potions, a "touch" prompted drabble
Neville wanted nothing short of harmful things to happen to Snape. Did it matter that Neville had carefully chosen to sit next to Hermione? She was smart, a know-it-all by any standards, because she did seem to know everything. She was his housemate and she would always tell him what he was doing right (more often what he was doing wrong). But Snape had decided to exercise a psychotically sadistic streak and remove him from his comfort zone, by pairing him with Draco Malfoy.
Whenever Neville tried to help, the blonde swatted his hands away and responded condescendingly about his skills (or lack thereof) with Potions. Quite frankly, after the last slap on the wrist and a "You'll screw up the potion, Longbottom," Neville was ready to melt the Slytherin down into liquid and hand him in as the assignment. He sat back in his seat and glared at the back of Draco's head for a solid stretch of time. When the blonde noticed, he grinned wolfishly and paused in his stirring.
"I didn't know you knew how to glare, Longbottom," he said, slightly impressed.
Neville scowled. "I didn't know you knew how to have a civil conversation." Potions always put him in a sour mood and he was done trying to hold it back. Unfortunately for him, Malfoy seemed to enjoy his sour mood.
"Finally coming out to play with the big boys, eh?" Draco turned to the potion as it turned the correct color. He quickly put out the fire underneath and began to put it into a vial. When he stoppered it, he held it out to the Gryffindor. No threat of taunts, no teasing.
"What you need," Draco said as he reached to pick up Neville's large hand. It shook as the blonde pried his fingers open, pressed the vial into it, and closed them again. He set his closed fist onto his lap, his hand brushing his thigh. A pink tinge rose to the Gryffindor's lips. "Is someone to show you the ropes." And then, Draco placed a hand on his cheek. Neville felt like his face was a neon sign, alerting people to the fact that his face was being caressed by none other than Slytherin's own Draco Malfoy.
But just as quickly as his hand was there, it disappeared and left a warm tingling sensation. "I have a detention with Flitwick that ends at five." He said absently, smirking as he picked his bag up. He slung it over his shoulder and quickly exited the dungeons.
Neville knew one thing as he closed his eyes and saw the blonde reach for his cheek again. He would be waiting outside the Charms door at five o'clock. And there would be more than cheeks being touched.