„Hel-lo, Darling!" Pansy cried as she clasped Draco into her arms in a manner that carefully avoided actual body contact and air-kissed both his cheeks. Blaise stood behind her with a poorly suppressed smile and pulled Draco into a sort of one-armed hug which was much briefer and far more painful. Behind them, Nott and the Greengrass girls slowly filtered in, all carefully inspecting Draco's new apartment.
It was nothing like Malfoy manor. Completely in creams and golds and generally warm, welcoming colours, with furniture arranged more for comfort than anything else, it was in fact the complete antithesis to Malfoy manor. "Well," Daphne Greengrass, who'd always thought rather little of Draco but was far to aware of her own dignity to actually say it, said wonderingly, "Someone's gotten an idea of interior design."
Biting back both the instinctive comment on the subject of it wasn't my idea and the scathing one on After seven years in the Slytherin common room, is it any wonder?, Draco handed round champagne glasses and everyone settled on the sofa. The radio was playing soft Vivaldi, something they were all obviously unfamiliar with but didn't dare ask about, thankfully.
"So," he said, in something approximating bright. It had been two years since they'd had a proper get-together, interrupted first by the war and then by the clean-up. "How's everyone been?"
Pansy launched into a long description with accompanying hand gestures that made her lurid pink robes crinkle at the wrists, and soon had everyone rolling with laughter. An ice-breaker. She had grown since the war, both physically and mentally, and by now she was a person in her own right well worth looking up to. She worked for the Prophet and had all sorts of fascinating stories to tell about other countries she'd done interviews in and famous people. Of course, most of them had had Prophet mentions at some point and counted as famous, but that was for serious things involving the war, which was carefully not mentioned. Instead she regaled them with a story of Celestina Warbeck, who was getting on by now, and had monopolised an interview trying desperately to get those last fans back.
Nott was chortling by the end, and Zabini was no longer holding his glass in the disdainful, aristocratic way they'd all been brought up to, but had since given up.
After that it worked. Draco relaxed a bit into his own skin and realized these were still the people he knew, just less egocentric and grown up. He supposed he was, too.
By ten, they'd agreed to meet again the following week and filtered out. Draco heaved a sigh of relief as the door shut and wondered whether he'd have the courage to tell them next week.
Only a few seconds later, Neville apparated in. Before he'd even got passed the "How," in "How'd it go?" Draco had pulled him into a deep kiss. It went fine, he thought, thank you so much for making me do this.
He was so involved in that that he completely missed Pansy apparating back in, a testament to the fact that the war was well and truly over. They only recognized her presence at the sharp gasp and the wand clattering to the floor.
They broke apart hastily. "Pansy," Draco said nervously. "Er."
A very tense moment.
"I'm sure you remember Neville Longbottom?" he said, desperately trying to maintain what grace he had. This was almost as bad as coming out to his parents.
Pansy's mouth snapped shut. "So you were in charge of the décor," she said triumphantly.
Neville laughed nervously and scratched the back of his neck. "You wouldn't believe how bad his taste is, for a gay man."
They stared at each other for a second, and, having found common ground, dissolved into giggles. Draco pouted.
*
Half an hour later found the three of them seated at the kitchen table with cups of tea, Pansy's handbag on the free chair (She'd forgotten it, which was why she'd come back in the first place). "So it's been two whole years?" she all-but-shrieked.
"Give or take," Draco answered, smiling into his tea and Neville laced their fingers together under the table.
Pansy crossed her legs. "Do his friends know?"
Neville had the grace to blush. "I'm working towards telling them."
"Yes," said Draco with a sigh, "At the pace of a severely impaired flobberworm…"
"Up yours, too, darling," Neville said absently as Pansy giggled, again. Over in the living room, the floo activated; someone was calling. "I'll get it," Neville said, "But I swear, if it's your mother about that house elf again, I'll set Hermione on her."
"Be my guest," Draco called to his retreating figure, "if I hear another word about poorly polished silver, I'll scream."
"You seem…" Pansy paused, speaking in a low voice Neville couldn't hear, "happy."
"I am," Draco answered. "I'm sorry if this is strange for you, but…"
"Nonsense! It's not strange! It's sickeningly adorable and I'm terribly jealous of you, but it is in no way strange. Although you can expect much more whining about my love life now I know you'll sympathize."
Draco gave an exaggerated groan, secretly relieved that his best friend was this happy about it. The rest of them couldn't be much harder. "Draco," Neville's voice called from the living room, "it's for you."
"I told you you have free reign to tell my mother what you like…" he trailed off, seeing whose head it was in the fireplace. "Oh. Hello, Blaise."
"Hello again, Draco. I was just going to ask if Pansy was still at your place, seeing as she promised me a drink, but I think I'm much more interested to know what Neville Longbottom's doing there."
They exchanged a glance. "He lives here," Draco answered quietly.
*
As it turned out, Pansy was practically the archetypical Slytherin, and everyone else (who found out in short order, seeing as neither Pansy nor Blaise were particularly good at keeping their mouths shut) reacted much the same. Shock, followed by a need for gossip, and a great love of intrigue, if not actual happiness for them. Blaise was remarkably supportive ("I always knew you had to be, to say no to Asteria," at which point a light dawned over Draco's head as to why Daphne couldn't stand him. Really, he hadn't known he'd been saying no, but he would have either way), and the whole thing was only about half as bad as Neville's grandmother walking in on them kissing.
And now it was Neville's turn. He said so of his own accord, it's time he told his friends. He wasn't ashamed, he said, he was just…unaccountably nervous. Draco nodded in sympathy. He was nervous, too.
The DA has remained good friends, and they met for lunch at the leaky every now and again. It was to one such meeting Neville chose to bring him. "Better all at once, I figure," he said grimly, and really, Slytherins were much better company because they'd never tell you to your face they think you're horrid, they'd just whisper it behind your back without you knowing, thus eliminating all pink elephants.
"I- I've brought someone," Neville said, "is that all right?"
"Course it is, mate," Ron said jovially. He was always in a good mood these days, it seemed.
Neville nodded and ducked out to get Draco, who was waiting around the corner. Neville was shaking.
"Hey," Draco said, "They won't do that. They're Gryffindors. And if they do…" He didn't finish the sentence, and that firmed Neville's resolve. In those horrible two years, sixth and seventh, Draco's confidence had taken a large dip, and he was so acutely aware of his poor reputation due to his actions he didn't dare presume anything anymore.
"If they do, that's their problem," Neville said firmly, and Draco pressed a quick kiss to his lips before turning the corner to the Leaky.
"There he is! I thought we'd have to send out a search party!" George said when he saw Neville.
"About bloody time, I'm starve-" Ron stopped abruptly when he noticed the second person with Neville.
Silence.
Neville coughed. "I'm sure you all remember each other…"
They took their seats to continued silence. Apparently, the table was very interesting, as both Draco and Neville were staring at it.
"You care to explain, mate?" Lee asked at length.
Neville sighed, ran a hand through his hair, finally looked up. "It's kind of a long story, and something I should have told you all long ago."
Draco tried his best, but ultimately failed, to conceal the impish grin and the laugh.
Neville turned to him, looking mock-exasperated. "Shut up. You weren't much better."
"I told my parents!"
"Your parents," Neville answered, rolling his eyes, "Think the sun shines out of your arse."
"Shut up. Weren't you supposed to be telling them?"
"Right." He turned back to the assembled masses, who looked somewhere between shocked and bemused. "So. Back after the battle of Hogwarts," and wasn't that just Neville, diving in bluntly to the point that everyone skirted around wearing kid gloves because he had something to say so they could shove their delicate sensibilities elsewhere, "I was in charge of rebuilding the greenhouses, as you all know. Someone assigned people to help in different areas, I don't know who, at any rate, Draco was assigned to work with me, most likely because they figured I'd still be too scared of him to beat him over the head with a broomstick for being a prat-"
"Oi!"
"You were, though,"
"Yeah, yeah. Token protest. Someone had to say it."
"Anyway. Sort of…well…One thing led to another and now we're living together."
Too subtle, Draco thought. Most everyone looked entirely blank, except…Hermione Granger, of course, and the Weasley girl. Ginny.
"I knew it!" She shrieked, clapping her hands together. "I knew you were!"
"Oh, gee thanks," Neville said drily.
"Yule ball," she answered, grinning. "After that I got the gist." He grinned back, almost hesitantly.
She stood up and came around the table to hug Neville. "Congratulations. Can't say I'm not faintly shocked at, well…him, but I hope you're happy."
"I agree," Hermione said. "Congratulations to both of you. I think it's time we bury old wounds," and Draco had never ever felt so much affection for Hermione Granger.
"You were always the smartest at Hogwarts," he said, and Neville's heart very nearly burst at that. Coming from Draco, that was as much as going down to his knees and begging for forgiveness, and he hoped they knew that too.
Hermione did, of course. She was the smartest witch he knew, after all.
A delicate clearing of the throat. The four of them looked over at Ron. "I don't get it," he said bluntly. Around him, the others nodded in agreement.
Neville closed his eyes and reached for Draco's hand under the table. "Shall I spell it out for you?" He asked when he opened his eyes again, shining with a sharpness Draco had come to recognize as perilous, as meaning he was scared, mad or frustrated, and people with Neville's equanimity got really, really dangerous at those times.
"I'm gay. He's gay. There's only one bedroom at our flat. Don't make me say any more."
For about a minute, you could have heard a pin drop. Then, Lavender's voice rang out, "Go bloody figure. Taken or gay or both, every last one of them."
Ron laughed harshly. "You're having us on, aren't you, mate?"
Neville shook his head.
"Why didn't you tell us?" Harry asked. He was obviously withholding judgement of some sort.
"Never was the right time. I mean, how was that supposed to go? 'I see you're planning ways to defeat supreme evil and save humanity, but I want to talk about my sexuality'? 'As fond as I am of hearing your conversations about girls and sex, I wanted to tell you, I'm dating this bloke you all used to hate'?" He was staring into his tea, not quite meeting anyone's eye.
Had it not been completely impolite, Draco would have laughed.
His friends, with the exception of Ginny, looked quite shocked.
Yes, he thought, all lions have claws, just as all serpents have fangs. Some just know when to use them…Neville was a man who watched his tongue, all the time. No word came out that wasn't well thought through, because he was still forgetful, and he knew how much a careless word could hurt.
He obviously regretted using his claws now, though, because he closed his eyes briefly, and then said, "Sorry. No offence meant. I've got to go now anyway, just…stop by if you decide you want to talk. Gin, I'll catch you later." He stood up and pulled on his jacket, then turned to Draco. "Coming?"
"In a bit. I've got to settle the bill, and we need groceries."
Neville raised an eyebrow. "Right. The bill. As you wish, see you tonight then. You'd better cook." He dropped a kiss on Draco's lips, as much for effect as anything else (Neville could be a real bitch sometimes), and left.
The table was staring at him. Obviously, now his connection to them was gone, it was odd he was still there. "I'd just like to say, before I go, that doing this cost him a lot of effort. You lot mean a great deal to him, god knows why, given your open and joyful receiving of the news," and it sounded like Ginny was snickering into her napkin. Draco was really growing to like her. "He's spent months trying to figure out how to tell you, and if you're not going to accept him the way he is, just stay away and don't hurt him."
He stood to leave, and was about to do so when Harry said, "Neville doesn't need protecting."
"No," Draco answered. "No one does these days. But haven't you ever thought about how he felt in school, with you lot? Edge of the group, no one but Miss Weasley here to talk to when he was upset, difficult family…people get lonely, you know. The DA was what saved him from that. I suppose I'm trying to say that I don't want him to lose that because of me."
That was when he really left, and he did really go grocery shopping, and by the time Neville got home that night, he had cooked Neville's favourite, and that merited a good few hours forgetting the whole uncomfortable business.
By the time it was eleven, they were just about to go to sleep, when the doorbell rang. Neville swore. "Would you get that? I'm not wearing anything."
So Draco padded downstairs tying up his bathrobe, and they always had to get that one wrong, didn't they, because it was Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny, obviously there for a heart to heart.
"Nev!" He called. "'S for you."
"Hold on a sec," Neville called back.
"Okay. Come in," Draco said to the guests, leading them through to the living room. "Tea? Wine?"
"Tea'd be great, thanks," Ginny said, smiling at him.
So he made as graceful an escape as he could and busybodied about the kitchen as he heard Neville descend the stairs and say, "Oh." Then, "What're you lot doing here."
He came back out to hear the response, though, because some things you just had to hear. "We figured we owed you an apology-" sharp kick from Ginny- "That is, Ron and I did. For how we reacted earlier. It's just…bit of a shock, you know? Anyway, we're here to apologize."
"At eleven o'clock?" Neville asked wearily, sipping at his tea.
The band of ex-Gryffindors was about to answer when the floo acted up.
Draco and Neville exchanged looks.
"Draaaco?" Narcissa's voice floated through. "Yes, hello, darling. I need your advice- oh, hello, Neville, sweetheart- you remember that house-elf I told you about?"
"Vividly," Draco answered darkly, as Neville nodded his greeting, both of them squatting so as to avoid her seeing their guests. That would just be asking for trouble.
"Well, can you imagine, it's actually claiming it should decide what goes on the menu!"
"To be fair, mother, it buys all the food and cooks for you."
Neville elbowed him. Big mistake. "Are you taking its side?"
"No, no, just…been a long day. Why don't we talk about this tomorrow? I'm sure the problem will keep."
Unfortunately, she didn't think so, and prattled on for another good fifteen minutes, about Trinkie the house-elf and family silver, and "When will you two finally get yourselves Bonded? It's been two years!" By the end of it, Draco's cheeks were tainted the dull red that meant he was reaching the end of his rather short line of patience. His attempts to shut her up got more and more transparent, until finally, it culminated in, "Yes, I'm glad you feel free to voice your opinions mother, I'm sorry, I have to go," and shutting off the floo.
"How do I get her to stop?" He asked plaintively, once there had been a moment to revel in silence.
"You could always block the floo." Neville said dryly. "Of course, then she'd turn up in person and read you the riot act for impoliteness."
"Yes, that's just mother all over. Calls at eleven to complain about the bloody house-elf, but even hint an insult at her and she's all over you for bloody impoliteness. Pillage half of the bloody North looking for muggle-borns and she worries about place settings when the death eaters are in. I'm telling you, she's insane." Draco leaned his head back against the wall and groaned. "I need a firewhiskey."
"Get me one too while you're at it. Narcissa just brings it out in me…" Neville said, and Draco got up and wandered off to the kitchen.
Their four visitors were staring at Neville. "Fourth bloody time she's called this week, never at decent times of day, and she will not stop talking about that house-elf. Too proud to give it clothes and too much of a snob to let it do the work in a more efficient, albeit newfangled way."
Hermione's nose looked dangerously like it was drawing itself in for a House Elf Liberation Front Sniff, but Ginny delicately kicked her and it petered itself out to a mere nostril flare of disapproval.
Draco returned with the firewhiskey, and Neville knocked back the shot immediately before settling on an armchair. Draco perched next to him, apparently fascinated by the liquid inside his glass.
"So," Neville said brightly. "We were talking about why you're here at eleven o'clock at night."
"Hem, hem," Ginny said, her Umbridge imitation good as ever. Draco started. Neville hid a smirk. "Did his mother just say you've been together for two years?"
"She might have…implied something to that effect, yes," Neville admitted.
"Why didn't you tell us earlier?" Harry asked.
"I said already. It just…never seemed to be the right time, you know? And then I go and get a job at Hogwarts, and you just know this sort of thing will be all over the tabloids, and I don't want students reading that, and…oh, there are so many reasons."
"Mm," Draco said. "Ex-Death-Eater and War Hero Living in Sin and Secrecy. I can just see Rita Skeeter tittering in glee."
"Oh," Ron said, as if the thought had just occurred to him. It probably had, come to that.
"Yes, quite," Draco said. If he was at all remembering any past enmity, he certainly didn't show it. "And then everyone else goes off pairing and interbreeding like cute little bunny rabbits, and you get nervous."
"Does your Gran know, Neville?" Hermione asked. She'd met Gran Longbottom a few times, and was…well, curious to say the least.
Neville blushed. "Yeah. Er…yeah."
Draco chuckled.
"Shut it, you. It was just as embarrassing for you."
Draco smirked, a smirk the four guests remembered well, but somehow lacking in bite. "Not entirely. I'm not related by blood. And, she didn't drag me off to have the safe sex talk."
"You just had to say that, didn't you?"
Ginny laughed. "You two are actually disproportionately cute."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Well, for the guy I once went out with and the guy I once hexed…"
Neville smiled at her, and unconsciously, his body posture relaxed enough for him and Draco to be touching, and then, leaning into each other comfortably.
"Thanks," Neville said. "It means a lot that you…accept this."
"Yeah," Draco said, voice muffled slightly by Neville's hair. "But, you know, you're obliged to. Damned by your own actions."
"How so?" Harry asked, the first words he'd said directly to Draco since lunch.
"You won the bloody war, didn't you," Draco smiled, showing a few more teeth than a Gryffindor would, but then, not too many. "Now you're stuck in your own shit. You have to support tolerance, and gay men, and little fluffy unicorns. Just think how scandalized the next generation of little fangirls would be elsewise."
Harry stared at him for a minute, and then he laughed.
Draco hid his grin by nuzzling into Neville's hair. Inter-house unity, he thought, here we come.