The Leaky Cauldron was crowded as usual that Friday night. The waiters could barely move between the tables without stumbling over one foot or another, so there was a fair share of plates and glasses floating to their designated spots. Unfortunately, having the place so full also meant Neville Longbottom had a lesser chance of moving to another stool at the bar, let alone leave without Lavender Brown noticing. His former classmate had deigned him "filled out well" enough to be her prey for the night, and had already had one cup too much to just get the hint. Or rather, hints. Notifications. Neon-coloured sign-posts.
Neville sighed and gestured for the barmaid to get him a refill as Lavender claimed yet again how glad to was to have run into him. As if they were actual friends, or something. Wasn't like she'd basically ignored his existence since she'd yet again called it quits with Ron until Witch Weekly had claimed him on of Wizarding Britain's most eligible bachelors in their New Year's issue three weeks ago. He'd bet his remembrall collection gathering dust on one of his shelves that not even his grandmother had sent him as many letters during his years at Hogwarts as he'd received since that blasted article got published. Godric, he didn't even know there were that many magical folk living on the island!
"All the times I've seen you, you were surrounded by so many people I didn't want to be a bother!" She seemed to be trying to move her chair closer to his without his noticing. Neville wondered if he should tell her that he did, in fact, register, or ask why she was bothering him now seeing as the space surrounding him was full of people, too. Instead, he took a sip of his firewhiskey. Why was he so bloody nice all the time?
"I mean, I'm sure you're not here alone tonight either but I thought maybe we could wait together, yes?"
Did she just… wink? He forced himself to smile. "I'm sure," he repeated, and wished the ground to open up and swallow him whole. The one time he thought it a good idea to 'just see where the night takes me' he'd end up talked to death. He swallowed some more alcohol. What a nice way to die.
Only a few minutes, but what felt like hours, later, just when Neville thought he couldn't take any more tries at… flirting? Seduction? Simply plain awkward small-talk? He wasn't sure Lavender knew herself — a deep voice interrupted their one-sided conversation.
"There you are, babe!"
Neville expected some sleazy guy to wrap his arms around Lavender and smooch her into the next century, all the while shooting confused, maybe even jealous glares at him. Instead, he felt calloused fingers on his biceps and soft lips pressing to his temple. Surprised, he looked up and was met by Blaise Zabini's shit-eating grin. Never in his life had Neville been so glad to decide to befriend Slytherins after the war.
"I'm sorry I'm so late, but this hustle didn't exactly make it easier coming your way. Couldn't have chosen a spot closer to the door, could you?"
Neville felt his cheeks growing hot. "Yes, that, um… would have been more… convenient, I guess."
"I see you started the fun without me." Blaise's eyes swept from Neville's tumbler to Lavender. "Brown, isn't it?"
"Yes," Lavender was fidgeting with some bracelets on her arm, now obviously uncomfortable. "Actually," she seemed to be looking at someone behind them, though Neville thought she could easily have been pretending. "I think I spied Parvati and Padma over there."
"You really don't have to leave on my account," said Blaise while she was already cramming in her purse for the right amount of coins to pay her bill. His voice sounded so convincing, Neville rammed his elbow in his side. The sooner she left, the better. He'd had enough small-talk for the night. He felt, rather than saw Blaise smirk against his ear. "I've got this. Don't you worry, babe."
He wasn't sure if it was his breath on his skin, or his choice of words, but Neville definitely felt his stomach churn. Fuck.
"Well," Blaise addressed Lavender again. "Have a nice night! And send my best regards to Padma, if you please. I sure haven't heard from her in ages, if you know what I mean."
Lavender shot him a disbelieving look. "Of course. Bye, Neville. Have fun on your date!" She pushed past Blaise rather harshly and was barely hidden by the crowd when he and Neville started laughing.
Neville raised his glass in a salute. "Cheers, mate! I can't believe I'm still so horrible at speaking my mind when it comes to women. Life would be so much easier if I didn't know how to shut up and suffer in silence so well."
Blaise slid into Lavender's chair and ordered a glass of wine. Red. Dry. Preferably from Sicily, if you've got any. "Maybe women just aren't for you after all, Longbottom."
Neville swallowed. He wouldn't go so far as writing any and every woman off, but he was certainly starting to think Blaise was his cup of tea. "I'm sure Lavender isn't, at least," he tried brushing the notion off and pulled a face. That had sounded better in his head.
"I'm pretty sure she now knows that too, no thanks to you, babe," grinned Blaise.
"Don't say it like that, it's doing things to my head," Neville groaned.
"Don't tell me you're that drunk already, darling."
He nodded. "Yeah. Drunk on you."
Blaise snorted, and Neville wished yet again for Earth's crust to open and pull him under.
"Longbottom! Come on, open up! I know you can hear me, your wards are CRAP!" Neville woke to a continuous knocking on his door and a dull ache to the back of his head. "Neville! Babe! Your neighbours are staring!"
Cursing, he shot up, suddenly recognising the voice. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. What the hell was going on? He ran a hand through his hair and sprinted to his front door.
"Bloody hell, Zabini! Of course they're gonna stare if you're making such a scene!" Neville grabbed his arm and yanked him into his flat. "What's the matter, anyway? It's barely–" he searched for the clock on his wall. "Eight in the morning?"
Blaise plopped down on his couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table. "We're in the Prophet. Page 11. There's a photo of me helping you floo home, and a reliable source claiming I kissed you hello and all." He threw a copy at Neville. "Reliable source, my arse. Brown should take some lessons in subtlety, if you ask me."
"So?" Neville stumbled backwards to catch the issue and pressed it against his chest. His bare chest. In his hurry, he'd forgot to put on a shirt. Let alone trousers. He was standing in front of Blaise Zabini, only clad in his comic-style mandrake-print briefs. Where was that hole in the ground again?
"So…" Blaise's eyes raked over Neville's half-naked form. "I wanted to ask you out properly before anyone questioned your fake relationship. I dunno about you, but if we passed it off well enough to make it to the news, we might as well try for real."
"You— uh?" Neville blinked. Once. Twice. "Um, I—" Was he really awake?
"What do you say?" Blaise smirked up at him. Apparently, he wasn't worried about being turned down at all, despite Neville's spluttering. "Dinner? You and I? Tonight?"
"How about breakfast?" Neville surprised himself, but busied himself with putting down the paper and walking towards his kitchen so it wouldn't show. "What tea d'you want?"
Blaise stared at his retreating form, telling himself it was only to admire Neville's backside, not because he was perplexed his game had been shaken so easily. "Uh, Earl Grey," he said as he finally got up and followed Neville. "Nice pants, by the way. Though I'd bet they'd look better on the floor."
"Fuck you, Zabini."
"I'm sure we'll get there someday soon, babe."