Fanfiction Round 7
Chudley Cannons
Keeper
Draco/Neville
It was on leaving the Headmistress's office that they catch eye contact.
At one end of the corridor; Neville, covered in soil, his hair messy and unruly, plump from the generous Hogwarts' portions, his robes faded and grubby.
At the other end; Draco, his blonde hair slicked over, his expensive black robes swirling at his feet, slim and muscular.
Grey eyes meet brown, old grudges flickering to the forefront of their minds.
Draco nods incrementally, his eyes not leaving Neville's. Neville smiles stiffly back.
Then the moment passes, the Headmistress leading away Draco, the new Potions teacher, Neville distracted by a student.
They don't meet again until the first day of the next year. In a strange twist of fate they are sat next to each other at the feast. Neville makes extra hard to cheer for the first years sorted into Gryffindor whilst Draco whoops for the new Slytherins, old house loyalties ingrained in their veins. It's impossible to ignore each other once they are eating, so they talk quietly, Neville digging into the stew, Draco picking at some beef. They talk forcibly about the weather, about Quidditch, the new sweets at Hogsmeade. They don't talk about their past, or their friends, or the new Parliament. They get through to dessert, and Neville turns to the Transfiguration professor, quickly slipping into a debate about their subjects. Although Draco is talking to someone on his right, he can't help but watch Neville as his eyes light up, as he runs his hands through his hair, his boyish face grinning as he talks about Herbology. In many ways Neville has changed so much since school. In others, he's exactly the same.
Neville can't help but think the same.
There's the same swagger - almost arrogance - that follows Draco. But at the same time he seems humbled, his head dropped a little. When not being watched, his smile drops and there's a haunted look in his eyes. Neville remembers the reports in the Daily Prophet that Lucius Malfoy passed away last year. He can't help feel pain for the boy who made his life hell all those years ago.
But they manage to avoid each other for nearly three weeks. Neville's domain is outside in the steamy greenhouses, returning for meals with scratches and bruises on his face. Draco lurks in the dungeons, sweeping through the corridors in a way similar to his old potions master, Snape.
It's the first Quidditch match of the season - Gryffindor vs Slytherin, and Neville arrives late, panting as he heaved himself up the stairs to the teachers' stand. There's no space on the benches and he turns away, but Draco calls his name and squishes up. Neville smiles and squashes next to him, trying not to feel how close they are. It's impossible to concentrate with the two opposing supporters, each screeching for the other team. Gryffindor narrowly wins, and Neville can't help but beam. Before conversation can get awkward Neville hurries back to his greenhouses.
Neville thinks Draco has forgotten how he made his life a misery. He thinks Draco has forgiven himself, glossed over it, moved on his with his life.
But he's wrong.
All the times Draco has stood outside Neville's office, his knuckles hovering from the wood, about to knock but always shying away at the last minute. All the times Draco has watched from his office window until he sees Neville trudging up in the snow, anxious that Neville is alright, that he doesn't stranded or hurt in the storms that hit Hogwarts too frequently. Neville still doesn't know that it was Draco who left the grapes when he was ill. If he did, he may not have eaten them with the flourish he did, savouring the juicy sweetness.
For this was one of the reasons Draco had returned to Hogwarts, all these years later. Closure. To banish the nightmares and fog of guilt and anguish that he struggled to shake off. Maybe if he could just apologise….
But it is so much harder than he had expected. He has too much history with Neville. Too much history with the castle. Often he has considered giving up, resigning from his post. He doesn't even really enjoy teaching Potions. But something always stops him.
It was the last day before the Christmas holidays. Neville is sprinting from the Astronomy tower, where he had been studying a plant that had twisted itself round a turret, to the main hall, where he is meant to be assisting Hagrid in putting up the Christmas trees, bags of compost stacked in his arms. The air is filled with excited chatter and general clamour which accompanied the thought of presents and festivities. Students spill out into the corridors, the reds, greens, yellows and blues of the house robes mixing and swirling. Draco is dropping off a bottle of mead to the headmistress before finishing his packing and returning back home.
Both professors round the corner too fast, both absorbed in their thoughts. They collide with a thump, mead and compost flying through the air and mixing into a dark sludge on the floor. Neville and Draco fly apart, Neville blushing furiously.
"I'm so sorry," he clamours, secretly cross at himself for being so scared.
"It was my fault," Draco replies, trying to remove some of the staining from the carpet, not even bothering to try and retrieve the compost and mead. "Are you alright?"
Neville nods quickly, his hands twisting under his long robes.
Suddenly Draco catches his eyes.
"Neville?"
The stillness in his voice pulls Neville's attention. The questioning tone was unlike anything he had heard from Draco. Uncertain, seeking confirmation.
"I'm sorry."
The words come out pleading, a question rather than a statement.
Neville simply nods. He understands. He was always smart. Draco smiles tightly, his mask dropping a little. He's handsome when he smiles, his sharp features softening, not dissimilar from Neville's chubby cheeks.
They stand, staring at each other for a second longer before hurrying on. But there's a new peace between them. Neville understands what the apology was for.
Draco leaves his post at Hogwarts after Christmas.
He was never really there for the teaching.