all automatic?”
Neville eyed the woman with some doubt before starting to go off about his daily routine in the greenhouses. Astoria seemed genuinely interested, or at least she stopped saying things that made Neville uncomfortable. The way she looked at him still made part of him want to run away, but every now and then she would make some witty remark, and Neville couldn’t help but wonder if she had actually been trying to flirt with him all along.
The thought of it both scared and excited him. He took a slurp of his drink, wondering what Hannah would have to say on him hitting up a Slytherin.
“You wouldn’t happen to grow any... illegal plants?” Astoria asked him suddenly. She leaned closer in a conspiratorial manner.
“Well, you know what they say about Herbologists...” Neville joked feebly.
“Ugh,” Pansy said. “Can you quit it with the work talk already? Dear Merlin, we get enough of it from Draco already.”
Malfoy punched her lightly on the arm, to which Pansy responded with a dramatic cry. “You violent, violent man!”
“No other way to shut you up, woman,” Draco said. He snatched a chocolate from Pansy’s fingers and put it in his mouth. Goyle chuckled at the interaction and Blaise rolled his eyes.
“I like hearing about people’s work,” Astoria said. “Circe knows it’s more interesting than listening to Mummy talk about marriage.”
“I did offer you a way out once, but you refused,” Draco pointed out.
“They would have just switched to pestering about future children,” Astoria said. “Which is even worse.”
Neville felt some of the tension he had been carrying leave him. The sofa comfortable, and his drink was good. He had finished his first drink, and at some point, Blaise had replaced it with a new one. It was red with little fireworks bursting from the surface every now and then, and it burned comfortably in his stomach.
“What do you want to do then?” Neville asked the girl next to him.
“Instead of being a perfect pureblood wife? I’m a writer,” Astoria said. “But you wouldn’t know me, I write under a pseudonym. Can’t give Mummy and Daddy a heart attack, can I?”
“What she’s trying to say is that she writes filthy porn and that it would give anyone a heart attack,” Draco said.
“It’s called erotica, you illiterate wanker.”
Pansy grinned. “I like Astoria’s writing. Her books are the only ones I’ve actually had the motivation to finish.”
“Oi Blaise, drop the shields around your fireplace for a bit? I think Orla’s trying to come through,” Astoria said.
A girl who looked a little bit like Ginny came out of the Floo, red hair clashing momentarily with the green flames. Neville almost choked on his drink when she made a beeline for Astoria’s lap and gave her a long kiss.
“Hello to you too,” Pansy said.
Apparently, he had been wrong about the flirting. Orla mumbled them a greeting before turning back to Astoria and whispering something in her ear, to which Astoria responded with a surprisingly sweet giggle. Neville noticed he had been staring when Astoria caught his eye and smirked at him. He quickly turned away and his hand crept towards the chocolate box again.
“Okay everyone,” Blaise said. “Time for Every Flavour Shots.” He appeared with a tall, striped bottle and conjured some shot glasses onto the coffee table.
“Yes!” Pansy cried, while most of the people in the room said “no!”.
“Hold your glasses, so that there will be no fighting about who gets what,” Blaise commanded. He poured the liquid out. Neville was relieved to see his turn into a colour of red and white stripes as it filled his glass. That could only mean peppermint, or toothpaste if he was unlucky. They clinked their glasses together.
“Ha! Chocolate. I always have the best luck with these,” Pansy said smugly after she gulped down hers. The mucky brown could have been mud-flavoured, or worse.
“Mine tastes like soap!” Orla said. “Oh my god, I think I’m going to vomit.”
“You’re weak, Quirke. That was your first shot,” Pansy smirked.
“It’s because it was my first shot! God, I need something to wash the taste off with.”
Even Blaise’s normally stoic face turned a bit green at his. He didn’t say anything but downed half of his cocktail afterward.
Neville was starting to feel decidedly woozy. The thought of his office, the unfinished research paper, and temperamental office plants felt distant and surreal as he licked the bottom of his shot glass clean. He caught Malfoy’s eye, and the man grinned at him like they had been friends for years. There was a rosy flush on his pointy cheeks.
“I saw Daphne when I was doing Christmas shopping today, by the way,” Orla said. “She looked sickeningly happy.”
“Daphne? You’re Daphne Greengrass’s sister?” Neville said, turning again towards Astoria. Not that he had had anything to do with her at school. His tipsy mind was just quick to react to anything familiar.
“Why? Did you harbour a crush on her at Hogwarts?” Astoria said, grinning. “I’m sorry to inform you that she’s a married woman these days, a fact which our parents can’t seem to stop bringing up in front of me every time I see them.”
“Enough boring pureblood gossip. I want to get wasted!” Pansy said. “Let’s play a game!”
Another round of “no’s” rang through the group, but Neville could also sense that it covered a certain sense of enthusiasm. Orla started chugging down her current drink to catch up with the rest of them, and Neville noticed that even Blaise looked interested from the way his eyes got an excited gleam.
“Gryffindor, you’re our guest!” Pansy shrieked. “You get to decide what we’re playing.”
Everyone turned to look at him, and Neville was sure that they expected him to suggest Exploding Snap or something equally vanilla. Blaise’s dark eyes watched him from across the room as if challenging him.
“Spin the Bottle,” he announced.
Pansy gave him a surprised but approving look.
“I’m starting to like you more and more, Longbottom,” she said, taking a thoughtful sip of her Goblet of Fire.
“Save those feelings for the game,” Draco said with a snigger.
When the bottle landed on Pansy first, she did exactly that. She leaned over some half-empty bottles, tipping one over on the way, and slammed her puckered lips against Neville’s surprised ones. It took Neville a moment to register what was happening, but then he hastened to kiss her back. She was soft and wet, and her tongue tasted like whiskey.
“Not bad, Longbottom, not bad,” Pansy said when they pulled apart. She licked her lips as she retreated to her place between Draco and Blaise in the circle.
“I’m pretty sure that you’re supposed to kiss the person the bottle lands on, not kiss whomever you want,” Astoria said, sounding more amused than exasperated.
“That’s just unoriginal and boring,” Pansy said. “How about when the bottle lands on you, you just kiss whomever the hell you feel like kissing in the moment?” She gave the bottle a spin with her wand, and after twirling for a bit, it settled on Astoria.
“Fine by me,” Astoria shrugged.
Neville barely listened to them argue. He was thinking about the kiss; how different Pansy had tasted compared to Hannah. He knew it had been him that suggested the game, but now he didn’t know how to feel about it.
He was snapped back to the present moment when Astoria crawled over him to sit in Orla’s lap and proceeded to snog the life out of her next to his face. Neville watched with intrigue as Astoria cupped a breast with one hand and Orla’s arse with another. To his discomfort and slight arousal, Orla made a moaning sound every time Astoria´s tongue disappeared into her mouth.
“Hufflepuffs,” Pansy said, shaking her head at them. But she then spent at least a minute glued to Gregory’s face when it came to her turn again.
The first time the bottle landed on Neville, he went for the easiest option. He turned to his left and gave the Ravenclaw girl a light, tongueless kiss. It was not quite the proper snog he had had with Pansy, but Orla Quirke was not as drunk either.
“For solidarity and all,” Neville mumbled when he pulled away. “Got to stick together around all these Slytherins.”
“Hey, watch who you’re calling a Slytherin!” Astoria yelled from his right side. “You owe me a kiss too.”
“Oh?” Neville said, feeling a blush climb up his cheeks. Now that he thought of it, he could recall a small Ravenclaw girl from school who sometimes sat beside Daphne Greengrass at the Slytherin table.
Another round of Bertie Bott’s shots was served and they all laughed when Orla tried to get someone to kiss her after a garlic-flavoured one. At some point Neville watched Draco kiss Greg; it was a mere peck, but it made him wonder if any of those rumours concerning him and Harry in sixth year had been true. Draco’s kiss with Pansy was dramatic and exaggerated, and Orla didn’t seem to have the desire to kiss anyone other than Astoria. When Astoria turned to kiss Neville on her turn, she gave him a sadistic grin that sent shivers down his spine. But her kiss turned out to be surprisingly soft and gentle.
Blaise kept getting up to make more drinks for everyone, but every now and then Neville would catch him looking at him. It sent a strange, electric feeling down his spine, and made him try to keep his eyes somewhere else for a while, such as on the bottle that Pansy had now taken to spinning by hand, and that seemed to crash into someone more and more often.
“Blaise still hasn’t kissed anyone,” Greg said.
“That’s because he’s making drinks all the time,” Orla said.
“I’ve been saving it,” Blaise said and gave Greg a wink before chugging the remainders of another drink.
The game continued in a lustful haze. Neville was no longer sure if the bottle was moving on a natural account or if Pansy had secretly jinxed it. It seemed to land on her more than on the others, and each kiss was more outrageously sexual than the last. Sometime throughout the game Neville had lost count of all the drinks he had had. The latest one had been a cold misty one Blaise had introduced to him as the Dementor’s Kiss. It had sent a chill through his body, which he had been made to dispel with a firewhisky.
When the bottle finally landed on Blaise, he didn’t immediately get up. His eyes scanned the group as if pondering whom to choose and a small smirk played on his lips. Neville didn’t realize he was going to kiss him until he was sitting right in front of him. He brought a hand to Neville’s jaw and Neville found himself staring into deep, dark eyes.
Neville licked his lips nervously and wondered for the briefest moment whether Blaise considered kissing him a joke. His mind answered him immediately and told him that he didn’t; Blaise’s half-serious, half-playful expression was nothing like the tantalising one Astoria had sported when she had kissed him, or like Pansy’s unfocused grin.
Blaise pulled him close and all of Neville’s self-consciousness faded the moment their lips collided. The man was a good kisser. A very good kisser.
Neville forgot about all the other people as he let his hands tangle around Blaise’s neck. He barely noticed the small moan that escaped his mouth when Blaise bit his lower lip.
“Gryffindor seems to be enjoying himself,” Neville heard Pansy’s voice say.
They pulled apart. At some point, Blaise had climbed on top of him, and to Neville’s embarrassment, he had started to grind his hips against him. He hoped Blaise hadn’t noticed, but judging from the flush on Blaise’s cheeks, he hadn’t been exactly indifferent to Neville either. He retreated back to his place in the circle wearing a curious smile that Neville had never seen on his face before. When he sat down, Draco whispered something to him that made him snigger but flush further.
The game continued around him, but Neville barely noticed. All he could think about was how Blaise’s hands had felt gripping his back and the way he had left a scent of some expensive aftershave behind.
Neville excused himself to the bathroom, floundering slightly on his way to the hall from the combination of alcohol and being seated for too long.
He had never kissed a man before. Not if the incident with Seamus and the mistletoe in Second Year didn’t count. He had been too awkward at Hogwarts to attempt anything and with Hannah for most of his adult life, so there hadn’t really been an opportunity. He couldn’t quite make sense of the feelings bubbling inside him, but it was similar to the disordered rush he had felt when he had killed You-Know-Who’s snake.
He was going to wash his face and let himself cool down a little bit before returning to the game, but he forgot all about that when he opened the door. Cracked porcelain busts stared at him from the counter. Cherubs smiled creepily from the golden towel holders. Complete with a provocative, glimmering chandelier, the bathroom looked like it wasn’t a part of the flat at all. But what took his attention was an enormous gold-framed portrait of a plump, dark man with greying hair hung above the toilet seat.
“And who might you be, boy?” the man said haughtily as Neville closed the door. “Muggleborn from the look of it. Hmph!”
“Er…” Neville said.
“Don’t think I approve of you,” the portrait said. “Filthy muggle-lover.”
Neville felt self-conscious lowering his trousers, but to his relief, the man in the portrait made a point of holding his nose and turning away when he did his business.
When Neville returned to the sitting room, the game appeared to have dispersed and everyone was talking again. His spot between Astoria and Orla was still free, and he tried not to be too conspicuous sitting down next to Blaise instead. The action didn’t go unnoticed by the man; Neville could feel him tense ever so slightly when Neville’s thigh grazed his knee.
“What’s the story behind the portrait in the bathroom?” Neville asked. Although he had just been more than happy to have his tongue in Blaise’s mouth, he hoped the portrait wasn’t a reflection of his values.
“Oh, him,” Blaise said. “He’s some distant relative whom we happened to have a portrait of lying about the Manor. When mother insisted I take some family heirlooms with me when I moved out, I didn’t have room for him elsewhere.”
That was, of course, a lie. The walls of the sitting room were empty but for a few carefully chosen paintings.
“He was a bit of a dick, apparently. Short-tempered and greedy, not to even mention his political views,” Blaise said, and Neville laughed. Blaise’s leg pressed against his on the floor, and Neville did nothing to move away. It felt like a secret language; like they were communicating through the heat radiating from their bodies.
“We all make a point of it to make his life unbearable,” Pansy said. “When I’m feeling particularly nasty, I take an extra long time wiping in front of him.”
“We all think it’s hilarious,” Astoria said, “except Draco.”
“Valuable objects should be treated with respect!” Draco said, huffing. He started to get up to get another drink, but glanced at the man sitting next to him and sat back down.
“What’s up, Greg?” Draco asked.
Gregory had not said anything for a while. He hugged his knees in his arms, his drink forgotten on the floor.
“Just... thinking about Vince,” Greg said, not looking up. “We used to bring snow in from the gardens and throw snowballs at all the portraits in Crabbe Manor.”
He twirled his straw absently in his hands.
“I remember Crabbe Manor,” Draco said quietly. “The grounds were the best. Perfect climbing trees.”
Neville had a hard time imagining Malfoy climbing trees in his posh, miniature Lucius Malfoy robes, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t exactly know what had happened to Crabbe on the night of the battle of Hogwarts. He had asked Harry once, but Harry had refused to talk about it, and he hadn’t been close enough with Malfoy to ask him.
“We used to spend Christmas holidays together,” Greg said. “Vince would bully the house elves into giving us an extra roast turkey and we’d hide in the folly with all our food and have our own feast. We were both pretty bad with warming charms, so it always got too cold after a while, but it was still fun.” He gave a hollow laugh.
Pansy slid down next to him and put a soft arm around him. Her dress slid up a few inches but she didn’t seem to care. “Let’s drink for him, okay?” she said in a gentler voice than Neville had ever heard her use, and he saw Greg nod.
“To Vincent,” Pansy said and raised her glass.
“To Vincent,” the rest of them said in chorus, Neville with them.
Draco looked like he wanted to say something. Instead, he tipped the rest of his drink into his mouth. He shuffled to his feet and disappeared to the balcony.
“Should someone go after him?” Neville said. A gust of cool air hit his face.
“He needs to be alone for a moment,” Blaise said. “Come on, Neville.”
The atmosphere had changed with Pansy and Greg now engaged in what appeared to be a deep heart-to-heart. Neville followed Blaise into the kitchen, momentarily aware of it: Pansy and Greg embracing and murmuring in the corner, Orla and Astoria kissing on the sofa, and himself and Blaise leaving the sitting room.
In the kitchen, total havoc resided. Bottles and half-empty glasses glimmered in the scant light, and the sight of a wilted mint made Neville want to cast his best restoration spells. Blaise waved his wand and light appeared in some of the candles.
“I’ll show you how I make a Felix Felicis Cocktail,” Blaise said. “Have you ever made layered drinks?”
Neville shook his head. He hadn’t made any drinks except gin and tonics with more gin than tonic. He looked around the cramped counters. Some of the bottles he recognized, but some were unlabelled like the small dark green one with a ruby red stopper.
“Draco gifts me with his special brews sometimes,” Blaise said, watching Neville’s gaze. “Don’t worry, the drink won’t contain any of the real potion. It’s just called that because it tastes good to anyone who drinks it.”
He took out some fresh glasses and found space somewhere among the sea of bottles. He sent some glasses flying to the sink, and liquid sloshed onto the floor.
“One measure of this,” Blaise said. His hand brushed Neville’s as he passed the bottle.
Neville complied, trying to keep his hands level as he poured the substance into the glasses Blaise had set out.
“Don’t put any alcohol in Pansy’s drink,” Blaise said. His voice was a low whisper beside Neville’s neck, and Neville shivered at the hotness of his breath.
“Is this right?”
“Yes, very good,” Blaise said.
It was their shared language again, but this time there was no one in the room to communicate secretly in front of. Neville leaned back and felt Blaise’s chin on his shoulder. He forgot what he was doing with the cocktail, becoming instead aware with his whole being of the muscles pressing into his back. For a second Neville saw them from the outside; there was something absurd about two people being so familiar despite never talking in school.
“I can help clean up,” Neville said in a single, short breath. “Tomorrow, or whenever people leave. I don’t have anything else to do.”
“I’d like that.”
Neville turned around and passed Blaise a drink. They clinked their glasses together and took a sip.
“Good?”
“Mnn-hm,”
The drink was divine. It wrapped his tongue in a silky mint chocolate flavour and a splash of oak. Although it was good, Neville wanted to taste something else. He put his drink down and saw Blaise do the same.
By some unspoken understanding, they collided in the middle of the kitchen. Blaise’s lips claimed his and kissed him hungrily and Neville pushed Blaise against a cupboard in some mad attempt to bring their bodies even closer.
Neville had no idea if thirty minutes or three hours passed. When they pulled apart, Astoria and Orla had left and the rest of the guests stood in the hallway. Gregory was trying to coax Pansy into putting her coat on.
“There’s space on the sofas if anyone wants to stay,” Blaise said. But he didn’t move from the kitchen.
“Nah, I’m helping Pansy get home,” Greg said.
Draco took one look between Blaise and Neville and said, “the bed calls me tonight, lads,” in a very odd tone.
“Bye Neville. Bye Blaise,” Greg said from the door. He had never been the subtle type.
Neville heard the door click behind them and fixed his eyes to a corner of the kitchen counter. He suddenly became very interested in looking at the labels of the bottles, and the way the liquid glittered in the bottom of the glasses. Blaise shifted next to him; the presence of his body made Neville’s skin tingle. He was sure Blaise could hear the beating of his heart.
Neville saw from the corner of his eye how Blaise’s fingers trailed the edge of the counter beside him. The candlelight reflected from his skin, making it appear smooth and inviting. Blaise caught his gaze before he could look away and locked their eyes. His eyes were warm and dark, and there was something else in them that Neville could quite not pin down, but which made him feel itchy and hot. Suddenly he could not bear it any longer. He brought his hands behind Blaise’s neck again and pulled his lips to his own.
***
“Where are you going, Longbottom?”
So, they were back to surnames. It was the first thought that came to Neville’s mind when Blaise spoke, although now that Neville was sober, he wasn’t that sure whether Blaise ever did call him by his given name.
“I didn’t realize you were awake. I was about to go home,” he said, sitting fully up on edge of the bed. Daylight emanated from the window, turning the bedroom into a mosaic of gold and shadow. “I can come back later to help clean up.”
His eyes scanned the room for his clothes. He wondered when he had discarded them. The memories from last night were fuzzy, but he could recall splashed whiskey, tumbled sheets and lots and lots of kissing. He gathered from the fact that he was still wearing boxers that they probably didn’t do any more than that, and Neville didn’t know if that made him disappointed or relieved.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Blaise said.
Neville felt the brush of a hand on his arm that was gone almost as soon as it had touched him. He looked at the bed, where the hand lay next to him as if quietly saying “you can touch me, but I won’t force it”. He glanced once at the door, which was familiar and safe, and back at the hand, which promised something new and possibly explosive. He turned back to lie on the bed.
He stared into Blaise’s dark eyes and swallowed.
It had been one thing to do this after countless shots and cocktails, but was he really going to fool around with someone sober so soon after his Gran had passed and when the memory of Hannah was still fresh in his mind?
His eyes flickered from the vein pulsating on Blaise’s neck to the curve of his lips, and in that moment he knew with certainty that he wanted to kiss him. Blaise was a step ahead of him and cast breath-refreshment charms and cleaning charms on them both.
“Thanks,” Neville stuttered.
Blaise turned back to him, still not doing anything to initiate action. Neville brought a shy hand to Blaise’s arm and let his fingers trail upon his skin. He heard the man’s breath hitch when he started drawing circles on his lower back. This was the encouragement Neville had needed, and he leaned forward to kiss him.
There was some familiarity to the kiss, a vague continuation of the previous night, but Neville could also feel a jolt of new excitement at the way Blaise’s arm gripped his and pulled him closer. He deepened the kiss and Blaise responded with ferocity, squeezing his arse in a way that went straight to Neville’s groin.
Neville almost elbowed Blaise when they untangled for air, and they shared a breathless laugh.
“Do you want to have sex?” Blaise said.
Neville was no virgin, but he felt himself blush. To come out and say it so confidently and without the pretence of alcohol was new to him. And... although he had, of course, spent his fair share of time thinking about it, he wasn’t entirely sure what sex with a man would entail.
“Hands?” Blaise said, and Neville nodded, thankful for the specifications and an option he knew he was comfortable with.
Their bodies melted back into each other, becoming a rhythmic dance of hands, lips, and skin. There was clumsiness and newness to their movement, but it was overpowered by an urgency, unlike anything Neville had recently experienced. He kissed Blaise’s neck in an almost possessive urge and was thrilled to hear a low rumble of pleasure from him when his teeth brushed a spot under his ear.
“I’m going to take my pants off,” Blaise said in a breathless tone, and his lips were back on Neville’s immediately after. Neville’s cock throbbed in his boxers, reaching a point of being unbearable.
Luna had been silver-soft, like a mystical elf. It had only been a handful of times, but Neville remembered how being with her had felt like unlocking some ancient wisdom.
Hannah had been warm, supple and earthy. She had been familiar like a part of him that had been searching for all his life, yet round and fertile like a goddess. She had awakened new tender parts in Neville, ones that had made him want to protect, love and cherish.
Neville’s cock sprang out from his boxers, and for a second he watched them, the two cocks hard between their bodies, almost touching each other but not quite. He didn’t know what Blaise would be yet. Neville remembered thinking that Blaise Zabini was the best-looking boy in his year long before any realizations about his confusing and ambivalent sexuality had hit him.
He could feel Blaise’s eyes on his face, and determined to quench the emerging self-consciousness he brought his hand to Blaise’s hip and pulled their bodies together.
When his bare cock came into contact with Blaise’s body, any remaining bit of reason left him. His existence became a quest about touching, feeling, and wanting. He wanted to touch every bit of Blaise’s body. He wanted to be relieved of the aching desire that was turning him stupid.
When Blaise’s hand finally found Neville’s cock, his touch was tantalizingly slow. Neville bucked his hips in frustration and Blaise laughed at his squirming; a deep, warm chuckle that only added to Neville’s desire. He began to pump his cock in increasing speed, each motion bringing Neville closer to the brink.
One finally did, and Neville’s whole body tensed as weeks’ worth of tension erupted from his cock and spilled over Blaise’s hand. He wanted to sink into the mattress, but brought an arm around Blaise’s neck instead. The man wore a satisfied smile on his face, but Neville was also aware of the erection pressing against his thigh.
He started kissing Blaise again, pushing him onto his back. He left little bites and kisses along Blaise’s chest and stomach, and took the hard length of his cock in his hand. It was unfamiliar in his hand, and Neville trailed his fingers over the foreskin and the web of veins, and started moving his hand experimentally.
Soon enough he settled into a rhythm, taking cues from Blaise’s reactions. His mouth was inches from Blaise’s cock. He looked up and his eyes met ones heated from pleasure.
“Can I...?”
Blaise nodded, and Neville lowered his mouth to his cock. It was so new to him that he had to tear his eyes away from the Blaise’s face to focus on what he was doing. It was difficult at first not to gag when the cock hit his throat. But the gasps coming from Blaise every time he dipped his head down were enough of a reward to almost make him hard again.
“Faster,” Blaise said.
Neville complied, bringing his hand to the base of it to work the parts that didn’t fit his mouth. Within moments his mouth was flooded with the bitter taste of cum. Half spitting, half swallowing the liquid, Neville crawled back up to where his pillow was.
He fell to his back, feeling spent and satisfied. Blaise cast a quick Refreshment Charm on them both before pulling the rumpled blanket around them.
“Thanks. That was...” Neville said, voice fading off. Amazing, his mind finished. Just what he had needed. What had just transpired also stirred up several questions about himself that he had been putting off thinking, but those thoughts would have to be examined later.
***
Neville had almost fallen asleep again when he heard a tapping sound that woke him up. He cracked his eyes open and recognized the large barn owl flapping its wings outside the window to be Hannah’s. For a fraction of a second, he was confused about his location.
“It’s for me,” he said. The man beside him gave a small groan when he got up. Neville missed the warmth when he hurried across the freezing room. He returned with a tiny letter in his hand.
Dear Neville,
I heard about your Gran. I’m so sorry for not being there for you when you may have needed support, but I wish you would have told me.
See you soon, okay? Hold in there.
Happy Christmas xx
Love,
Your friend Hannah
“What was that?” Blaise asked, his voice muffled against Neville’s skin.
“Just a Christmas well-wish from a friend,” Neville said, folding the letter and letting it drop to the floor. Warmth flooded him, and for a moment he couldn’t help but smile.
“Mhhh,” Blaise’s voice said from somewhere among the pillows and blanket.
“I didn’t think I’d hear from her,” Neville said. He was unsure if Blaise was listening or even cared, but it felt important to talk about it. “We were... close. Anyway, I’m glad that everything’s ok with us.” Neville’s voice faded off, the warmth of the man pressing against him starting to lull him to sleep again. An arm snaked around him, squeezing his waist.
Neville thought he would feel more confused after everything that had happened, but he didn’t have the energy to let the rational part of his brain over-analyse things right now.
When he woke up a second time the sun had shifted. He knew that Blaise was awake behind him from the fingers that trailed along his spine.
“I have to go have Christmas lunch with my mother in half an hour,” Blaise said.
“Right...” Neville said. “I’ll get up and get ready to leave, then.”
Neville started to scavenge the floor for clothes, thoughts racing in his mind. Perhaps Blaise was just hoping for him to leave now that they were done. The way he had kissed Neville’s neck as he had cuddled him spoke differently, but Neville wasn’t sure. He was just figuring out the words to ask him without being too awkward when Blaise spoke again.
“We’re going to go see the Christmas fair in Hogsmeade with the others this evening, and then pints in Three Broomsticks,” Blaise said. “If you’re not busy, feel free to join.”
Blaise’s voice sounded impassive and almost bored, but something about the way he held himself so tensely and how distracted he seemed rustling about his wardrobe made Neville relax.
“I think I will, thanks,” Neville said with a little smile. “Floo me when you’re about to leave, okay? Draco should have my coordinates.”
Blaise gave him a nod. He grabbed a pair of trousers from the wardrobe and pulled them on. “Normally I’d offer to make coffee...”
“Don’t worry about it,” Neville said. He stood in the doorway fully clothed, giving one last look around the room.
“Do you need the Floo?”
“No, I think I’ll walk for a bit,” Neville said. “Catch the sun while it’s still out.”
When he stepped out of the door onto the unfamiliar streets, the light had moved to this side of the house. It hadn’t snowed, but the frost glistened in the sunlight. The air felt fresh and cold.
Maybe he would go grab a coffee, and then go light a candle on his grandmother’s grave before visiting his parents at St. Mungo’s. He wouldn’t go home or back to his stuffy office, not today. His paper could wait over Christmas. The plants could survive one day without him.
Neville drew a lungful of air and let it out slowly. He watched the sun paint the roofs of the houses a golden white. For the first time in three weeks, Neville thought that maybe things were going to be okay.
Recipient: lenapinewoods
Author: kiertorata
Pairing: Neville Longbottom/mystery Slytherin, highlight if you want to spoil yourself: *all of them, kind of, but Blaise Zabini in particular*
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 8500 words (I know right! So much more than I usually manage!)
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Warnings and contents: language, references to break-up and character death, alcohol (this fic is mostly about drinking, you have been warned), handjobs, blowjob, bisexuality, slash, het and femslash
Summary: Neville is not quite sure how he ends up spending Christmas with Draco Malfoy and his friends, but what starts out as a miserable night turns out to be not that bad after all.
Notes: Dear Lena! ♥ You have the best prompts, and we have pretty similar tastes in fic, so it was such a pleasure to write for you. This is a Christmas fic and it stars Neville like you hoped, and I managed to throw in some party games too, so I hope you like it! This was incredibly fun to write, and I'm just really thankful for you challenging me to write something, because it let me pour all my holiday stress, pent up homesickness and melancholy into something that was actually productive. Beta-ed by the lovely midoriyue on a short notice! Any mistakes remaining are mine. And thanks to Helen for the helpful feedback! Happy holidays to anyone who reads this!
Christmas in the Dragons’ Den
The Department was quiet but for the ticking of the clock. Neville walked by the closed office doors, conscious of the sound his heels were making in the empty halls. Many of the doors exhibited wreaths and other Christmas decorations in addition to the normal cut-outs from scientific publications.
Plants rustled as he entered his office, trying to get his attention. He spelled the lights on and pulled his cloak off, sweating in the heat of his office. It was a little too warm for comfort, but he had set it to suit the needs of most of his office plants.
He sat down at his desk and tried to find a quill under the stacks of paper and rubbish. His desk had never been the most organized, and recently it had gotten particularly out of hand. When he finally did find a quill, the tip broke the moment it touched his parchment. Neville sighed in frustration, wondering if it was worth the effort trying to spell it back to use. His mending spells had never been that trustworthy.
He needed to water his office plants, but he couldn’t get himself to approach the pots sitting on his shelf because he knew that beside the Anjelica and the Madagascar Jasmine, behind the bonsai Alihotsy tree were the overturned frames containing photographs of his Gran and Hannah. His eyes scanned the rest of his shelf and lingered for a moment on the leather-bound print of his dissertation, until spotting Magical Plants of Britain, from Hannah, and Rare Fungi and their Properties, also from Hannah, that he couldn’t get rid of because they were crucial to his work.
Too much in his office reminded him of painful things, but it was still better than being at home. At home, he would have had to stare at the Christmas tree he couldn’t decorate because he still wasn’t ready to go through his grandmother’s stuff. He would have had to eat the dry turkey and sticky pudding he had bought from the store because he hadn’t had the energy to cook for weeks. And to sleep in a bed that still felt foreign and cold without Hannah’s warm body next to him.
He didn’t know where he was going to sleep tonight, but that would be a problem for later. For now, he was glad that he had some form of distraction from his loneliness.
Maybe he’d conjure up a bedroll and sleep in his office. Or, if he wanted to further escape the miserable reality of his life, he could curl up in the humid soil of the Tropical Greenhouse no. 1 and let the hum of the Brazilian Buzzing Tree lull him to sleep.
The idea of that almost made him want to laugh at his pathetic situation. It had been three weeks since his break-up with Hannah, and Neville knew that he couldn’t keep pining forever. But then his grandmother had passed away a week ago, leaving Neville more alone than he had ever been. It had been just like the blasted old woman to pass a week before Christmas. Gran had always complained about what an ordeal decorating the house and buying presents was.
Under normal circumstances, Hannah would have been the person he’d go to with his feelings, but he couldn’t do that when Hannah had just spent their last conversation insisting that Neville leave her alone.
“I don’t know if I can see you for a while, Neville,” she had said. “I need some time... to work on myself. To get to know myself again.”
Neville didn’t know what that meant. All he knew was that he missed her terribly and that finding oneself tended to be more fun together than alone.
The Alihotsy tree almost looked like it was trying to give him a look of reprimand.
“Oh alright, you miserable old brute,” Neville said, getting up from his chair. “I wasn’t really going to let you die.”
The tree really did look a bit shriveled, its leaves tinted brown at the ends. Neville muttered an altered version of Aguamenti, a spell he had developed for his more fragile, exotic specimen. He started watering the other plants in his office, adding drops of nutrition potions to some of them and mumbling little comments as he worked. “Sorry,” he said to the Treacle Plant Susan and Ernie had given him when he had moved into the office. “It’s me, not you.”
He returned to the distressed Alihotsy after his round.
“There, there. I’m not going to abandon you,” Neville said soothingly. He petted the leaves of the tree and it shivered pleasantly under his touch. The Alihotsy had always been a bit needy.
“Really, Longbottom?”
Draco Malfoy leaned against the doorframe, wearing his dark-blue winter cloak and an expression of amusement. He shot a pitying glance from the plants to Neville’s gobsmacked face and tapped his leather shoe against the floor, always slightly restless even when attempting to be casual.
“I don’t want to know what else you get on to with your plants when you think no-one’s around,” Malfoy said with a slight turn of his lip, a remnant of his old sneer.
“Malfoy!” Neville said, nearly dropping his wand. “I thought I had the office to myself,” he added quickly, although there was never any point in trying to explain anything to Malfoy. The man had a way of either completely ignoring what was being said to him or twisting it into something different and throwing it back at you in some form of ridicule. That he was almost nice about his taunting these days was beside the point.
Malfoy and Neville were not exactly friends, but they had shared monthly pints with the younger members of their research team too many times not to be exactly indifferent to each other either. Ignoring how Malfoy liked to remind him every so often how Potions was superior to Herbology, Neville would almost go far as far as to call them workmates.
Neville knew Malfoy had been a right little shit towards Harry, Ron, and Hermione in school. What with attempting to antagonize the entire school and buzzing around the Quidditch pitch flaunting Neville’s stolen Remembrall, he wasn’t the most redeemable of wizards. But he was funny in a biting way and a respectable Potions researcher.
And in retrospect, many of his antics had seemed like pretty harmless coping methods for dealing with one’s father hosting a mass murderer under his roof. Neville thought he might surprise Malfoy with a Remembrall as a gift someday. He felt his lip quirk at the image.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Neville said. “What are you up to so late in the office anyway?”
“Had to tend to a potion, obviously,” Malfoy said, looking at Neville like he was dumber than a flobberworm. “The Draught of Enchantment is in a critical phase and needed hand-administered ingredients before the next simmering phase. It’s important to add the moonseed freshly cut and under the right moon phase, as you well know.”
Neville didn’t, but he pretended to listen as Malfoy rambled about his work. Malfoy loved talking about his job, and that was something Neville could understand. These past few days, his plants had been pretty much the only thing that had kept him from crumbling to pieces.
“Potions don’t wait, unlike your self-watering greenhouses,” Draco said. “I’m sure your garden plants could survive perfectly happily even when you’re not fawning over them every day like a mother hen.”
“I came to work on a paper,” Neville said, deciding to ignore the last bit. He followed Draco’s gaze to his desk, which was covered in old chocolate wrappers and takeout boxes and had very clearly not been sat at for days.
“Which explains perfectly why you’d want to spend Christmas Eve at the office rather than, I don’t know, anywhere else,” Draco said, his demanding stare back on Neville. “As much as Professor Wilson would be delighted to see how dedicated you are to your research, even she would consider this pathetic. And that woman is married to her job.”
Neville had nothing to respond to that. The short distraction Malfoy had originally brought was gone, and the reality of his sad predicament washed over him again, highlighted by the fact that even Malfoy seemed to have plans for Christmas Eve. Well, Neville would succumb to his miserable fate and start writing that paper he had been putting off as soon as Malfoy had the decency to leave him alone.
The Alihotsy shook it’s leaves as if to say that Neville was being unreasonable, but that it was his own business if he wanted to ruin his life. Neville pushed the pot further into the shelf, deciding to ignore it. Draco let out a dramatic, resigned sigh.
“Put on your cloak, Longbottom,” he said. “We have a party to go to.”
***
“Draco!”
A woman dressed in the shortest emerald green dress Neville had ever seen greeted them in the hall just as they started pulling their cloaks off.
“I would hug you, but I’m a bit preoccupied,” she said to Draco, nodding at the two glasses she was carrying. “Hello, Gryffindor.”
Neville recognized her as she turned to look at him. Her hair had grown out and her features were less pug-like than at school, but there was no mistaking Pansy Parkinson with her wicked eyes and curvaceous frame.
“Anything you want to explain to us, Malfoy?” she said with an amused snigger, and Draco’s face went playful in a way Neville had never seen before.
“Only that while lions may tempt me, my heart will always be with my first love,” he said, bowing slightly. Pansy let out a shrill giggle, making Neville wonder if there was some joke he was not understanding. Slytherins were weird. Neville thought wistfully of his greenhouses and lonely office, where he might have to spend hours perusing old journals for references, but where he wouldn’t feel like a third wheel.
“So,” he said, clearing his throat just to say something. “Getting drunk on Christmas?”
“None of us felt like going home this year,” Draco said.
“Am I a shitty daughter? Yes. Do I care just now? No,” Pansy said. She tipped the shot into her mouth as a symbol of rebellion.
Neville observed Draco watch her with a curious mixture of affection and exasperation. “What kind of twat are you, not offering Longbottom a drink?”
“I’m not the host, Blaise is. Let him worry about it,” Pansy said, frowning at the aftertaste of the shot. She pointed her wand absently in the direction of the kitchen, Neville was impressed at her ability to hold a wand considering how inebriated she appeared to be. “Accio shot.”
A shot of some dark amber liquid appeared into his hand.
“Maybe Longbottom might still want a beer at this point,” Draco pointed out.
Neville stared into the shot glass for a moment, wondering if it was some variation of firewhisky. It had been a few months since he had last had anything stronger than beer. What the hell, he thought and poured it down his throat. It stung going down, but Neville was almost glad at the feeling.
Blaise Zabini was ready to swap the empty shot glass into another drink when he finished. It was tall, red and on the rocks, and Neville wondered if the choice had to do with him being a Gryffindor or if Zabini thought he couldn’t take a proper drink. But when he took a sip, the vodka hit his tongue like a Stinging Hex and he had to stop himself from swaying just a little bit.
“Blaise does the best cocktails,” Pansy said, grinning at Neville’s reaction. “Blaise dear, another Unicorn Blood for me?” Her current glass was half-full, but she didn’t seem to notice.
Her comment brought Neville’s attention to the man who was apparently their host. Zabini was taller than him, but only by an inch. He was dressed impeccably in a black shirt and finely-tailored trousers that must have cost a fortune but still managed to look casual on him. It made Neville feel frumpy in his wrinkled jumper. For the first time, he started to regret not shaving since the funeral.
He caught Zabini looking at him.
“Sorry I didn’t bring anything,” Neville felt required to say.
“You brought Malfoy. Salazar knows he spends enough time in his lab,” Blaise said, shrugging.
“Well, thanks for having me anyway,” Neville said and scratched his stubble. Something about Blaise had always made him nervous. Maybe it was the way he never knew what thoughts were going on behind those dark eyes and reserved face. He now thought he saw something resembling humour flicker in the man’s eyes, but he wasn’t sure.
Blaise didn’t say anything, just led Neville and the others out of the hall into the sitting room.
“So, I expect you to give us the scoop on all the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs,” Pansy said to Neville, and he gave her a strained smile.
When they had left the office, he had thought they would be going to Malfoy’s place. Looking around, this flat was about as far from what he imagined Malfoy’s flat would look like as could be. Based on Malfoy’s gaudy preferences in office decor, this place hosted much fewer china dragons and expensive-looking objects that reeked of dark magic.
Blaise’s colour choices were more subdued, with earthy tones complimenting dark leather furniture. The place looked elegant in an effortless way, but it was still cosy enough hosting a roaring fire and candles floating by the walls. Neville was even happy to notice an orchid on the coffee table.
Draco and Pansy took the empty sofa and Blaise disappeared into the kitchen, and Neville was left to decide which of the empty seats he wanted to take. One was next to Goyle, who held a whiskey glass in one hand and a biscuit in the other and looked preoccupied with the decision of which to tackle first. The other sofa was occupied by a dark-haired girl he didn’t know. She looked put-together, but in a different way to the other Slytherins. Her look was dark and unconventional, yet there was something purposeful about it.
Although Goyle had probably changed since school times, Neville still felt a little intimidated by his size and menacing eyebrows. He took one more look at him and decided that the girl was a safer option. When he sat down, Goyle looked up and said, “Hello, Longbottom,” in a surprisingly nice tone.
The girl didn’t let him off that easy.
“You’re sexy in a scruffy sort of way,” she said after looking him up and down. She watched Neville turn red and gape at her uncomfortably before bursting into laughter. “You should see your face. I’m Astoria, nice to meet you.”
She extended an arm and Neville shook it, surprised to find it warm.
“Neville Longbottom,” Neville choked out.
“Oh, I know. War hero and all,” Astoria said, black nails retreating back to her glass. She smiled at Neville and took a sip from her dark-green, bubbling cocktail.
“Astoria, don’t bully him too much,” Draco said, barely glancing at them. He returned to his gossip with Pansy, who giggled so hard at something that some of her drink spilled into her lap.
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist,” Astoria said. “You just looked so...”
“Handsome?” Neville tried. He was not going to let this Slytherin tease him endlessly.
“I was going to say innocent,” Astoria said and laughed at Neville’s discomfort again.
Neville looked around the sitting room, desperate for some kind of diversion. His eyes grazed over the shiny, onyx-glazed coffee table and the tin of chocolates. It was the Magical Christmas Assortment Box he had always shared with Gran during Christmas time, although he had never been allowed more than a few because “Merlin knew he was already too chubby”.
Now he grabbed a handful and stuffed them into his mouth.
It was funny how he could spend years working on his self-esteem and feel like a total badass after the war and be reduced to an insecure eleven-year-old within minutes in a group of Slytherins.
“So, what is it you do, Neville?” Astoria asked, tapping her fingers on her glass. “I assume you know Draco from work.”
“I’m a Herbologist,” Neville said. “At the Ministry Research Centre, like Malf-Draco.” He felt a bit calmer after washing the chocolates down with a generous gulp of his drink.
“I dropped Herbology after fifth year. I always preferred more theoretical subjects,” Astoria said. She twirled her straw in her drink. “But I like the idea of getting my hands dirty the way I suppose you do with your work. Do you actually water the plants and such, or is it all automatic?”
Neville eyed the woman with some doubt before starting to go off about his daily routine in the greenhouses. Astoria seemed genuinely interested, or at least she stopped saying things that made Neville uncomfortable. The way she looked at him still made part of him want to run away, but every now and then she would make some witty remark, and Neville couldn’t help but wonder if she had actually been trying to flirt with him all along.
The thought of it both scared and excited him. He took a slurp of his drink, wondering what Hannah would have to say on him hitting up a Slytherin.
“You wouldn’t happen to grow any... illegal plants?” Astoria asked him suddenly. She leaned closer in a conspiratorial manner.
“Well, you know what they say about Herbologists...” Neville joked feebly.
“Ugh,” Pansy said. “Can you quit it with the work talk already? Dear Merlin, we get enough of it from Draco already.”
Malfoy punched her lightly on the arm, to which Pansy responded with a dramatic cry. “You violent, violent man!”
“No other way to shut you up, woman,” Draco said. He snatched a chocolate from Pansy’s fingers and put it in his mouth. Goyle chuckled at the interaction and Blaise rolled his eyes.
“I like hearing about people’s work,” Astoria said. “Circe knows it’s more interesting than listening to Mummy talk about marriage.”
“I did offer you a way out once, but you refused,” Draco pointed out.
“They would have just switched to pestering about future children,” Astoria said. “Which is even worse.”
Neville felt some of the tension he had been carrying leave him. The sofa comfortable, and his drink was good. He had finished his first drink, and at some point, Blaise had replaced it with a new one. It was red with little fireworks bursting from the surface every now and then, and it burned comfortably in his stomach.
“What do you want to do then?” Neville asked the girl next to him.
“Instead of being a perfect pureblood wife? I’m a writer,” Astoria said. “But you wouldn’t know me, I write under a pseudonym. Can’t give Mummy and Daddy a heart attack, can I?”
“What she’s trying to say is that she writes filthy porn and that it would give anyone a heart attack,” Draco said.
“It’s called erotica, you illiterate wanker.”
Pansy grinned. “I like Astoria’s writing. Her books are the only ones I’ve actually had the motivation to finish.”
“Oi Blaise, drop the shields around your fireplace for a bit? I think Orla’s trying to come through,” Astoria said.
A girl who looked a little bit like Ginny came out of the Floo, red hair clashing momentarily with the green flames. Neville almost choked on his drink when she made a beeline for Astoria’s lap and gave her a long kiss.
“Hello to you too,” Pansy said.
Apparently, he had been wrong about the flirting. Orla mumbled them a greeting before turning back to Astoria and whispering something in her ear, to which Astoria responded with a surprisingly sweet giggle. Neville noticed he had been staring when Astoria caught his eye and smirked at him. He quickly turned away and his hand crept towards the chocolate box again.
“Okay everyone,” Blaise said. “Time for Every Flavour Shots.” He appeared with a tall, striped bottle and conjured some shot glasses onto the coffee table.
“Yes!” Pansy cried, while most of the people in the room said “no!”.
“Hold your glasses, so that there will be no fighting about who gets what,” Blaise commanded. He poured the liquid out. Neville was relieved to see his turn into a colour of red and white stripes as it filled his glass. That could only mean peppermint, or toothpaste if he was unlucky. They clinked their glasses together.
“Ha! Chocolate. I always have the best luck with these,” Pansy said smugly after she gulped down hers. The mucky brown could have been mud-flavoured, or worse.
“Mine tastes like soap!” Orla said. “Oh my god, I think I’m going to vomit.”
“You’re weak, Quirke. That was your first shot,” Pansy smirked.
“It’s because it was my first shot! God, I need something to wash the taste off with.”
Even Blaise’s normally stoic face turned a bit green at his. He didn’t say anything but downed half of his cocktail afterward.
Neville was starting to feel decidedly woozy. The thought of his office, the unfinished research paper, and temperamental office plants felt distant and surreal as he licked the bottom of his shot glass clean. He caught Malfoy’s eye, and the man grinned at him like they had been friends for years. There was a rosy flush on his pointy cheeks.
“I saw Daphne when I was doing Christmas shopping today, by the way,” Orla said. “She looked sickeningly happy.”
“Daphne? You’re Daphne Greengrass’s sister?” Neville said, turning again towards Astoria. Not that he had had anything to do with her at school. His tipsy mind was just quick to react to anything familiar.
“Why? Did you harbour a crush on her at Hogwarts?” Astoria said, grinning. “I’m sorry to inform you that she’s a married woman these days, a fact which our parents can’t seem to stop bringing up in front of me every time I see them.”
“Enough boring pureblood gossip. I want to get wasted!” Pansy said. “Let’s play a game!”
Another round of “no’s” rang through the group, but Neville could also sense that it covered a certain sense of enthusiasm. Orla started chugging down her current drink to catch up with the rest of them, and Neville noticed that even Blaise looked interested from the way his eyes got an excited gleam.
“Gryffindor, you’re our guest!” Pansy shrieked. “You get to decide what we’re playing.”
Everyone turned to look at him, and Neville was sure that they expected him to suggest Exploding Snap or something equally vanilla. Blaise’s dark eyes watched him from across the room as if challenging him.
“Spin the Bottle,” he announced.
Pansy gave him a surprised but approving look.
“I’m starting to like you more and more, Longbottom,” she said, taking a thoughtful sip of her Goblet of Fire.
“Save those feelings for the game,” Draco said with a snigger.
When the bottle landed on Pansy first, she did exactly that. She leaned over some half-empty bottles, tipping one over on the way, and slammed her puckered lips against Neville’s surprised ones. It took Neville a moment to register what was happening, but then he hastened to kiss her back. She was soft and wet, and her tongue tasted like whiskey.
“Not bad, Longbottom, not bad,” Pansy said when they pulled apart. She licked her lips as she retreated to her place between Draco and Blaise in the circle.
“I’m pretty sure that you’re supposed to kiss the person the bottle lands on, not kiss whomever you want,” Astoria said, sounding more amused than exasperated.
“That’s just unoriginal and boring,” Pansy said. “How about when the bottle lands on you, you just kiss whomever the hell you feel like kissing in the moment?” She gave the bottle a spin with her wand, and after twirling for a bit, it settled on Astoria.
“Fine by me,” Astoria shrugged.
Neville barely listened to them argue. He was thinking about the kiss; how different Pansy had tasted compared to Hannah. He knew it had been him that suggested the game, but now he didn’t know how to feel about it.
He was snapped back to the present moment when Astoria crawled over him to sit in Orla’s lap and proceeded to snog the life out of her next to his face. Neville watched with intrigue as Astoria cupped a breast with one hand and Orla’s arse with another. To his discomfort and slight arousal, Orla made a moaning sound every time Astoria´s tongue disappeared into her mouth.
“Hufflepuffs,” Pansy said, shaking her head at them. But she then spent at least a minute glued to Gregory’s face when it came to her turn again.
The first time the bottle landed on Neville, he went for the easiest option. He turned to his left and gave the Ravenclaw girl a light, tongueless kiss. It was not quite the proper snog he had had with Pansy, but Orla Quirke was not as drunk either.
“For solidarity and all,” Neville mumbled when he pulled away. “Got to stick together around all these Slytherins.”
“Hey, watch who you’re calling a Slytherin!” Astoria yelled from his right side. “You owe me a kiss too.”
“Oh?” Neville said, feeling a blush climb up his cheeks. Now that he thought of it, he could recall a small Ravenclaw girl from school who sometimes sat beside Daphne Greengrass at the Slytherin table.
Another round of Bertie Bott’s shots was served and they all laughed when Orla tried to get someone to kiss her after a garlic-flavoured one. At some point Neville watched Draco kiss Greg; it was a mere peck, but it made him wonder if any of those rumours concerning him and Harry in sixth year had been true. Draco’s kiss with Pansy was dramatic and exaggerated, and Orla didn’t seem to have the desire to kiss anyone other than Astoria. When Astoria turned to kiss Neville on her turn, she gave him a sadistic grin that sent shivers down his spine. But her kiss turned out to be surprisingly soft and gentle.
Blaise kept getting up to make more drinks for everyone, but every now and then Neville would catch him looking at him. It sent a strange, electric feeling down his spine, and made him try to keep his eyes somewhere else for a while, such as on the bottle that Pansy had now taken to spinning by hand, and that seemed to crash into someone more and more often.
“Blaise still hasn’t kissed anyone,” Greg said.
“That’s because he’s making drinks all the time,” Orla said.
“I’ve been saving it,” Blaise said and gave Greg a wink before chugging the remainders of another drink.
The game continued in a lustful haze. Neville was no longer sure if the bottle was moving on a natural account or if Pansy had secretly jinxed it. It seemed to land on her more than on the others, and each kiss was more outrageously sexual than the last. Sometime throughout the game Neville had lost count of all the drinks he had had. The latest one had been a cold misty one Blaise had introduced to him as the Dementor’s Kiss. It had sent a chill through his body, which he had been made to dispel with a firewhisky.
When the bottle finally landed on Blaise, he didn’t immediately get up. His eyes scanned the group as if pondering whom to choose and a small smirk played on his lips. Neville didn’t realize he was going to kiss him until he was sitting right in front of him. He brought a hand to Neville’s jaw and Neville found himself staring into deep, dark eyes.
Neville licked his lips nervously and wondered for the briefest moment whether Blaise considered kissing him a joke. His mind answered him immediately and told him that he didn’t; Blaise’s half-serious, half-playful expression was nothing like the tantalising one Astoria had sported when she had kissed him, or like Pansy’s unfocused grin.
Blaise pulled him close and all of Neville’s self-consciousness faded the moment their lips collided. The man was a good kisser. A very good kisser.
Neville forgot about all the other people as he let his hands tangle around Blaise’s neck. He barely noticed the small moan that escaped his mouth when Blaise bit his lower lip.
“Gryffindor seems to be enjoying himself,” Neville heard Pansy’s voice say.
They pulled apart. At some point, Blaise had climbed on top of him, and to Neville’s embarrassment, he had started to grind his hips against him. He hoped Blaise hadn’t noticed, but judging from the flush on Blaise’s cheeks, he hadn’t been exactly indifferent to Neville either. He retreated back to his place in the circle wearing a curious smile that Neville had never seen on his face before. When he sat down, Draco whispered something to him that made him snigger but flush further.
The game continued around him, but Neville barely noticed. All he could think about was how Blaise’s hands had felt gripping his back and the way he had left a scent of some expensive aftershave behind.
Neville excused himself to the bathroom, floundering slightly on his way to the hall from the combination of alcohol and being seated for too long.
He had never kissed a man before. Not if the incident with Seamus and the mistletoe in Second Year didn’t count. He had been too awkward at Hogwarts to attempt anything and with Hannah for most of his adult life, so there hadn’t really been an opportunity. He couldn’t quite make sense of the feelings bubbling inside him, but it was similar to the disordered rush he had felt when he had killed You-Know-Who’s snake.
He was going to wash his face and let himself cool down a little bit before returning to the game, but he forgot all about that when he opened the door. Cracked porcelain busts stared at him from the counter. Cherubs smiled creepily from the golden towel holders. Complete with a provocative, glimmering chandelier, the bathroom looked like it wasn’t a part of the flat at all. But what took his attention was an enormous gold-framed portrait of a plump, dark man with greying hair hung above the toilet seat.
“And who might you be, boy?” the man said haughtily as Neville closed the door. “Muggleborn from the look of it. Hmph!”
“Er…” Neville said.
“Don’t think I approve of you,” the portrait said. “Filthy muggle-lover.”
Neville felt self-conscious lowering his trousers, but to his relief, the man in the portrait made a point of holding his nose and turning away when he did his business.
When Neville returned to the sitting room, the game appeared to have dispersed and everyone was talking again. His spot between Astoria and Orla was still free, and he tried not to be too conspicuous sitting down next to Blaise instead. The action didn’t go unnoticed by the man; Neville could feel him tense ever so slightly when Neville’s thigh grazed his knee.
“What’s the story behind the portrait in the bathroom?” Neville asked. Although he had just been more than happy to have his tongue in Blaise’s mouth, he hoped the portrait wasn’t a reflection of his values.
“Oh, him,” Blaise said. “He’s some distant relative whom we happened to have a portrait of lying about the Manor. When mother insisted I take some family heirlooms with me when I moved out, I didn’t have room for him elsewhere.”
That was, of course, a lie. The walls of the sitting room were empty but for a few carefully chosen paintings.
“He was a bit of a dick, apparently. Short-tempered and greedy, not to even mention his political views,” Blaise said, and Neville laughed. Blaise’s leg pressed against his on the floor, and Neville did nothing to move away. It felt like a secret language; like they were communicating through the heat radiating from their bodies.
“We all make a point of it to make his life unbearable,” Pansy said. “When I’m feeling particularly nasty, I take an extra long time wiping in front of him.”
“We all think it’s hilarious,” Astoria said, “except Draco.”
“Valuable objects should be treated with respect!” Draco said, huffing. He started to get up to get another drink, but glanced at the man sitting next to him and sat back down.
“What’s up, Greg?” Draco asked.
Gregory had not said anything for a while. He hugged his knees in his arms, his drink forgotten on the floor.
“Just... thinking about Vince,” Greg said, not looking up. “We used to bring snow in from the gardens and throw snowballs at all the portraits in Crabbe Manor.”
He twirled his straw absently in his hands.
“I remember Crabbe Manor,” Draco said quietly. “The grounds were the best. Perfect climbing trees.”
Neville had a hard time imagining Malfoy climbing trees in his posh, miniature Lucius Malfoy robes, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t exactly know what had happened to Crabbe on the night of the battle of Hogwarts. He had asked Harry once, but Harry had refused to talk about it, and he hadn’t been close enough with Malfoy to ask him.
“We used to spend Christmas holidays together,” Greg said. “Vince would bully the house elves into giving us an extra roast turkey and we’d hide in the folly with all our food and have our own feast. We were both pretty bad with warming charms, so it always got too cold after a while, but it was still fun.” He gave a hollow laugh.
Pansy slid down next to him and put a soft arm around him. Her dress slid up a few inches but she didn’t seem to care. “Let’s drink for him, okay?” she said in a gentler voice than Neville had ever heard her use, and he saw Greg nod.
“To Vincent,” Pansy said and raised her glass.
“To Vincent,” the rest of them said in chorus, Neville with them.
Draco looked like he wanted to say something. Instead, he tipped the rest of his drink into his mouth. He shuffled to his feet and disappeared to the balcony.
“Should someone go after him?” Neville said. A gust of cool air hit his face.
“He needs to be alone for a moment,” Blaise said. “Come on, Neville.”
The atmosphere had changed with Pansy and Greg now engaged in what appeared to be a deep heart-to-heart. Neville followed Blaise into the kitchen, momentarily aware of it: Pansy and Greg embracing and murmuring in the corner, Orla and Astoria kissing on the sofa, and himself and Blaise leaving the sitting room.
In the kitchen, total havoc resided. Bottles and half-empty glasses glimmered in the scant light, and the sight of a wilted mint made Neville want to cast his best restoration spells. Blaise waved his wand and light appeared in some of the candles.
“I’ll show you how I make a Felix Felicis Cocktail,” Blaise said. “Have you ever made layered drinks?”
Neville shook his head. He hadn’t made any drinks except gin and tonics with more gin than tonic. He looked around the cramped counters. Some of the bottles he recognized, but some were unlabelled like the small dark green one with a ruby red stopper.
“Draco gifts me with his special brews sometimes,” Blaise said, watching Neville’s gaze. “Don’t worry, the drink won’t contain any of the real potion. It’s just called that because it tastes good to anyone who drinks it.”
He took out some fresh glasses and found space somewhere among the sea of bottles. He sent some glasses flying to the sink, and liquid sloshed onto the floor.
“One measure of this,” Blaise said. His hand brushed Neville’s as he passed the bottle.
Neville complied, trying to keep his hands level as he poured the substance into the glasses Blaise had set out.
“Don’t put any alcohol in Pansy’s drink,” Blaise said. His voice was a low whisper beside Neville’s neck, and Neville shivered at the hotness of his breath.
“Is this right?”
“Yes, very good,” Blaise said.
It was their shared language again, but this time there was no one in the room to communicate secretly in front of. Neville leaned back and felt Blaise’s chin on his shoulder. He forgot what he was doing with the cocktail, becoming instead aware with his whole being of the muscles pressing into his back. For a second Neville saw them from the outside; there was something absurd about two people being so familiar despite never talking in school.
“I can help clean up,” Neville said in a single, short breath. “Tomorrow, or whenever people leave. I don’t have anything else to do.”
“I’d like that.”
Neville turned around and passed Blaise a drink. They clinked their glasses together and took a sip.
“Good?”
“Mnn-hm,”
The drink was divine. It wrapped his tongue in a silky mint chocolate flavour and a splash of oak. Although it was good, Neville wanted to taste something else. He put his drink down and saw Blaise do the same.
By some unspoken understanding, they collided in the middle of the kitchen. Blaise’s lips claimed his and kissed him hungrily and Neville pushed Blaise against a cupboard in some mad attempt to bring their bodies even closer.
Neville had no idea if thirty minutes or three hours passed. When they pulled apart, Astoria and Orla had left and the rest of the guests stood in the hallway. Gregory was trying to coax Pansy into putting her coat on.
“There’s space on the sofas if anyone wants to stay,” Blaise said. But he didn’t move from the kitchen.
“Nah, I’m helping Pansy get home,” Greg said.
Draco took one look between Blaise and Neville and said, “the bed calls me tonight, lads,” in a very odd tone.
“Bye Neville. Bye Blaise,” Greg said from the door. He had never been the subtle type.
Neville heard the door click behind them and fixed his eyes to a corner of the kitchen counter. He suddenly became very interested in looking at the labels of the bottles, and the way the liquid glittered in the bottom of the glasses. Blaise shifted next to him; the presence of his body made Neville’s skin tingle. He was sure Blaise could hear the beating of his heart.
Neville saw from the corner of his eye how Blaise’s fingers trailed the edge of the counter beside him. The candlelight reflected from his skin, making it appear smooth and inviting. Blaise caught his gaze before he could look away and locked their eyes. His eyes were warm and dark, and there was something else in them that Neville could quite not pin down, but which made him feel itchy and hot. Suddenly he could not bear it any longer. He brought his hands behind Blaise’s neck again and pulled his lips to his own.
***
“Where are you going, Longbottom?”
So, they were back to surnames. It was the first thought that came to Neville’s mind when Blaise spoke, although now that Neville was sober, he wasn’t that sure whether Blaise ever did call him by his given name.
“I didn’t realize you were awake. I was about to go home,” he said, sitting fully up on edge of the bed. Daylight emanated from the window, turning the bedroom into a mosaic of gold and shadow. “I can come back later to help clean up.”
His eyes scanned the room for his clothes. He wondered when he had discarded them. The memories from last night were fuzzy, but he could recall splashed whiskey, tumbled sheets and lots and lots of kissing. He gathered from the fact that he was still wearing boxers that they probably didn’t do any more than that, and Neville didn’t know if that made him disappointed or relieved.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Blaise said.
Neville felt the brush of a hand on his arm that was gone almost as soon as it had touched him. He looked at the bed, where the hand lay next to him as if quietly saying “you can touch me, but I won’t force it”. He glanced once at the door, which was familiar and safe, and back at the hand, which promised something new and possibly explosive. He turned back to lie on the bed.
He stared into Blaise’s dark eyes and swallowed.
It had been one thing to do this after countless shots and cocktails, but was he really going to fool around with someone sober so soon after his Gran had passed and when the memory of Hannah was still fresh in his mind?
His eyes flickered from the vein pulsating on Blaise’s neck to the curve of his lips, and in that moment he knew with certainty that he wanted to kiss him. Blaise was a step ahead of him and cast breath-refreshment charms and cleaning charms on them both.
“Thanks,” Neville stuttered.
Blaise turned back to him, still not doing anything to initiate action. Neville brought a shy hand to Blaise’s arm and let his fingers trail upon his skin. He heard the man’s breath hitch when he started drawing circles on his lower back. This was the encouragement Neville had needed, and he leaned forward to kiss him.
There was some familiarity to the kiss, a vague continuation of the previous night, but Neville could also feel a jolt of new excitement at the way Blaise’s arm gripped his and pulled him closer. He deepened the kiss and Blaise responded with ferocity, squeezing his arse in a way that went straight to Neville’s groin.
Neville almost elbowed Blaise when they untangled for air, and they shared a breathless laugh.
“Do you want to have sex?” Blaise said.
Neville was no virgin, but he felt himself blush. To come out and say it so confidently and without the pretence of alcohol was new to him. And... although he had, of course, spent his fair share of time thinking about it, he wasn’t entirely sure what sex with a man would entail.
“Hands?” Blaise said, and Neville nodded, thankful for the specifications and an option he knew he was comfortable with.
Their bodies melted back into each other, becoming a rhythmic dance of hands, lips, and skin. There was clumsiness and newness to their movement, but it was overpowered by an urgency, unlike anything Neville had recently experienced. He kissed Blaise’s neck in an almost possessive urge and was thrilled to hear a low rumble of pleasure from him when his teeth brushed a spot under his ear.
“I’m going to take my pants off,” Blaise said in a breathless tone, and his lips were back on Neville’s immediately after. Neville’s cock throbbed in his boxers, reaching a point of being unbearable.
Luna had been silver-soft, like a mystical elf. It had only been a handful of times, but Neville remembered how being with her had felt like unlocking some ancient wisdom.
Hannah had been warm, supple and earthy. She had been familiar like a part of him that had been searching for all his life, yet round and fertile like a goddess. She had awakened new tender parts in Neville, ones that had made him want to protect, love and cherish.
Neville’s cock sprang out from his boxers, and for a second he watched them, the two cocks hard between their bodies, almost touching each other but not quite. He didn’t know what Blaise would be yet. Neville remembered thinking that Blaise Zabini was the best-looking boy in his year long before any realizations about his confusing and ambivalent sexuality had hit him.
He could feel Blaise’s eyes on his face, and determined to quench the emerging self-consciousness he brought his hand to Blaise’s hip and pulled their bodies together.
When his bare cock came into contact with Blaise’s body, any remaining bit of reason left him. His existence became a quest about touching, feeling, and wanting. He wanted to touch every bit of Blaise’s body. He wanted to be relieved of the aching desire that was turning him stupid.
When Blaise’s hand finally found Neville’s cock, his touch was tantalizingly slow. Neville bucked his hips in frustration and Blaise laughed at his squirming; a deep, warm chuckle that only added to Neville’s desire. He began to pump his cock in increasing speed, each motion bringing Neville closer to the brink.
One finally did, and Neville’s whole body tensed as weeks’ worth of tension erupted from his cock and spilled over Blaise’s hand. He wanted to sink into the mattress, but brought an arm around Blaise’s neck instead. The man wore a satisfied smile on his face, but Neville was also aware of the erection pressing against his thigh.
He started kissing Blaise again, pushing him onto his back. He left little bites and kisses along Blaise’s chest and stomach, and took the hard length of his cock in his hand. It was unfamiliar in his hand, and Neville trailed his fingers over the foreskin and the web of veins, and started moving his hand experimentally.
Soon enough he settled into a rhythm, taking cues from Blaise’s reactions. His mouth was inches from Blaise’s cock. He looked up and his eyes met ones heated from pleasure.
“Can I...?”
Blaise nodded, and Neville lowered his mouth to his cock. It was so new to him that he had to tear his eyes away from the Blaise’s face to focus on what he was doing. It was difficult at first not to gag when the cock hit his throat. But the gasps coming from Blaise every time he dipped his head down were enough of a reward to almost make him hard again.
“Faster,” Blaise said.
Neville complied, bringing his hand to the base of it to work the parts that didn’t fit his mouth. Within moments his mouth was flooded with the bitter taste of cum. Half spitting, half swallowing the liquid, Neville crawled back up to where his pillow was.
He fell to his back, feeling spent and satisfied. Blaise cast a quick Refreshment Charm on them both before pulling the rumpled blanket around them.
“Thanks. That was...” Neville said, voice fading off. Amazing, his mind finished. Just what he had needed. What had just transpired also stirred up several questions about himself that he had been putting off thinking, but those thoughts would have to be examined later.
***
Neville had almost fallen asleep again when he heard a tapping sound that woke him up. He cracked his eyes open and recognized the large barn owl flapping its wings outside the window to be Hannah’s. For a fraction of a second, he was confused about his location.
“It’s for me,” he said. The man beside him gave a small groan when he got up. Neville missed the warmth when he hurried across the freezing room. He returned with a tiny letter in his hand.
Dear Neville,
I heard about your Gran. I’m so sorry for not being there for you when you may have needed support, but I wish you would have told me.
See you soon, okay? Hold in there.
Happy Christmas xx
Love,
Your friend Hannah
“What was that?” Blaise asked, his voice muffled against Neville’s skin.
“Just a Christmas well-wish from a friend,” Neville said, folding the letter and letting it drop to the floor. Warmth flooded him, and for a moment he couldn’t help but smile.
“Mhhh,” Blaise’s voice said from somewhere among the pillows and blanket.
“I didn’t think I’d hear from her,” Neville said. He was unsure if Blaise was listening or even cared, but it felt important to talk about it. “We were... close. Anyway, I’m glad that everything’s ok with us.” Neville’s voice faded off, the warmth of the man pressing against him starting to lull him to sleep again. An arm snaked around him, squeezing his waist.
Neville thought he would feel more confused after everything that had happened, but he didn’t have the energy to let the rational part of his brain over-analyse things right now.
When he woke up a second time the sun had shifted. He knew that Blaise was awake behind him from the fingers that trailed along his spine.
“I have to go have Christmas lunch with my mother in half an hour,” Blaise said.
“Right...” Neville said. “I’ll get up and get ready to leave, then.”
Neville started to scavenge the floor for clothes, thoughts racing in his mind. Perhaps Blaise was just hoping for him to leave now that they were done. The way he had kissed Neville’s neck as he had cuddled him spoke differently, but Neville wasn’t sure. He was just figuring out the words to ask him without being too awkward when Blaise spoke again.
“We’re going to go see the Christmas fair in Hogsmeade with the others this evening, and then pints in Three Broomsticks,” Blaise said. “If you’re not busy, feel free to join.”
Blaise’s voice sounded impassive and almost bored, but something about the way he held himself so tensely and how distracted he seemed rustling about his wardrobe made Neville relax.
“I think I will, thanks,” Neville said with a little smile. “Floo me when you’re about to leave, okay? Draco should have my coordinates.”
Blaise gave him a nod. He grabbed a pair of trousers from the wardrobe and pulled them on. “Normally I’d offer to make coffee...”
“Don’t worry about it,” Neville said. He stood in the doorway fully clothed, giving one last look around the room.
“Do you need the Floo?”
“No, I think I’ll walk for a bit,” Neville said. “Catch the sun while it’s still out.”
When he stepped out of the door onto the unfamiliar streets, the light had moved to this side of the house. It hadn’t snowed, but the frost glistened in the sunlight. The air felt fresh and cold.
Maybe he would go grab a coffee, and then go light a candle on his grandmother’s grave before visiting his parents at St. Mungo’s. He wouldn’t go home or back to his stuffy office, not today. His paper could wait over Christmas. The plants could survive one day without him.
Neville drew a lungful of air and let it out slowly. He watched the sun paint the roofs of the houses a golden white. For the first time in three weeks, Neville thought that maybe things were going to be okay.