Fic: Hiding in Plain Sight (Neville/Draco) - part 2/2
Author: mayfly_78
Title: Hiding In Plain Sight
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Neville/Draco
Summary: Can a love remain hidden? Do the interfering women of the family always know best?
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, meddling mothers, angst, and then some angst
Word Count: 14.400
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. All characters engaging in sexual activity are 16 years or older.
Author's Notes: Written for paddynmoon for 2010's hp_yule_balls exchange. Lots and lots of hugs and heartfelt thanks must go to my most patient and marvellous beta raisinous_fiend, for not only correcting my atrocious grammar, but for also being full of brilliant ideas and much needed pointers.
part 1
iii. taking the heat
A hex whizzes over Draco’s head as he ducks and rolls. He shoots out an answering one of his own before he has even gained his feet again, but Weasley was expecting it, and deflects easily with a shield charm. Draco throws him another hex almost before the shield drops again, and is pleased to see it graze Weasley’s shoulder. Weasley’s arm starts swelling as he attacks Draco with a rapid succession of hexes. Draco bends and throws up shield charms almost without a thought; he is about to raise his wand to shout off a new hex when the instructor ends the mock duel with a sharply shouted, "Enough!"
"Very good," he tells them, motioning the next pair to take their turn.
Draco turns round and gives Weasley a feral grin as the redhead waves his wand over his hurt arm to end the swelling.
"Not half bad for a ferret," Weasley tells him approvingly.
"Why thank you, your Weasel highness," he answers with a small mocking bow.
After the small exchange of pleasantries, they both turn their attention towards the currently duelling duo. Potter is easily running circles around Partridge. "Potter, stop toying with him and finish him off," the instructor yells, exasperated.
Potter is by far the best duellist of their year. Draco still sports an angry red burn from the last time he had to duel him. At the time, it was all he could do to keep Neville from going up to Potter and demanding satisfaction when he saw it. Draco indulges in a small private smile at the memory.
Soon enough, the class ends, and the unlikely trio head to the changing rooms to get out of their sweaty training robes. It never ceases to amaze Draco how all it took was Neville’s steadfast endorsement, and almost a year of being painfully nice (he is never repeating that!) for Neville’s friends to accept him. Potter and Weasley, in particular, have taken to viewing him as some sort of repentant morally disabled youth, and took him under their wings. Draco pretends to be annoyed, but truth be told, all he always wanted was Potter’s acceptance; and as it turns out, Weasley isn’t too bad after all.
Once in the changing rooms, Weasley quickly strips off his robe, nearly blinding Draco with his broad expanse of criminally freckled back. Next to him, Potter is undressing more demurely, almost shyly. Draco undresses ostentatiously, making sure Potter gets a good look of the burn mark on his side before he slips on a clean robe. Draco never fails to be amused at how easy it is to make Potter feel guilty.
"What is this I hear?" Weasley asks as he laces up his shoes. "The papers say you’ve got yourself a girlfriend. Blimey, you must be important if the papers report on your sorry love life!"
"It was only in the gossip pages," Draco answers. "Potter here got first page coverage when he made up with your sister."
"Oh shut up!" Potter admonishes him with a slight blush. "They say you plan on marrying her," he adds curiously.
Potter has long suspected that Draco may in fact be gay. Draco refuses to give him the satisfaction of an answer.
"If you actually found a bird who will put up with your pasty arse, you shouldn’t let her go. That’s what I say," is Weasley’s opinion.
Draco looks down his nose at them. It is not an easy feat, considering Weasley is more than half a head taller.
"Just because the two of you are dead set on walking down the aisle and wasting no time in filling the world with your spawn, it doesn’t mean that the rest of us are in a hurry to follow your lead," he retorts.
Weasley scowls, and Potter blushes in response. It is no secret that Weasley has proposed to Granger three times so far, and each time she told him that it was too early, and they should wait a bit longer. Nor is it a particularly well kept secret that Potter has taken to carrying around a diamond ring, in the hope that he will eventually acquire the courage to ask his ginger girlfriend to be his wife.
"And since you are so curious about my affairs, Asteria is not my girlfriend, and I am not going to marry her. I am not planning on marrying anyone in the foreseeable future."
Draco doesn’t know why he feels the need to clarify things. He usually likes to keep the knowledge of his private affairs as murky as possible. But somehow he has the notion that he owes it to Neville, especially since the other man seems so jealous of little Asteria.
Neville’s jealousy amuses and gratifies Draco. How could someone like Neville be jealous? Why would someone like Neville be jealous over Draco? Neville should know by now that no one else could possibly compare to him. How could Draco even consider looking at someone else when he has Neville? Neville who said he loved him.
Even thinking about Neville’s simple, almost diffident, proclamations makes Draco’s heart expand in his chest painfully and his breath catch. He hardly dares hope that something like that could be true, but if Neville says so, it must be. Neville never lies, except when Draco asks him to.
Draco knows that Neville doesn’t like lying about their relationship, but there is no way around it. How can Draco ever tell his father that he is gay? Or his mother? His mother, who has her heart set on grandchildren, and seeing her son married and happily settled. Doesn’t Neville realise that after all his parents have lost, he can’t take this from them as well?
But where does that leave Draco? Will he have to get married eventually? And if so, why not to Asteria? She is a very sweet girl, funny and easy to get along with, once you surpass her initial shyness. She would make a very pleasant and accommodating wife. Draco shies away from the thought. How can he possibly give Neville up and spend the rest of his life with a woman?
The neverending litany of circular and conflicting thoughts start to make Draco’s head pound as he morosely follows his classmates to the pub. He proceeds to try and drink his confusion and rising panic away, even though it is still only lunchtime.
~ o ~
Narcissa pensively stirs a dash of lemon into her second cup of tea of the morning. Outside it is steadily getting brighter, a rare December morning that isn't completely overcast.
The time is steadily getting later, perilously close to midday, and Narcissa has long finished her breakfast. She has read the Daily Prophet from cover to cover, and yet she is still at the breakfast table, waiting. Lying in wait, actually. She would haughtily refute anyone who dared mention that was what she was in fact doing, but the undeniable truth is that, this Sunday morning, she is laying in wait for her son, who has yet to return home.
Narcissa is not worried about her son's whereabouts; she knows exactly where he spent the night, and where he obviously still is, and she can think of no safer place for him to spend his time. She has long pretended to be unaware of all the times her son neglects to return home for the night - but truly, how could Draco believe her to be ignorant of anything that goes on in her household?
This morning, however, she wants to catch him out. She hopes that forcing a confrontation might extract the confession she's seeking, because subtle machinations have so far failed to bear fruit.
Despite all her foisting of Asteria Greengrass on him, her manipulation of the press, and her constant nudges and hints, Draco has yet to crack. He is showing strain, in the lines of worry and frustration that have appeared on his high forehead, and in his ineffectual outrage at Rita Skeeter's writings - he even composed and sent a cutting letter of complaint to the Prophet in one of his fits of pique, but little was he to know that it was no match for Narcissa's well placed bribes and promises; but he has yet to crack.
Narcissa is beginning to worry at her son's restraint; it is most unlike him to be so stoic. She counted on him giving in at the first sign of adversity and loudly proclaiming his opposition to Narcissa's obvious matrimonial plans for him.
Draco was never one to suffer in silence, nor was he one to willingly forsake something that made him happy. Narcissa is starting to suspect that she might have over-estimated her son's feelings for his lover. It would be a shame if she had, because she believes Neville Longbottom to be good for Draco. But, on the other hand, if it is so, then maybe she needn't give up her dream of grandchildren after all. In any case, things have to be resolved soon.
Narcissa's tea is almost cold enough to be undrinkable, and she has wasted the whole morning waiting, when Draco finally returns. She hears the whoosh of the Floo in the reception room, and Draco's cautious steps as he tries to sneak to his rooms.
Soon enough, she spies his rumpled figure creeping past the wide open doors of the oriental sitting room she purposely chose to breakfast in.
"Good morning, Draco," she says sharply, startling him.
Draco jumps and turns to give her a sheepish look. "Mother, what are you doing here?" he asks.
"Having a late breakfast, and wondering where my errant son could be," she answers haughtily, feeling annoyed at having been kept waiting for so long.
"Hmm..." Draco studies his feet as two bright pink spots appear high on his cheekbones.
"If I remember correctly, you took Asteria out to dinner yesterday evening. Have you been with her until this time?" Narcissa demands with narrowed eyes.
She doesn't for a minute believe he has, but playing stupid has served her well on many occasions.
Draco's eyes widen in shock. "No, of course not!" he exclaims. "You know I don't think of Asteria like that!"
Narcissa raises a questioning eyebrow, demanding a more satisfactory answer.
"I was out with friends," Draco mumbles. "We lost track of time, had a little bit too much to drink, and I ended up spending the night at a friend's house."
"And would that friend be, by any chance, Neville Longbottom?" Narcissa asks pointedly.
"Yes," is the defensive reply.
Narcissa hums in response, managing to infuse even that with suspicion and a wealth of innuendo.
Draco doesn't rise to the bait; he simply stares at her mulishly.
Such a difficult boy, Narcissa thinks before changing tack.
"I don't see what you find lacking in Asteria Greengrass," she says airily. "She's a charming young lady with a beautiful temperament. Quite perfect, really. I think you're just being picky and contrary."
Narcissa raises an eyebrow, daring him to refute her.
Draco's expression clearly betrays his disagreement, but still he says nothing.
Damn the boy! Sometimes he is just as stubborn as his father, Narcissa thinks. Obviously subtlety and finesse will not do the job. Narcissa doesn't like being obvious and crass, but if she has to, she will.
"Draco dear," she says slowly, "I know you believe you're still young, but it really is time you considered matrimony.
"Becoming an Auror, and befriending two such illustrious heroes has done wonders towards reforming your image - and that of the family - in the eyes of the world, and is making them overlook the mistakes of your poor father and your own difficult youth.
"If you were to marry, or at least show the intention of doing so, it would prove once and for all that you have become a serious, upstanding young man who will become a conscientious and productive member of the wizarding community."
Draco's eyes are bulging, filled with disbelief and desperation, and his face is chalk white; yet he still stays silent.
Narcissa has no choice but to ruthlessly continue.
"I believe Asteria would make an ideal mate for you. You could have a long engagement, and I'm sure you'll learn to love her. That is, unless you have a previous attachment you neglected to mention. Have you, darling?" Narcissa looks at Draco pointedly, her gaze laden with meaning.
And still Draco says nothing. His face grey, he chokes out a "no" and flees the room.
Narcissa sits back, most disappointed in her son. She knows she hasn't made things easy for him, but she believes that if one truly wants something, it is worth fighting for it. Overcoming adversity will only make his bond with Neville stronger. Otherwise... Well, if he doesn't fight for it, then he doesn't want it enough, and he definitely doesn't deserve it. Either way, Narcissa plans on coming out victorious.
~ o ~
Outside, a light snow is falling as the sky gradually turns dark and evening comes. Inside his greenhouse, Neville seems oblivious to all of this. Floating lamps illuminate every cranny of the lush space, throwing into bright relief every leafy plant and every gaily coloured flower. It is so hot and humid inside, the windows are foggy, and Neville is wearing a simple cardigan over his shirt.
The whimsical wind-chime hanging above the door of the large greenhouse - a present from Luna Lovegood - chirrups and gurgles and whistles as the aforementioned young lady enters, but Neville is so engrossed in pruning his Avaricious Orchid he doesn’t even notice.
Humming to herself, Luna makes her way through the densely populated greenhouse, petting and murmuring greetings and encouragement to the plants she passes.
At the back of the greenhouse, tucked into the very corner, is Neville’s office. It’s a cramped space, with a rickety set of shelves overbrimming with folders and gardening manuals, a large old desk, with a teapot and some mugs on it, and three mismatched chairs.
Luna places her package on the table, takes off her heavy coat, and unwinds her long multicoloured scarf to reveal a bright pink nose and cheeks to match. She fills the teapot with water she quickly sets to boiling with a murmured spell, and starts hunting through the drawers of the desk for the teabags. She eventually locates them under a box of seeds and pops two into the water.
Satisfied, she walks over to the still oblivious Neville, bends over and kisses his cheek in greeting.
"Luna!" Neville exclaims, startled. "When did you get here?"
"Not long ago," Luna answers airily. "Come on, let’s have some tea. It should be ready by now."
*
Neville always enjoys Luna’s weekly visits for tea and scones. She remains one of his oldest and dearest friends, and the only one who has always supported him unconditionally, no matter what. Today she has brought persimmon scones, which go surprisingly well with the strong tea Neville favours.
Luna looks around the greenhouse with her usual wide eyed gaze of pleasure and wonder.
"I’m so glad you decided to make this greenhouse," she tells him. "It’s one of my favourite places, it’s so friendly and joyous and crowded. And it makes you happy."
Neville blushes slightly, even though she says almost the same thing every time she comes.
"Yes, it does make me happy," he agrees. "Now, if I could just find a way to earn a proper living from it."
Luna waves his worries away, like she always does, uninterested in negative thoughts.
"It’s good you have this right now," she says, "since you don’t look like your Draco is making you very happy at the moment."
Neville looks around anxiously as he tries to shush her.
"Luna," he whispers uneasily, "you’re not supposed to talk about that!"
"Oh, Neville!" Luna’s laugh is light and tinkling. "The plants don’t care about you and Draco. They told me they rather approve. Only the Fearful Fern says she would rather you indulged in your strange human coupling on the other side of the greenhouse. It makes her nervous, you see."
Neville blushes and glances at the fern suspiciously.
Luna catches his nervous glance and laughs, entertained, before turning earnest once more. "I wouldn’t be talking about it, you know, if it wasn’t so obvious you need to talk about it."
Neville deflates and slumps back into his chair. Luna is right, as she always is. She reads him far too well. It is no wonder she is the only person who knows about Neville and Draco. She sensed it almost immediately, without Neville having said anything.
Needless to say, he made her swear not to tell anyone, least of all Draco. Luna has kept her promise, but refuses to understand the point of it. "Anyone can see that the two of you are in love. It’s really rather silly of you to pretend to hide it," she often tells Neville, but he’s relatively certain that she’s the only one who has figured it out so far. He and Draco are too careful.
Neville sighs and looks at Luna dolefully, not sure where to even begin.
"You’re fretting over Asteria Greengrass, aren’t you?" she asks insightfully.
Neville nods morosely, feeling like a sulky child.
"Silly boy," Luna tells him, obviously reading his thoughts. "I’m sure Draco enjoys Asteria’s company - she’s a lovely girl, and she has a wonderful reading voice - and he has been seeing a lot of her, but it’s you he loves, you know that. You’re really just getting all worked up over nothing."
When Neville still looks grumpy and unconvinced, Luna wrinkles her brow in a show of slight frustration. "Is Draco jealous over your friendship with me? Or have you seen him wearing a Delusion Bracelet?" she asks, as close to exasperated as he’s ever seen her.
"No, of course not!" Neville retorts. "Draco knows we are just friends! And, anyway, Gran isn’t trying to make me marry you."
"And you know Draco doesn’t wear jewellery," he adds as an afterthought.
Luna laughs, amused. "Your gran doesn’t think much of me. I believe she called me flighty. But I’m sure she has picked out a girl or two she’d like you to marry."
Neville blushes, remembering various conversations with his gran where she mentioned likely young ladies.
"Yeah," he is forced to concede, "but the difference is that I refuse to humour her, because I’m not planning on marrying anyone else!"
Neville flushes and looks away, the last having come out a lot louder than he had planned.
Luna sits back to nibble at the last scone with a satisfied look on her face. Neville groans; he just knows she’s going to persuade him to do something he doesn’t want to.
"Well, there you have it," Luna concludes with a smile.
"There I have what?" Neville is feeling sulky and not in the mood for Ravenclaw guessing games.
"You should tell Draco what you told me."
At Neville’s blank look, Luna is forced to continue. "Tell him you don’t want either of you going out with other people. Tell him you’re afraid he might decide to get married to someone else beside you. Tell him you want to stop pretending to hide."
Neville sputters, overwhelmed. "I never said anything about going public! I can’t tell him that!"
"It’s obvious you want to," Luna replies calmly. "And you really should tell him. You deserve to be happy, Neville."
"But what if I lose him?" Neville is embarrassed by how small and lost his voice sounds.
"You won’t," Luna reassures him, her voice so certain Neville is almost persuaded. "What happened to the brave Neville I used to know? Everything will turn out as it should, you’ll see."
Neville hums in reply, deep in thought. Luna is right, as usual. He hasn’t been very happy for the last two months, yet the thought of losing Draco paralyses him with fear.
Neville is so lost in churning conflicting thoughts, that he barely notices when Luna softly kisses him goodbye and leaves.
Does he dare ask for what he wants, even if it might mean losing his blond lover?
iv. the game is up
Augusta looks around the ostentatiously elegant sitting room as she sips the fragrant aromatic tea Narcissa favours. Surely such splendour is not truly necessary for one's comfort.
From the room’s large windows, she can see into the extensive Manor gardens. Everything is covered at present by a sheet of white. Amongst the soft snow and the white gravel paths, the albino peacocks are barely visible as they strut around self-importantly. Who ever heard of such frivolity as white peacocks! Augusta barely suppresses her snort.
Opposite her, Narcissa is looking very fetching in deep crimson as she carefully stirs a drop of lemon into her earl grey.
"Unfortunately, my plan has failed so far to provide the desired outcome," Narcissa tells Augusta mournfully. "Draco is showing distinct signs of strain and discomfort, but as of yet, he has proven admirably stubborn and steadfast in his chosen course."
Narcissa sighs with disappointment.
"It is the same with Neville," Augusta agrees. "He is obviously discontent and jealous over the current state of affairs, but he has yet to take some direct action."
Augusta is very dissatisfied with her grandson; she had never thought he'd prove to be such a pushover for a pair of pretty eyes.
"I believe we have no choice but to do something drastic," Augusta states decisively. "Something that will shake the boys up and force them to react. It is time we acted boldly and aggressively."
Narcissa nods her agreement. "I do believe you are right, Augusta. Despite giving Draco increasingly unsubtle hints, it is time I forced a confrontation. I shall present an ultimatum to him and give him no choice but to come to a decision."
Augusta frowns at Narcissa's wording. "Do you think there is a possibility Draco might decide against owning up to his attachment to Neville?"
"I'm increasingly beginning to suspect that might prove to be the case in the end," Narcissa confesses apologetically. "It will be unfortunate for poor Neville, but it will be much better for him in the long run to learn now, rather than later, that Draco's attachment wasn't quite as strong as he thought."
"Indeed," Augusta agrees. When they began their endeavour she had never considered such a resolution. It will indeed be most unfortunate for Neville, but she hopes he will quickly regroup. The Longbottoms never had much use for fickle and easily discouraged partners, after all.
"How do you plan on forcing Draco's hand?" Augusta asks.
"As you must know, in a little over a week we will be holding our customary Yule Ball at the Manor," Narcissa explains. "Thanks to Neville’s and Harry Potter's attendance, our guest list has grown to be rather impressive - I do hope you will be attending this year, my dear Augusta. It is quite the public event. I will try to force Draco to announce his engagement to Asteria Greengrass at the Ball. I am going to threaten him, that if he doesn't do it, I will do it for him."
Augusta is reluctantly impressed by Narcissa's bold proposal, even though it makes her not a little apprehensive.
"Don't you think it might be a bit too drastic?" she asks wryly. "And public?" she adds, thinking that this might be the most un-Slytherin thing the other woman has ever proposed.
"Not at all," Narcissa responds with confidence. "I'm going to give Draco the ultimatum tonight. After a few days of stewing, the possibility of such an announcement should have him quickly confessing. Draco does hate public humiliations."
"And what if he doesn't confess?" Augusta is not fully convinced, despite Narcissa's assurances.
"Then he will get engaged to Asteria," Narcissa answers implacably, "and I will see to it that he honours his engagement."
For the first time, Augusta considers that Narcissa might be playing both sides. She should have realised from the beginning that she would want to be covered for all eventualities.
A small knot of worry appears in her stomach at the suspicion that she might have been masterfully played by Narcissa Malfoy from the very start. It is too late now, the deck has been set, and she is too deep in the game to pull out. She gives Narcissa her agreement to make her final move, and hopes she hasn't over-estimated young Draco's affections for Neville or the resilience of Neville's heart.
~ o ~
The Manor's large ballroom looks resplendent with all its Yule decorations; Narcissa hasn't spared any expenses. The banquet tables groan under the weight of all the Yule delicacies piled high on them, and silver platters float around the room bearing delicate flutes of champagne and steaming mugs of mulled cider. In the corner, a string sextet is playing Yule carols and traditional Wizarding dances. Everything is perfect.
Draco stands in the doorway, eyeing the early arrivals and his mother, who flitters around them in greeting. He is dressed in one of his finest and most severe robes - green velvet with pale green embroidery, dark green velvet to suit his dark mood. He has schooled his face into a carefully bland expression to hide the frustration and turmoil that is tearing him apart. Yet his normally clear grey eyes betray him; they have turned iron grey and flat.
Not even the pleasant burn of his thigh and back muscles, nor the even more pleasant ache deep in his arse, where he can still feel the ghost of Neville's length in the steady soft throbbing, can brighten his mood. If anything, the memory of how perfect Neville is, how much Draco loves it when he transforms into an aggressive and dominating lover - as he has been doing with increasing frequency of late - makes Draco's mood darker.
Last night had been the most exhilarating one yet. Neville had been demanding, implacably in charge and relentless. He had mercilessly fucked Draco into submission and oblivion, with a force Draco had never yet experienced. But even as Draco had revelled in it, a sliver of worry had wormed its way into what had remained of his rational mind. He could not help but feel that Neville was trying to express something through the fierceness of his lovemaking.
Draco knows that Neville has been feeling discontent of late, and has long suspected he might be working himself up to a decision of some sort. Whatever it proves to be, Draco is certain he won't like it.
Draco catches his mother's eye, and the weight of his own impossible choice nearly bends him in two. His mother has demanded an engagement - and will not accept a refusal. Draco can barely tell what is worse: making the announcement himself, being the one to make the light in Neville's eyes dim and demonstrate to him conclusively that he really does live up to his family name, or hiding behind his mother's skirts and accepting the humiliation of proving to be the craven coward many still believe him to be by letting her make the announcement for him.
Whatever he chooses, it will feel like ripping his own heart out. That is why, a week now since his mother first told him what she expected from him, he refuses to come to a decision. His mind screams in horror, and his heart cries in despair every time he even thinks of the cruel choice he has been given. Because whatever he chooses, to face his fate with courage or cowardice, he will lose Neville. Neville would never agree to be the lover of an engaged man, and Draco - much as he wants nothing else - could never ask it of him.
Despite his late night musings, and his wishful dreams for a future with Neville, Draco knows it can never be so. Much as Neville is his heart, his parents are his family, and he would be nothing without them. It's easier to live without his heart than his family, or so he hopes.
Even though his heart is stuttering in his chest, and his stomach is tying itself into knots, Draco plays the part of the gracious host - with his father in Azkaban, he is the Lord of the Manor now - and greets his guests.
As the night grows older, the ballroom starts to fill. Weasley and Granger arrive, together with Potter and his girlfriend. Blaise and his mother. Theo and Pansy. More and more guests arrive, and he greets them all, barely recognising their faces anymore. That is, until Neville and his grandmother enter.
Draco's heart lodges in his throat. He barely knows how he manages to welcome them and wish them a merry Yule. Neville gives him a piercing look and a forced smile, and Draco can't help but be blinded by panic as he thinks, Neville knows! He knows, and yet he came.
Suddenly feeling faint and dizzy, Draco excuses himself. He needs to find a quiet corner to sit down and regain his equilibrium. All he needs is a small breather and a glass or two of champagne to pull himself back together again.
*
His mother finds him sitting on a chair in an empty corner, slowly sipping on his fourth glass of champagne of the night.
"There you are," she exclaims upon spotting him. "It is most unseemly for the host to hide away like this. Come, the Greengrasses have arrived. You must greet them."
Still in a daze, Draco puts down his glass and follows her.
The whole Greengrass family has arrived together. Mr and Mrs Greengrass, looking suspiciously cheerful; Daphne and her fiancé, the oldest Montague son; and Asteria, gazing at him with bright eyes and a shy smile. Draco feels the bile rise to his throat, yet he greets them all with a smile he knows is too wide and fixed to pass for genuine.
Unable to take their well-wishes and eager looks anymore, he takes his first opening to escape, and practically drags Asteria to the dance floor. She is soft and comfortable in his arms and dances beautifully.
"The ballroom looks stunning," she tells him. "It's even more beautiful than last year."
"Yes, my mother outdid herself this year," Draco agrees, tightening his grip and pulling her closer.
He inhales her pleasant scent and desperately tries to find some sort of spark or latent attraction. Asteria giggles a bit breathlessly, and Draco wishes he could only find the sound arousing.
Across the sea of dancers, Draco can see his mother gazing at him assessingly, Mr and Mrs Greengrass looking satisfied and a little bit smug, and Augusta Longbottom staring at him inscrutably.
Once more, Draco finds it hard to breathe. Thankfully, the dance comes to an end, and the dancers can all take a short break.
He's about to ask Asteria for the next dance too, anything to get away from circulating and socialising - he really doesn't think he can take any of that tonight - when a familiar deep voice breaks in.
"Good evening, Asteria. I'm really sorry to interrupt, but could I borrow Draco for a minute? I want to have a short word with him, and I promise I'll have him back to you in almost no time."
Draco turns round to face Neville and receives a sheepish smile. "You don't mind, do you, Draco?"
Draco shakes his head wordlessly, and Asteria gives her assent with a blush. Neville smiles at her thankfully and leads Draco away.
Draco feels the panic from earlier return to him once more as he lets Neville lead him through the large terrace doors out into the cold dark gardens. He hears the muted sounds of the band taking up once again, and sees the bright stars twinkling in the dark sky, all the while his heart beating a mad rhythm within his chest.
Neville casts a quick warming charm over both of them before turning to look at Draco, his gaze earnest and his face determined.
"I do realise my timing is not the best, but I have something I have to tell you, and it can't wait any longer," Neville starts ominously, and Draco feels the nausea begin to take over.
"I love you, Draco," Neville tells him fervently. "More than anything. I know you know that. And I believe you love me too."
Draco remains silent, eyes wide and unblinking, as his heart is first suffused with warmth, and then lanced by pain.
"I really thought I could do it," Neville continues. "I thought I could do anything, could put up with anything, for love and for you. But I can't. I'm so sorry, Draco, but I just can't."
Draco still doesn't utter a word. What can he say? Neville's eyes are glistening with tears, pleading with Draco, and Draco feels his heart tear in half.
"I can't do this anymore," Neville explains. "I want you more than anything, but I can't lie anymore, I can't pretend and hide anymore. I want to go out with you Draco, as your lover. I want to be the only one for you, and you the only one for me. I want to be yours, for as long as you'll have me, and I want everyone to know."
Draco bites his tongue hard, the pain grounding him as his stomach roils, and he begins to feel the ground slipping out from under him.
Neville bites back a sob. "That's what I need," he says hoarsely, "and if you can't give me that, then I'd rather not have anything at all."
Draco sways on his feet, eyes wild and hands clenched at his side. With one last long, anguished look, Neville strides away, back into the warm and cheery ballroom.
It has begun to snow again, but Draco barely notices as he falls to his knees in the cold snow. His eyes feel suspiciously damp and his vision has gone blurry as he bites his knuckles to keep himself from sobbing. Neville has just offered him everything he has ever wanted and dreamed of, he has handed him the possibility of a future he had barely even hoped for. Draco covets that future, that chance to be with Neville, more than anything. Not until now, when he is being forced to forsake it, does he realise just how desperately he wants it. How can he ever turn his back on it? How can he ever turn his back on Neville?
Draco feels his heart break into a hundred tiny shards that rip his insides apart, because he cannot give Neville what he wants, he cannot give himself what he so desperately desires. He has a family and a duty, and they must come first, for that is something he has been taught never to question. Draco feels the bitter tears fall freely as his throat closes up painfully.
*
It's in a stupor that Draco rises and cleans himself up. He feels completely numb and raw as he returns to the Ball. He dances and makes meaningless small-talk, he sips champagne, and greets yet more guests.
"Brilliant party this," Weasley tells him when he finds himself standing next to him.
"Yes, Draco, thank you for inviting us," Granger adds.
Draco turns to give the couple a stiff smile and an even stiffer bow. He can't help but notice how close together they stand, how they lean towards each other. How obvious it is to all that they are a couple and are in love.
Draco feels the crippling pain grip his stunted heart once more, and he has to get away as fast as he can.
He mumbles his excuses and stumbles, blind, through the chattering crowd. He almost trips, but feels a firm grip on his arm keeping him from falling, and sees Potter's smiling face greet him.
"Hey there, Malfoy," Potter says cheerfully. "How's it going?"
Potter is holding a rosy cheeked and laughing Ginny Weasley by the hand. The redhead grins at Draco and pulls her hapless boyfriend towards the dance floor. Draco stares at them, feeling once more dizzy and lost, so lost and confused. He feels like nothing makes sense anymore. There's no up and down anymore. There's only duty and… duty and... What was the other one?
"Draco," says a soft and cherished voice. "Draco?"
It's his mother. She clasps his wrist.
"Draco," she repeats once more.
Her eyes are soft and tender, and strangely sad.
"It's time," she says. "It's time for the announcement. Will you make it, or shall I?"
Draco's head spins, and the panic he has barely contained this last week rises to choke him. …and love, he thinks. That's the other one. Now that I've found it, how can I live without it? But Draco has been given no choice, no future; for him there is no winning, only losing. Fear and hysteria grip him, and there is no longer any time for delay and dissembling. He must act.
"I will do it, Mother," he rasps, and she squeezes his wrist and offers him an encouraging smile before letting go.
This is it, Draco thinks as he walks towards the band. The rest of my life begins now. But what will it be? The weight of the impossible choice he's been given threatens to crush him once more.
He motions the band to silence them and turns to face the full room.
"I have an announcement to make," he says. His voice is loud, but the quiver is obvious.
Eyes wild, insides gripped by panic and nausea, he looks over the crowd. He can see Blaise and Pansy looking perplexed, but giving him an encouraging thumbs up, always on his side; Andromeda, who once chose love over duty, smiling; Granger and Weasley sharing an eerily similar expression of curiosity, the image of a couple meant for each other; Potter with his arm around Ginny, cheeks still red, mouths still smiling, another picture perfect image of love; Mr and Mrs Greengrass standing expectantly, and next to them Asteria biting her lip, eyes bright, making his heart scream out in wrongness; Augusta Longbottom holding herself with an inexplicable air of disappointment; his mother, eyes unaccountably apologetic. His mother, who loves him no matter what. No matter what? That’s what she has always promised him; the only thing he has never ever doubted. That thought grips hold of his mind, and gives him hope.
In the end, he can no longer avoid it, and his eyes wander where they least want to, where they have yearned to from the beginning. Neville stands by himself, a little apart from the others. His shoulders squared, as if ready for a blow, his feet slightly apart, his stance tall and proud, his eyes red-rimmed, and yet his gaze unflinching and intense, and demanding, so demanding.
Draco wants to tear his gaze away, look anywhere but into those deep brown eyes that strip him bare, and leave him nowhere to hide, no chance to lie. Draco wants to look away, but there's no use, because wherever Draco looks, all he can ever see is Neville. How could I ever choose to live without him? he thinks.
For a long, interminable moment, he stands there, mind teetering on the cusp of his possible futures, afraid and paralysed.
"I have an announcement," he repeats to the murmuring and questioning room. He spares a brief glance for his mother.
"I'm sorry, Mother," he says. "I'd give you anything I could, you must believe me, but I can't get married." Gasps and surprised whispering fill the room.
"I can't marry a pure-blood witch, like you want," Draco repeats, voice louder, Neville's steady gaze lending him courage. "I can't, because I'm in love."
Draco takes a step into the now empty dance floor.
"I'm madly, passionately, irrevocably in love. And I want to spend the rest of my life trying to make him happy, if he'll let me." Neville’s hot gaze is burning Draco up, but Draco can't stop looking at him, and now that he's started, he can't stop talking.
"I don't want anyone else. I just want him. I'm yours, Neville, for as long as you'll have me, and for longer still."
Violent whispers erupt as the room explodes into noise. Draco never lets his gaze waver from Neville's face and his scorching eyes. Completely oblivious to all else but Draco, Neville strides purposefully across the dance floor and sweeps Draco into his arms, crushing their mouths together.
Draco has never felt more prepared to be swept off his feet or ravished, and he blissfully melts into Neville's embrace as his knees go weak. Neville's kiss is at once possessive and grateful, but all Draco's mind can do is chant, Yes, yes, yes.
There never was another choice, there never was anything else but this for Draco. There never was another future for him, but this one with Neville.
Draco risks opening his eyes to glance at his mother. She is wiping the tears from her eyes with a lace handkerchief, and when she catches his eye, she gives him a watery smile and a wink.
Draco closes his eyes and loses himself in Neville's kiss once more, relief flooding him. Maybe he can have both his love and his family. Maybe his future is brighter than he ever dreamed it could be.
Feeling like he can’t contain the happiness and hope that wells up inside him, Draco breaks the kiss to whisper in his love’s ear. "I love you, you know, you great lummox."
Neville pulls him even closer, and chuckles happily. "Well you would, wouldn’t you?" he answers dryly.
And suddenly they are both laughing together, and all is well. Now that everyone knows, Draco no longer feels afraid. In Neville’s arms, he feels complete and ready to take on the world. The future doesn’t scare him anymore; together with Neville, it can be nothing less than glorious.
Fin
Title: Hiding In Plain Sight
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Neville/Draco
Summary: Can a love remain hidden? Do the interfering women of the family always know best?
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, meddling mothers, angst, and then some angst
Word Count: 14.400
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. All characters engaging in sexual activity are 16 years or older.
Author's Notes: Written for paddynmoon for 2010's hp_yule_balls exchange. Lots and lots of hugs and heartfelt thanks must go to my most patient and marvellous beta raisinous_fiend, for not only correcting my atrocious grammar, but for also being full of brilliant ideas and much needed pointers.
part 1
iii. taking the heat
A hex whizzes over Draco’s head as he ducks and rolls. He shoots out an answering one of his own before he has even gained his feet again, but Weasley was expecting it, and deflects easily with a shield charm. Draco throws him another hex almost before the shield drops again, and is pleased to see it graze Weasley’s shoulder. Weasley’s arm starts swelling as he attacks Draco with a rapid succession of hexes. Draco bends and throws up shield charms almost without a thought; he is about to raise his wand to shout off a new hex when the instructor ends the mock duel with a sharply shouted, "Enough!"
"Very good," he tells them, motioning the next pair to take their turn.
Draco turns round and gives Weasley a feral grin as the redhead waves his wand over his hurt arm to end the swelling.
"Not half bad for a ferret," Weasley tells him approvingly.
"Why thank you, your Weasel highness," he answers with a small mocking bow.
After the small exchange of pleasantries, they both turn their attention towards the currently duelling duo. Potter is easily running circles around Partridge. "Potter, stop toying with him and finish him off," the instructor yells, exasperated.
Potter is by far the best duellist of their year. Draco still sports an angry red burn from the last time he had to duel him. At the time, it was all he could do to keep Neville from going up to Potter and demanding satisfaction when he saw it. Draco indulges in a small private smile at the memory.
Soon enough, the class ends, and the unlikely trio head to the changing rooms to get out of their sweaty training robes. It never ceases to amaze Draco how all it took was Neville’s steadfast endorsement, and almost a year of being painfully nice (he is never repeating that!) for Neville’s friends to accept him. Potter and Weasley, in particular, have taken to viewing him as some sort of repentant morally disabled youth, and took him under their wings. Draco pretends to be annoyed, but truth be told, all he always wanted was Potter’s acceptance; and as it turns out, Weasley isn’t too bad after all.
Once in the changing rooms, Weasley quickly strips off his robe, nearly blinding Draco with his broad expanse of criminally freckled back. Next to him, Potter is undressing more demurely, almost shyly. Draco undresses ostentatiously, making sure Potter gets a good look of the burn mark on his side before he slips on a clean robe. Draco never fails to be amused at how easy it is to make Potter feel guilty.
"What is this I hear?" Weasley asks as he laces up his shoes. "The papers say you’ve got yourself a girlfriend. Blimey, you must be important if the papers report on your sorry love life!"
"It was only in the gossip pages," Draco answers. "Potter here got first page coverage when he made up with your sister."
"Oh shut up!" Potter admonishes him with a slight blush. "They say you plan on marrying her," he adds curiously.
Potter has long suspected that Draco may in fact be gay. Draco refuses to give him the satisfaction of an answer.
"If you actually found a bird who will put up with your pasty arse, you shouldn’t let her go. That’s what I say," is Weasley’s opinion.
Draco looks down his nose at them. It is not an easy feat, considering Weasley is more than half a head taller.
"Just because the two of you are dead set on walking down the aisle and wasting no time in filling the world with your spawn, it doesn’t mean that the rest of us are in a hurry to follow your lead," he retorts.
Weasley scowls, and Potter blushes in response. It is no secret that Weasley has proposed to Granger three times so far, and each time she told him that it was too early, and they should wait a bit longer. Nor is it a particularly well kept secret that Potter has taken to carrying around a diamond ring, in the hope that he will eventually acquire the courage to ask his ginger girlfriend to be his wife.
"And since you are so curious about my affairs, Asteria is not my girlfriend, and I am not going to marry her. I am not planning on marrying anyone in the foreseeable future."
Draco doesn’t know why he feels the need to clarify things. He usually likes to keep the knowledge of his private affairs as murky as possible. But somehow he has the notion that he owes it to Neville, especially since the other man seems so jealous of little Asteria.
Neville’s jealousy amuses and gratifies Draco. How could someone like Neville be jealous? Why would someone like Neville be jealous over Draco? Neville should know by now that no one else could possibly compare to him. How could Draco even consider looking at someone else when he has Neville? Neville who said he loved him.
Even thinking about Neville’s simple, almost diffident, proclamations makes Draco’s heart expand in his chest painfully and his breath catch. He hardly dares hope that something like that could be true, but if Neville says so, it must be. Neville never lies, except when Draco asks him to.
Draco knows that Neville doesn’t like lying about their relationship, but there is no way around it. How can Draco ever tell his father that he is gay? Or his mother? His mother, who has her heart set on grandchildren, and seeing her son married and happily settled. Doesn’t Neville realise that after all his parents have lost, he can’t take this from them as well?
But where does that leave Draco? Will he have to get married eventually? And if so, why not to Asteria? She is a very sweet girl, funny and easy to get along with, once you surpass her initial shyness. She would make a very pleasant and accommodating wife. Draco shies away from the thought. How can he possibly give Neville up and spend the rest of his life with a woman?
The neverending litany of circular and conflicting thoughts start to make Draco’s head pound as he morosely follows his classmates to the pub. He proceeds to try and drink his confusion and rising panic away, even though it is still only lunchtime.
~ o ~
Narcissa pensively stirs a dash of lemon into her second cup of tea of the morning. Outside it is steadily getting brighter, a rare December morning that isn't completely overcast.
The time is steadily getting later, perilously close to midday, and Narcissa has long finished her breakfast. She has read the Daily Prophet from cover to cover, and yet she is still at the breakfast table, waiting. Lying in wait, actually. She would haughtily refute anyone who dared mention that was what she was in fact doing, but the undeniable truth is that, this Sunday morning, she is laying in wait for her son, who has yet to return home.
Narcissa is not worried about her son's whereabouts; she knows exactly where he spent the night, and where he obviously still is, and she can think of no safer place for him to spend his time. She has long pretended to be unaware of all the times her son neglects to return home for the night - but truly, how could Draco believe her to be ignorant of anything that goes on in her household?
This morning, however, she wants to catch him out. She hopes that forcing a confrontation might extract the confession she's seeking, because subtle machinations have so far failed to bear fruit.
Despite all her foisting of Asteria Greengrass on him, her manipulation of the press, and her constant nudges and hints, Draco has yet to crack. He is showing strain, in the lines of worry and frustration that have appeared on his high forehead, and in his ineffectual outrage at Rita Skeeter's writings - he even composed and sent a cutting letter of complaint to the Prophet in one of his fits of pique, but little was he to know that it was no match for Narcissa's well placed bribes and promises; but he has yet to crack.
Narcissa is beginning to worry at her son's restraint; it is most unlike him to be so stoic. She counted on him giving in at the first sign of adversity and loudly proclaiming his opposition to Narcissa's obvious matrimonial plans for him.
Draco was never one to suffer in silence, nor was he one to willingly forsake something that made him happy. Narcissa is starting to suspect that she might have over-estimated her son's feelings for his lover. It would be a shame if she had, because she believes Neville Longbottom to be good for Draco. But, on the other hand, if it is so, then maybe she needn't give up her dream of grandchildren after all. In any case, things have to be resolved soon.
Narcissa's tea is almost cold enough to be undrinkable, and she has wasted the whole morning waiting, when Draco finally returns. She hears the whoosh of the Floo in the reception room, and Draco's cautious steps as he tries to sneak to his rooms.
Soon enough, she spies his rumpled figure creeping past the wide open doors of the oriental sitting room she purposely chose to breakfast in.
"Good morning, Draco," she says sharply, startling him.
Draco jumps and turns to give her a sheepish look. "Mother, what are you doing here?" he asks.
"Having a late breakfast, and wondering where my errant son could be," she answers haughtily, feeling annoyed at having been kept waiting for so long.
"Hmm..." Draco studies his feet as two bright pink spots appear high on his cheekbones.
"If I remember correctly, you took Asteria out to dinner yesterday evening. Have you been with her until this time?" Narcissa demands with narrowed eyes.
She doesn't for a minute believe he has, but playing stupid has served her well on many occasions.
Draco's eyes widen in shock. "No, of course not!" he exclaims. "You know I don't think of Asteria like that!"
Narcissa raises a questioning eyebrow, demanding a more satisfactory answer.
"I was out with friends," Draco mumbles. "We lost track of time, had a little bit too much to drink, and I ended up spending the night at a friend's house."
"And would that friend be, by any chance, Neville Longbottom?" Narcissa asks pointedly.
"Yes," is the defensive reply.
Narcissa hums in response, managing to infuse even that with suspicion and a wealth of innuendo.
Draco doesn't rise to the bait; he simply stares at her mulishly.
Such a difficult boy, Narcissa thinks before changing tack.
"I don't see what you find lacking in Asteria Greengrass," she says airily. "She's a charming young lady with a beautiful temperament. Quite perfect, really. I think you're just being picky and contrary."
Narcissa raises an eyebrow, daring him to refute her.
Draco's expression clearly betrays his disagreement, but still he says nothing.
Damn the boy! Sometimes he is just as stubborn as his father, Narcissa thinks. Obviously subtlety and finesse will not do the job. Narcissa doesn't like being obvious and crass, but if she has to, she will.
"Draco dear," she says slowly, "I know you believe you're still young, but it really is time you considered matrimony.
"Becoming an Auror, and befriending two such illustrious heroes has done wonders towards reforming your image - and that of the family - in the eyes of the world, and is making them overlook the mistakes of your poor father and your own difficult youth.
"If you were to marry, or at least show the intention of doing so, it would prove once and for all that you have become a serious, upstanding young man who will become a conscientious and productive member of the wizarding community."
Draco's eyes are bulging, filled with disbelief and desperation, and his face is chalk white; yet he still stays silent.
Narcissa has no choice but to ruthlessly continue.
"I believe Asteria would make an ideal mate for you. You could have a long engagement, and I'm sure you'll learn to love her. That is, unless you have a previous attachment you neglected to mention. Have you, darling?" Narcissa looks at Draco pointedly, her gaze laden with meaning.
And still Draco says nothing. His face grey, he chokes out a "no" and flees the room.
Narcissa sits back, most disappointed in her son. She knows she hasn't made things easy for him, but she believes that if one truly wants something, it is worth fighting for it. Overcoming adversity will only make his bond with Neville stronger. Otherwise... Well, if he doesn't fight for it, then he doesn't want it enough, and he definitely doesn't deserve it. Either way, Narcissa plans on coming out victorious.
~ o ~
Outside, a light snow is falling as the sky gradually turns dark and evening comes. Inside his greenhouse, Neville seems oblivious to all of this. Floating lamps illuminate every cranny of the lush space, throwing into bright relief every leafy plant and every gaily coloured flower. It is so hot and humid inside, the windows are foggy, and Neville is wearing a simple cardigan over his shirt.
The whimsical wind-chime hanging above the door of the large greenhouse - a present from Luna Lovegood - chirrups and gurgles and whistles as the aforementioned young lady enters, but Neville is so engrossed in pruning his Avaricious Orchid he doesn’t even notice.
Humming to herself, Luna makes her way through the densely populated greenhouse, petting and murmuring greetings and encouragement to the plants she passes.
At the back of the greenhouse, tucked into the very corner, is Neville’s office. It’s a cramped space, with a rickety set of shelves overbrimming with folders and gardening manuals, a large old desk, with a teapot and some mugs on it, and three mismatched chairs.
Luna places her package on the table, takes off her heavy coat, and unwinds her long multicoloured scarf to reveal a bright pink nose and cheeks to match. She fills the teapot with water she quickly sets to boiling with a murmured spell, and starts hunting through the drawers of the desk for the teabags. She eventually locates them under a box of seeds and pops two into the water.
Satisfied, she walks over to the still oblivious Neville, bends over and kisses his cheek in greeting.
"Luna!" Neville exclaims, startled. "When did you get here?"
"Not long ago," Luna answers airily. "Come on, let’s have some tea. It should be ready by now."
*
Neville always enjoys Luna’s weekly visits for tea and scones. She remains one of his oldest and dearest friends, and the only one who has always supported him unconditionally, no matter what. Today she has brought persimmon scones, which go surprisingly well with the strong tea Neville favours.
Luna looks around the greenhouse with her usual wide eyed gaze of pleasure and wonder.
"I’m so glad you decided to make this greenhouse," she tells him. "It’s one of my favourite places, it’s so friendly and joyous and crowded. And it makes you happy."
Neville blushes slightly, even though she says almost the same thing every time she comes.
"Yes, it does make me happy," he agrees. "Now, if I could just find a way to earn a proper living from it."
Luna waves his worries away, like she always does, uninterested in negative thoughts.
"It’s good you have this right now," she says, "since you don’t look like your Draco is making you very happy at the moment."
Neville looks around anxiously as he tries to shush her.
"Luna," he whispers uneasily, "you’re not supposed to talk about that!"
"Oh, Neville!" Luna’s laugh is light and tinkling. "The plants don’t care about you and Draco. They told me they rather approve. Only the Fearful Fern says she would rather you indulged in your strange human coupling on the other side of the greenhouse. It makes her nervous, you see."
Neville blushes and glances at the fern suspiciously.
Luna catches his nervous glance and laughs, entertained, before turning earnest once more. "I wouldn’t be talking about it, you know, if it wasn’t so obvious you need to talk about it."
Neville deflates and slumps back into his chair. Luna is right, as she always is. She reads him far too well. It is no wonder she is the only person who knows about Neville and Draco. She sensed it almost immediately, without Neville having said anything.
Needless to say, he made her swear not to tell anyone, least of all Draco. Luna has kept her promise, but refuses to understand the point of it. "Anyone can see that the two of you are in love. It’s really rather silly of you to pretend to hide it," she often tells Neville, but he’s relatively certain that she’s the only one who has figured it out so far. He and Draco are too careful.
Neville sighs and looks at Luna dolefully, not sure where to even begin.
"You’re fretting over Asteria Greengrass, aren’t you?" she asks insightfully.
Neville nods morosely, feeling like a sulky child.
"Silly boy," Luna tells him, obviously reading his thoughts. "I’m sure Draco enjoys Asteria’s company - she’s a lovely girl, and she has a wonderful reading voice - and he has been seeing a lot of her, but it’s you he loves, you know that. You’re really just getting all worked up over nothing."
When Neville still looks grumpy and unconvinced, Luna wrinkles her brow in a show of slight frustration. "Is Draco jealous over your friendship with me? Or have you seen him wearing a Delusion Bracelet?" she asks, as close to exasperated as he’s ever seen her.
"No, of course not!" Neville retorts. "Draco knows we are just friends! And, anyway, Gran isn’t trying to make me marry you."
"And you know Draco doesn’t wear jewellery," he adds as an afterthought.
Luna laughs, amused. "Your gran doesn’t think much of me. I believe she called me flighty. But I’m sure she has picked out a girl or two she’d like you to marry."
Neville blushes, remembering various conversations with his gran where she mentioned likely young ladies.
"Yeah," he is forced to concede, "but the difference is that I refuse to humour her, because I’m not planning on marrying anyone else!"
Neville flushes and looks away, the last having come out a lot louder than he had planned.
Luna sits back to nibble at the last scone with a satisfied look on her face. Neville groans; he just knows she’s going to persuade him to do something he doesn’t want to.
"Well, there you have it," Luna concludes with a smile.
"There I have what?" Neville is feeling sulky and not in the mood for Ravenclaw guessing games.
"You should tell Draco what you told me."
At Neville’s blank look, Luna is forced to continue. "Tell him you don’t want either of you going out with other people. Tell him you’re afraid he might decide to get married to someone else beside you. Tell him you want to stop pretending to hide."
Neville sputters, overwhelmed. "I never said anything about going public! I can’t tell him that!"
"It’s obvious you want to," Luna replies calmly. "And you really should tell him. You deserve to be happy, Neville."
"But what if I lose him?" Neville is embarrassed by how small and lost his voice sounds.
"You won’t," Luna reassures him, her voice so certain Neville is almost persuaded. "What happened to the brave Neville I used to know? Everything will turn out as it should, you’ll see."
Neville hums in reply, deep in thought. Luna is right, as usual. He hasn’t been very happy for the last two months, yet the thought of losing Draco paralyses him with fear.
Neville is so lost in churning conflicting thoughts, that he barely notices when Luna softly kisses him goodbye and leaves.
Does he dare ask for what he wants, even if it might mean losing his blond lover?
iv. the game is up
Augusta looks around the ostentatiously elegant sitting room as she sips the fragrant aromatic tea Narcissa favours. Surely such splendour is not truly necessary for one's comfort.
From the room’s large windows, she can see into the extensive Manor gardens. Everything is covered at present by a sheet of white. Amongst the soft snow and the white gravel paths, the albino peacocks are barely visible as they strut around self-importantly. Who ever heard of such frivolity as white peacocks! Augusta barely suppresses her snort.
Opposite her, Narcissa is looking very fetching in deep crimson as she carefully stirs a drop of lemon into her earl grey.
"Unfortunately, my plan has failed so far to provide the desired outcome," Narcissa tells Augusta mournfully. "Draco is showing distinct signs of strain and discomfort, but as of yet, he has proven admirably stubborn and steadfast in his chosen course."
Narcissa sighs with disappointment.
"It is the same with Neville," Augusta agrees. "He is obviously discontent and jealous over the current state of affairs, but he has yet to take some direct action."
Augusta is very dissatisfied with her grandson; she had never thought he'd prove to be such a pushover for a pair of pretty eyes.
"I believe we have no choice but to do something drastic," Augusta states decisively. "Something that will shake the boys up and force them to react. It is time we acted boldly and aggressively."
Narcissa nods her agreement. "I do believe you are right, Augusta. Despite giving Draco increasingly unsubtle hints, it is time I forced a confrontation. I shall present an ultimatum to him and give him no choice but to come to a decision."
Augusta frowns at Narcissa's wording. "Do you think there is a possibility Draco might decide against owning up to his attachment to Neville?"
"I'm increasingly beginning to suspect that might prove to be the case in the end," Narcissa confesses apologetically. "It will be unfortunate for poor Neville, but it will be much better for him in the long run to learn now, rather than later, that Draco's attachment wasn't quite as strong as he thought."
"Indeed," Augusta agrees. When they began their endeavour she had never considered such a resolution. It will indeed be most unfortunate for Neville, but she hopes he will quickly regroup. The Longbottoms never had much use for fickle and easily discouraged partners, after all.
"How do you plan on forcing Draco's hand?" Augusta asks.
"As you must know, in a little over a week we will be holding our customary Yule Ball at the Manor," Narcissa explains. "Thanks to Neville’s and Harry Potter's attendance, our guest list has grown to be rather impressive - I do hope you will be attending this year, my dear Augusta. It is quite the public event. I will try to force Draco to announce his engagement to Asteria Greengrass at the Ball. I am going to threaten him, that if he doesn't do it, I will do it for him."
Augusta is reluctantly impressed by Narcissa's bold proposal, even though it makes her not a little apprehensive.
"Don't you think it might be a bit too drastic?" she asks wryly. "And public?" she adds, thinking that this might be the most un-Slytherin thing the other woman has ever proposed.
"Not at all," Narcissa responds with confidence. "I'm going to give Draco the ultimatum tonight. After a few days of stewing, the possibility of such an announcement should have him quickly confessing. Draco does hate public humiliations."
"And what if he doesn't confess?" Augusta is not fully convinced, despite Narcissa's assurances.
"Then he will get engaged to Asteria," Narcissa answers implacably, "and I will see to it that he honours his engagement."
For the first time, Augusta considers that Narcissa might be playing both sides. She should have realised from the beginning that she would want to be covered for all eventualities.
A small knot of worry appears in her stomach at the suspicion that she might have been masterfully played by Narcissa Malfoy from the very start. It is too late now, the deck has been set, and she is too deep in the game to pull out. She gives Narcissa her agreement to make her final move, and hopes she hasn't over-estimated young Draco's affections for Neville or the resilience of Neville's heart.
~ o ~
The Manor's large ballroom looks resplendent with all its Yule decorations; Narcissa hasn't spared any expenses. The banquet tables groan under the weight of all the Yule delicacies piled high on them, and silver platters float around the room bearing delicate flutes of champagne and steaming mugs of mulled cider. In the corner, a string sextet is playing Yule carols and traditional Wizarding dances. Everything is perfect.
Draco stands in the doorway, eyeing the early arrivals and his mother, who flitters around them in greeting. He is dressed in one of his finest and most severe robes - green velvet with pale green embroidery, dark green velvet to suit his dark mood. He has schooled his face into a carefully bland expression to hide the frustration and turmoil that is tearing him apart. Yet his normally clear grey eyes betray him; they have turned iron grey and flat.
Not even the pleasant burn of his thigh and back muscles, nor the even more pleasant ache deep in his arse, where he can still feel the ghost of Neville's length in the steady soft throbbing, can brighten his mood. If anything, the memory of how perfect Neville is, how much Draco loves it when he transforms into an aggressive and dominating lover - as he has been doing with increasing frequency of late - makes Draco's mood darker.
Last night had been the most exhilarating one yet. Neville had been demanding, implacably in charge and relentless. He had mercilessly fucked Draco into submission and oblivion, with a force Draco had never yet experienced. But even as Draco had revelled in it, a sliver of worry had wormed its way into what had remained of his rational mind. He could not help but feel that Neville was trying to express something through the fierceness of his lovemaking.
Draco knows that Neville has been feeling discontent of late, and has long suspected he might be working himself up to a decision of some sort. Whatever it proves to be, Draco is certain he won't like it.
Draco catches his mother's eye, and the weight of his own impossible choice nearly bends him in two. His mother has demanded an engagement - and will not accept a refusal. Draco can barely tell what is worse: making the announcement himself, being the one to make the light in Neville's eyes dim and demonstrate to him conclusively that he really does live up to his family name, or hiding behind his mother's skirts and accepting the humiliation of proving to be the craven coward many still believe him to be by letting her make the announcement for him.
Whatever he chooses, it will feel like ripping his own heart out. That is why, a week now since his mother first told him what she expected from him, he refuses to come to a decision. His mind screams in horror, and his heart cries in despair every time he even thinks of the cruel choice he has been given. Because whatever he chooses, to face his fate with courage or cowardice, he will lose Neville. Neville would never agree to be the lover of an engaged man, and Draco - much as he wants nothing else - could never ask it of him.
Despite his late night musings, and his wishful dreams for a future with Neville, Draco knows it can never be so. Much as Neville is his heart, his parents are his family, and he would be nothing without them. It's easier to live without his heart than his family, or so he hopes.
Even though his heart is stuttering in his chest, and his stomach is tying itself into knots, Draco plays the part of the gracious host - with his father in Azkaban, he is the Lord of the Manor now - and greets his guests.
As the night grows older, the ballroom starts to fill. Weasley and Granger arrive, together with Potter and his girlfriend. Blaise and his mother. Theo and Pansy. More and more guests arrive, and he greets them all, barely recognising their faces anymore. That is, until Neville and his grandmother enter.
Draco's heart lodges in his throat. He barely knows how he manages to welcome them and wish them a merry Yule. Neville gives him a piercing look and a forced smile, and Draco can't help but be blinded by panic as he thinks, Neville knows! He knows, and yet he came.
Suddenly feeling faint and dizzy, Draco excuses himself. He needs to find a quiet corner to sit down and regain his equilibrium. All he needs is a small breather and a glass or two of champagne to pull himself back together again.
*
His mother finds him sitting on a chair in an empty corner, slowly sipping on his fourth glass of champagne of the night.
"There you are," she exclaims upon spotting him. "It is most unseemly for the host to hide away like this. Come, the Greengrasses have arrived. You must greet them."
Still in a daze, Draco puts down his glass and follows her.
The whole Greengrass family has arrived together. Mr and Mrs Greengrass, looking suspiciously cheerful; Daphne and her fiancé, the oldest Montague son; and Asteria, gazing at him with bright eyes and a shy smile. Draco feels the bile rise to his throat, yet he greets them all with a smile he knows is too wide and fixed to pass for genuine.
Unable to take their well-wishes and eager looks anymore, he takes his first opening to escape, and practically drags Asteria to the dance floor. She is soft and comfortable in his arms and dances beautifully.
"The ballroom looks stunning," she tells him. "It's even more beautiful than last year."
"Yes, my mother outdid herself this year," Draco agrees, tightening his grip and pulling her closer.
He inhales her pleasant scent and desperately tries to find some sort of spark or latent attraction. Asteria giggles a bit breathlessly, and Draco wishes he could only find the sound arousing.
Across the sea of dancers, Draco can see his mother gazing at him assessingly, Mr and Mrs Greengrass looking satisfied and a little bit smug, and Augusta Longbottom staring at him inscrutably.
Once more, Draco finds it hard to breathe. Thankfully, the dance comes to an end, and the dancers can all take a short break.
He's about to ask Asteria for the next dance too, anything to get away from circulating and socialising - he really doesn't think he can take any of that tonight - when a familiar deep voice breaks in.
"Good evening, Asteria. I'm really sorry to interrupt, but could I borrow Draco for a minute? I want to have a short word with him, and I promise I'll have him back to you in almost no time."
Draco turns round to face Neville and receives a sheepish smile. "You don't mind, do you, Draco?"
Draco shakes his head wordlessly, and Asteria gives her assent with a blush. Neville smiles at her thankfully and leads Draco away.
Draco feels the panic from earlier return to him once more as he lets Neville lead him through the large terrace doors out into the cold dark gardens. He hears the muted sounds of the band taking up once again, and sees the bright stars twinkling in the dark sky, all the while his heart beating a mad rhythm within his chest.
Neville casts a quick warming charm over both of them before turning to look at Draco, his gaze earnest and his face determined.
"I do realise my timing is not the best, but I have something I have to tell you, and it can't wait any longer," Neville starts ominously, and Draco feels the nausea begin to take over.
"I love you, Draco," Neville tells him fervently. "More than anything. I know you know that. And I believe you love me too."
Draco remains silent, eyes wide and unblinking, as his heart is first suffused with warmth, and then lanced by pain.
"I really thought I could do it," Neville continues. "I thought I could do anything, could put up with anything, for love and for you. But I can't. I'm so sorry, Draco, but I just can't."
Draco still doesn't utter a word. What can he say? Neville's eyes are glistening with tears, pleading with Draco, and Draco feels his heart tear in half.
"I can't do this anymore," Neville explains. "I want you more than anything, but I can't lie anymore, I can't pretend and hide anymore. I want to go out with you Draco, as your lover. I want to be the only one for you, and you the only one for me. I want to be yours, for as long as you'll have me, and I want everyone to know."
Draco bites his tongue hard, the pain grounding him as his stomach roils, and he begins to feel the ground slipping out from under him.
Neville bites back a sob. "That's what I need," he says hoarsely, "and if you can't give me that, then I'd rather not have anything at all."
Draco sways on his feet, eyes wild and hands clenched at his side. With one last long, anguished look, Neville strides away, back into the warm and cheery ballroom.
It has begun to snow again, but Draco barely notices as he falls to his knees in the cold snow. His eyes feel suspiciously damp and his vision has gone blurry as he bites his knuckles to keep himself from sobbing. Neville has just offered him everything he has ever wanted and dreamed of, he has handed him the possibility of a future he had barely even hoped for. Draco covets that future, that chance to be with Neville, more than anything. Not until now, when he is being forced to forsake it, does he realise just how desperately he wants it. How can he ever turn his back on it? How can he ever turn his back on Neville?
Draco feels his heart break into a hundred tiny shards that rip his insides apart, because he cannot give Neville what he wants, he cannot give himself what he so desperately desires. He has a family and a duty, and they must come first, for that is something he has been taught never to question. Draco feels the bitter tears fall freely as his throat closes up painfully.
*
It's in a stupor that Draco rises and cleans himself up. He feels completely numb and raw as he returns to the Ball. He dances and makes meaningless small-talk, he sips champagne, and greets yet more guests.
"Brilliant party this," Weasley tells him when he finds himself standing next to him.
"Yes, Draco, thank you for inviting us," Granger adds.
Draco turns to give the couple a stiff smile and an even stiffer bow. He can't help but notice how close together they stand, how they lean towards each other. How obvious it is to all that they are a couple and are in love.
Draco feels the crippling pain grip his stunted heart once more, and he has to get away as fast as he can.
He mumbles his excuses and stumbles, blind, through the chattering crowd. He almost trips, but feels a firm grip on his arm keeping him from falling, and sees Potter's smiling face greet him.
"Hey there, Malfoy," Potter says cheerfully. "How's it going?"
Potter is holding a rosy cheeked and laughing Ginny Weasley by the hand. The redhead grins at Draco and pulls her hapless boyfriend towards the dance floor. Draco stares at them, feeling once more dizzy and lost, so lost and confused. He feels like nothing makes sense anymore. There's no up and down anymore. There's only duty and… duty and... What was the other one?
"Draco," says a soft and cherished voice. "Draco?"
It's his mother. She clasps his wrist.
"Draco," she repeats once more.
Her eyes are soft and tender, and strangely sad.
"It's time," she says. "It's time for the announcement. Will you make it, or shall I?"
Draco's head spins, and the panic he has barely contained this last week rises to choke him. …and love, he thinks. That's the other one. Now that I've found it, how can I live without it? But Draco has been given no choice, no future; for him there is no winning, only losing. Fear and hysteria grip him, and there is no longer any time for delay and dissembling. He must act.
"I will do it, Mother," he rasps, and she squeezes his wrist and offers him an encouraging smile before letting go.
This is it, Draco thinks as he walks towards the band. The rest of my life begins now. But what will it be? The weight of the impossible choice he's been given threatens to crush him once more.
He motions the band to silence them and turns to face the full room.
"I have an announcement to make," he says. His voice is loud, but the quiver is obvious.
Eyes wild, insides gripped by panic and nausea, he looks over the crowd. He can see Blaise and Pansy looking perplexed, but giving him an encouraging thumbs up, always on his side; Andromeda, who once chose love over duty, smiling; Granger and Weasley sharing an eerily similar expression of curiosity, the image of a couple meant for each other; Potter with his arm around Ginny, cheeks still red, mouths still smiling, another picture perfect image of love; Mr and Mrs Greengrass standing expectantly, and next to them Asteria biting her lip, eyes bright, making his heart scream out in wrongness; Augusta Longbottom holding herself with an inexplicable air of disappointment; his mother, eyes unaccountably apologetic. His mother, who loves him no matter what. No matter what? That’s what she has always promised him; the only thing he has never ever doubted. That thought grips hold of his mind, and gives him hope.
In the end, he can no longer avoid it, and his eyes wander where they least want to, where they have yearned to from the beginning. Neville stands by himself, a little apart from the others. His shoulders squared, as if ready for a blow, his feet slightly apart, his stance tall and proud, his eyes red-rimmed, and yet his gaze unflinching and intense, and demanding, so demanding.
Draco wants to tear his gaze away, look anywhere but into those deep brown eyes that strip him bare, and leave him nowhere to hide, no chance to lie. Draco wants to look away, but there's no use, because wherever Draco looks, all he can ever see is Neville. How could I ever choose to live without him? he thinks.
For a long, interminable moment, he stands there, mind teetering on the cusp of his possible futures, afraid and paralysed.
"I have an announcement," he repeats to the murmuring and questioning room. He spares a brief glance for his mother.
"I'm sorry, Mother," he says. "I'd give you anything I could, you must believe me, but I can't get married." Gasps and surprised whispering fill the room.
"I can't marry a pure-blood witch, like you want," Draco repeats, voice louder, Neville's steady gaze lending him courage. "I can't, because I'm in love."
Draco takes a step into the now empty dance floor.
"I'm madly, passionately, irrevocably in love. And I want to spend the rest of my life trying to make him happy, if he'll let me." Neville’s hot gaze is burning Draco up, but Draco can't stop looking at him, and now that he's started, he can't stop talking.
"I don't want anyone else. I just want him. I'm yours, Neville, for as long as you'll have me, and for longer still."
Violent whispers erupt as the room explodes into noise. Draco never lets his gaze waver from Neville's face and his scorching eyes. Completely oblivious to all else but Draco, Neville strides purposefully across the dance floor and sweeps Draco into his arms, crushing their mouths together.
Draco has never felt more prepared to be swept off his feet or ravished, and he blissfully melts into Neville's embrace as his knees go weak. Neville's kiss is at once possessive and grateful, but all Draco's mind can do is chant, Yes, yes, yes.
There never was another choice, there never was anything else but this for Draco. There never was another future for him, but this one with Neville.
Draco risks opening his eyes to glance at his mother. She is wiping the tears from her eyes with a lace handkerchief, and when she catches his eye, she gives him a watery smile and a wink.
Draco closes his eyes and loses himself in Neville's kiss once more, relief flooding him. Maybe he can have both his love and his family. Maybe his future is brighter than he ever dreamed it could be.
Feeling like he can’t contain the happiness and hope that wells up inside him, Draco breaks the kiss to whisper in his love’s ear. "I love you, you know, you great lummox."
Neville pulls him even closer, and chuckles happily. "Well you would, wouldn’t you?" he answers dryly.
And suddenly they are both laughing together, and all is well. Now that everyone knows, Draco no longer feels afraid. In Neville’s arms, he feels complete and ready to take on the world. The future doesn’t scare him anymore; together with Neville, it can be nothing less than glorious.
Fin