Title: Butterfly
Author: Snake79
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. The first section of this fiction is almost entirely JKR, I take no credit.
Main Characters: Neville/Draco, Severus.
Rating: R
Summary: Nothing is ever quite what it seems.
A/N: warning for hints of non/dub-con in later chapters.
Butterfly
"You are not in a position to bargain, Potter," said Malfoy, his voice cool, calculating. "You see, there are ten of us and only one of you…"
"He's dot alone!" Neville shouted, blood pouring from his nose. "He's still god be!"
Harry was standing on the dais, facing the Death Eaters – defiant, proud.
Neville knew somewhere deep down, that it was useless to try and help, and yet he had to do something; he stumbled down the stone benches towards them, Hermione's wand in his hand.
"Neville, no, go back to Ron."
It was a little too late for that now –
"STUBEFY!" he shouted. "STUBEFY!"
One of the Death Eaters caught him from behind, pinning his arms to his sides. He struggled and kicked, but to no avail. He could hear them laughing.
"It's Longbottom, isn't it?" Malfoy sneered. "Well, your grandmother is used to losing family members to our cause …"
She was there.
"Longbottom?" she repeated, a malevolent smile lighting her face. "Why, I have had the pleasure of meeting your parents, boy."
His blood ran cold, fear and overwhelming hatred coursing through him. He wanted to hurt her, wanted to make her pay, but at the same time he wanted to run for his life. He fought to get away, thrashing and punching – desperate, angry. His captor said something he didn't quite hear, and she was speaking again.
"No, let's see how long Longbottom lasts before he cracks like his parents …"
No, this couldn't happen. He kicked and writhed like a thing possessed as she drew closer to him, her wand raised.
"Crucio!"
He woke, heart pounding in his ears, sweat beading on his skin.
His eyes focussed on misted glass, countryside streaking quietly by; his head bumped against the window as the Hogwarts Express jolted beneath him. He rested back in his seat and closed his eyes, trying to calm his breathing, but her voice followed him from the dream, a whispered promise: "That was just a taster!"
Standing up, he stretched and then moved to the door; he'd splash his face, get a little air – that usually did the trick. He'd been having the same dream almost every night since the end of last term; always with her, always with that whispered promise.
No one noticed as he left, they were all secure in their illusory bubbles, discussing their summer holidays, all still trying to pretend that You-Know-Who hadn't returned. The corridors were mostly empty, quiet; which was why he was surprised to round the corner and bump into Harry.
"Harry," he breathed, then after a moment: "How are you?"
"Not bad," Harry answered with a small, almost sad smile, "could be better."
"Me too,"
They stared at each in silence, awkward, neither really knowing what to say, and not wanting to bring up what had happened at the end of last year. Neville could tell that Harry was still mourning the loss of Sirius Black, even though he really didn't understand why.
"So, why don't you come and join us?" Harry asked, pointing towards a compartment a little further along; he could just make out Ron and Hermione, and if he weren't mistaken Ginny and Luna too.
"Thanks, Harry."
It made him happy to think that he was now part of something bigger than himself – accepted. Harry nodded and then moved off down the corridor in the direction Neville had been headed; towards the bathroom. He smiled and rested against the window edge, watching the trees fly by, content to wait. It was only after ten minutes that he started to get curious - how long did Harry intend to stay in there?
He walked the few steps to the bathroom door and knocked softly, not really wanting to disturb. There was a shuffling from the other side, a scuffling sound and then a thump.
"Harry, are you alright?" he asked, wary.
"Yes," came the abrupt reply. "Yes, I'm just getting changed, one moment."
The door opened a slither and Harry peered out at him, cheeks flushed, slightly out of breath. He frowned, then smiled and, tucking something into his pocket, stepped out into the corridor.
"Sorry about that, Longbottom," Harry said jovially, a complete contrast to minutes before. "I didn't realise I was taking so long."
"That's ok," he responded, not really knowing what else to say; he wasn't used to Harry calling him by his surname, and there was something in his eyes that seemed not quite right; a shadow almost.
"I'll be off then,"
"Sure."
Harry disappeared down the corridor without a backward glance.
He'd decided not to take Harry up on his offer to join them, preferring to keep his own company. He settled back into his seat and reached into his bag, pulling out the latest issue of the Quibbler. But, try as he might, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that he'd let something slip by that he should have questioned.
The compartment was getting more rowdy the closer they got to Hogwarts; everyone eager to stretch their legs, meet old friends, and settle back into their dorm rooms. Neville decided to take another walk, possibly change into his own robes. Maybe he'd bump into Harry again, and then he could find out what was going on.
He didn't really want to bump into Harry.
He bumped into Malfoy instead.
"Well," Malfoy muttered, "if it isn't the troublesome chit, himself."
Neville blinked, he could barely see Malfoy in the semi-gloom of the lanterns; half his face in light, the other in darkness.
"How are you enjoying all the attention, Longbottom?" There was a harsh lilt to Malfoy's words. "It must be quite nice to finally be recognised for something, even if it is for getting my father locked up in Azkaban."
He began to back up, not comfortable with the closeness – he could practically feel the waves of hostility coming from Malfoy.
"I don't want any trouble,"
"You should have thought of that before you got involved." Malfoy hissed, bringing his face to an inch before Neville's. "Aunty Bella would so like to meet you again."
Neville reacted before he could stop himself, jerking away from Malfoy as if he'd been slapped. Malfoy sneered. "Things are going to change around here, Longbottom," he whispered, so close to his ear. "And when they do, you'd better pray I get my hands on you before she does."
Neville didn't move as Malfoy stepped back; he didn't move as Malfoy walked away; he didn't move as Malfoy disappeared from sight.
When he did eventually turn, his heart skipped another beat – there in the shadows stood Harry, green eyes distinguishable in the little light, face without expression, just watching him, studying him.
"Harry," he ventured.
But Harry looked away.
Things quickly settled back into routine, the days filled with learning, the evenings filled with whatever anyone chose to fill them with. Nothing untoward had happened since their return yet Neville still wasn't entirely convinced. It wasn't anything specific just a look that lingered that bit too long (not friendly just curious); a selective amnesia.
Ron and Hermione were suspicious too, he'd seen them muttering quietly among themselves when Harry wasn't around.
He looked up, hearing voices outside the bathroom door; one clearly Malfoy's. Not eager to be caught alone in a rarely used part of Hogwarts, he quickly pulled up his zip, put down the lid, and just as the outer door opened, hopped up onto the toilet seat. Someone quickly checked the stalls, a cursory search to make sure they were all empty and then:
"What are you playing at, Malfoy?" Harry hissed.
"I know what I'm doing," Malfoy answered. "It's just taking longer than I thought."
"You don't have that kind of time," Harry barked. "You have your orders. If you don't think you can do it, then –"
"I can and I will."
"You'd better. Everything else is in place; we don't need you messing up."
They fell silent. Neville dared not move, dared not breathe. There were footsteps, heading away, and then the bathroom door opened once again and they were gone. He waited a few minutes longer and then, deciding it was safe, stepped back down to the floor.
He'd obviously been right to worry about Harry.
He opened the stall door and stopped short.
Malfoy was standing by the sinks, staring at him. Neither of them spoke. Malfoy looked tired, the circles under his eyes more pronounced in the weak light from the high window. After a moment he looked away, turning around to stare at his reflection in the cracked mirror, his face becoming distorted, disjointed; broken.
The sudden surge of emotion compassion took Neville completely by surprise.
"You don't seem to be having much luck staying out of trouble."
Their gazes met in the mirror.
Malfoy turned back to him, resting his hip against the sink edge and crossing his arms at his chest. Neville didn't know how to respond, but he was saved the discomfort when the bathroom door swung open and a group of first years bowled in, chatting excitedly; their conversation dying when they saw the two sixth year students facing each other across the bathroom.
Neville took the opportunity, ducked his head, and made a hasty exit. He would've been foolish to think that was the end of it.
The sun woke him, harsh and bright in the gloom created by the hangings around his bed; a strip of light that fell across his face and then was gone. It took a moment for his eyes to readjust, a moment for him to understand that someone was there, approaching him.
He pushed himself up on to his elbows, only to have a hand push him forcefully back down.
He was about to protest when he saw the gleam of silver, and felt the cold steel against his throat.
"Not a sound," Harry warned. "Do you understand?"
He nodded, a cold sweat breaking out on his skin.
The bed dipped beside him and then Harry was straddling his chest, pinning him down. He reacted instinctively attempting to push him off but the knife cut into him and he stopped as suddenly as he'd started.
"There are a few things we need to get clear." Harry whispered. Neville could just make out his shape in the darkness.
"Who are you?"
Harry laughed; the hairs on the back of Neville's neck stood up.
"I'm Harry."
"No, you're not."
Another laugh, closer to his ear this time; Harry was leaning over him.
"Then who am I, Neville?"
"I don't know, but you're not Harry."
Silence, all he could hear was his own panted, panicked breaths.
"And if you know what's good for you, you won't go shouting about that," all the laughter was gone from Harry's voice now; he leaned in closer, moving his body down to lie tight against Neville's, a knee insinuating itself between his legs; he placed an ear to Neville's chest. "Your heart's beating so fast, like a little butterfly trapped in a jar."
Neville struggled, feeling for the first time the erection pressed into his thigh – he fought even harder.
"Don't." Harry spat, but Neville didn't listen; he continued to writhe beneath him, hands grabbing at the edge of the bed, the side of the cabinet; trying to find anything that could help him. The knife cut into his throat again and he gasped.
His hand brushed against something on the cabinet and it crashed to the floor; his drinking glass – it smashed and water went everywhere. Harry sat back on his heels, listening; there was movement in the room, sleep disturbed. He met Neville's gaze and then drew back and away, stepping quietly to his feet.
"This is the only warning you'll get, Longbottom."
And with that, he was gone.
"Neville,"
He looked up from his parchment, and managed a smile for Hermione, pleased for the distraction – he'd been staring at the same line of text for the past hour getting no further then the title; his mind kept slipping back to Harry and the small cuts on his neck left by the blade.
"You've been a bit quiet today, is everything okay?" she continued, taking the seat opposite him; the library was practically empty, only one Hufflepuff student occupied the table at the end of the aisle. Neville didn't say anything at first, then taking a breath he spoke:
"I'm worried about Harry," his voice was so low he wasn't sure she'd heard him. She looked distracted, a frown marking her forehead; she turned away from his gaze and stared off into the empty space of the library.
"So am I, Neville."
He thought about asking her what she planned to do about it but then changed his mind, if he didn't want trouble then he shouldn't go looking for it – on that he and Malfoy were in complete agreement.
"We'd better get to Defences," she said, standing up – changing the subject. "We don't want to be late."
"Yeah," he sighed; the last thing he needed was detention with Snape on top of everything else.
They didn't talk as they wondered through the thronging corridors to the DADA classroom.
He was reluctant to leave the warmth of the bed, even more so to leave the arms and legs and lips of the woman in it. But he had class in twenty minutes and if he didn't move now than he'd never get back to the school on time. She moaned as he got up, the cool air making her shudder and reach for him where he'd been only moments before.
Her hand groped, once, twice and then she opened her eyes and stared at him:
"Going somewhere?"
He continued to pull his trousers on, slowly doing up the buttons, before reaching for his shirt.
She sat up a little further against the pillows and pulled the duvet closer around her; she always looked amazing even just woken from sleep with her blonde hair tousled around her shoulders.
"I have class in fifteen minutes," he said by way of explanation and she raised a slender eyebrow at him:
"You could always cancel; say you have a headache or some such thing."
He sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots and she moved forward, the cover falling away to expose her beautifully formed body, the swell of her breasts. He continued to concentrate on his boots, determined not to look at her. She pulled up close behind him, thighs around his waist and began to nibble at his ear.
"Severus," she muttered - a breath on his neck, "just a little longer."
"I really have to go, Narcissa."
A hand snaked up under his shirt and gently began to trace one to the scars on his back, her tongue trailed down his neck. He moved his head slightly to face her and she kissed him, a kiss which he deepened when he turned and pressed her back against the bed. It always felt so good to have her beneath him.
She sighed as he kissed her throat, moving down to her silk-soft breast. She laughed as his hand moved up between her legs, moaned as he softly stroked her. He felt himself growing hard once more and pulled away quickly.
"I have to go."
"A little unfair, don't you think?"
He smirked, stood up and reached for his cloak. Crossing to the fireplace, he turned back to the room, the Malfoy crest on the bedspread catching his eye.
"I'm sure we can finish this later."
Before she could respond he threw a handful of powder into the grate, stated his destination and stepped into the green flames. When he stepped out of the fireplace again he found himself in The Three Broomsticks, with only seven minutes to spare before start of class. He ducked into the foyer, grabbed his firebolt from where he'd left it earlier and, mounting his broom, headed for Hogwarts.
He entered the room a little behind Granger and Longbottom, and took his place at the head of the class.
"Shall we begin?"
They became silent, finished conversations, turned to face him - awaiting his instruction.
Slowly, he let his gaze travel over them, pausing a little too long at Potter, who met his stare and gave a small knowing smile. There was something different about his eyes, about his presence. Severus recognised that look, but not on Harry Potter. So, it had begun. Longbottom sat low in his seat beside Potter, looking uncomfortable, if not a little afraid – his eyes continuing to stray to the pictures along the walls.
Once class began in earnest, Longbottom rose from his seat and made to move to another table but Potter caught him by the elbow, pulled him close and whispered something in his ear. Longbottom glanced uneasily around and then, after a pause, once again took his seat – he visibly shrank into himself as Severus passed by.
The practice session, which he explained carefully, started well – the students all working on deflection charms in pairs which he had chosen. He wondered among them, raising an arm here, correcting an incantation there, mind drifting absently forward to that evening.
There was a commotion over to his left and he turned to see Longbottom sprawled on the practice mat, staring incredulously up at Potter. He reached them just as Longbottom got back to his feet.
"What's the matter, butterfly?" Potter hissed, only audible to those close by. "Not still worried about me, I hope."
Longbottom glanced fleetingly at Granger, who stood to the side wide-eyed, clutching at Weasley's arm.
"What seems to be the problem here?" Severus asked; voice barely louder than a whisper.
"No problem, professor." Potter replied, giving him a look that clearly warned him to back off. Severus frowned, held the green eyes for a moment and then looked away, he really knew better than to get involved with this. Robes flowing around him, he turned away – deliberately not looking at Longbottom.
It really was no business of his – he had his own troubles, his own demons to kill. Longbottom would just have to deal with his own.
And his conviction held until Longbottom disappeared, to be followed shortly after by Potter, Weasley and Granger, and he found himself turning to Draco Malfoy for explanation.