Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.
A/N: This isn't properly British.
Potter physically stumbles back from shove, looking just as shell-shocked as Draco.
"What the hell, Neville?" Weasley splutters, eyes wide and looking deeply disturbed.
"I said to cut it out," Neville grunts. Ever since the Carrows, he just hasn't been the push over he once was, and Weasley and Potter weren't around to witness that.
Potter shrugs uncomfortably and mutters, "He started it."
"Just 'cause he's awful to you doesn't give you the right to push him," Neville says firmly, like he did when he would protect first-years last year from the Death Eaters.
But Draco's a Death Eater, not a first year. And he did start it. And Draco's never once in his life had anyone stick up for him, excluding the way he'd expressly have to order Crabbe and Goyle to.
But Neville gives Potter one last warning glare, before turning to scoop Draco up in his arm and storm out of the courtyard.
Draco's too surprised to do anything but follow, Neville's arm firmly around his waist. Neville takes them through the adjacent corridor, and Draco tries not to look at all the passerbys, who definitely look at him. Draco tries not to blush and tries to hold his chin up, like usual, looking haughty and like he means it to happen.
Neville ushers him into an empty classroom and closes the door behind them.
Draco doesn't say, 'thank you,' because he isn't good with those. Instead he just looks at Neville in surprise and curiosity, really examining his boyfriend.
Eighth year is a whole new ballgame for everyone, and Draco's still getting used to it.
"Are you okay?" Neville mumbles, deflating back down to normal. It's strange after how strong he just was, but Draco just nods dumbly. Neville nods and says, "Good." ...Then he frowns, looking a little sheepish, and adds, "Er, sorry. I might've over reacted. I just... I just don't like other people touching you."
Draco's eyebrows reach his hairline. (He did think it was strange that Neville would defend his very questionable honour, even with their new, tenuous relationship.) "You're jealous."
Neville makes a look that says, 'well...' and glances sideways, rubbing the back of his neck. Then he seems to make up his mind and looks firmly back at Draco. "...Well, Harry shouldn't have touched you."
"Obviously," Draco sniffs. He brushes off the front of his robes for show.
Neville nods and says flatly, "Only I can do that; you're mine."
Draco stops halfway through nodding. "What?"
"You heard me." But Neville grins while he says it, looking oddly humble. Like he would take it back if Draco was upset, though he isn't.
He's sort of amused. And just a little glowing. It's such a turn on when Neville gets all possessive and dominant, and when he tries, he does it well. Draco's still a brat, though, so he still insists, "You're mine."
Neville steps closer with confirmation in his eyes. Draco tilts his head to be kissed, and he mewls as Neville's arms slip around his sides, pulling him close. Neville kisses him warmly and touches him languidly. Neville mumbles against his lips, "Only I can put my hands on you."
Draco pleads huskily, "Put your hands on me..."