A/N: I love this pairing so much that it's not even funny. Takes place sometime during the fifth year; use your imagination on the time! It doesn't really matter. ^.^ Enjoy!
"Uh, Draco?" Neville asked. His voice was quieter then usual and barely heard over the chattering in the Great Hall; most of the other students were busy shoving food in their mouths as they talked, trying to pack as much in they could before dinner was over and they had to rush off to the last class of the day.
Neville had passed up on dinner in favor of searching for the Slytherin boy, who had been walking about the entrance hall with Goyle. He wasn't all that hungry anyway. Since he'd stumbled across the potion, his stomache had been nothing but a bunch of nerves.
He bet if he ate anything, he'd just end up rushing to the Boy's Room.
The blonde haired Slytherin didn't look up at him for a few moments, raising an eyebrow at Neville when he did. "What do you want, Longbottom?"
"Oh, uhm..." Neville could feel his face heat up, no doubt turning a vivid red. He bit down on his bottom lip and glanced down at the book he was clutching to his chest. If he wanted to actually say it all, it would probably just be best to spit it all out at once.
"I was just looking through one of the books I bought last year, and I remembered what you were saying about flying." The blonde scowled at him and Neville sped up. "I didn't make it 'cause I'm not good at potions or anything I'd probably just end up poisoning you or something, but I figured you'd be able to do it just fine. The greenhouses have just about all of the ingrediants you need and I've seen the other stuff in Potions Class."
Draco frowned. "What are you going on about?" Several of the other Slytherins had looked up from their meals to stare at the exchange and their murmurs were quickly getting the attention of the closer Gryffindors.
Neville hadn't thought about how big of a scene him, stammering scaredy-cat Neville, going up to the Slytherin table and starting up a conversation with Draco would make.
Turned out, it was quite a lot.
Stomach doing a flip, Neville shoved the book he'd been holding at Draco and near-ran out of the Great Hall; leaving behind a very confused looking Draco and two table of people staring after him.
Between the fact that it was dinner and most people were eating, and the fact that Neville was intent on getting to the Green Houses as quick as he possibly could, the trip out of the castle and across the grounds seemed to take no time at all. The still-slightly pudgy Gryffindor shoved open the glass door to House Three, let it slam shut behind it, and promptly crossed the room to the shelves at the back.
Why had he done that? Did he go mental over night, or something? Because that was just insane, what he did! He hadn't even given Draco the book, that horrid stupid book, in private! No, he had to do it in the middle of dinner! In the middle of everyone!
The flushed teen glared at the grey-leaved plant that had no doubt brought on his bout of madness, barely resisting the urge to grab it's gnarled stem and jerk it out of the ground. If the plant that he'd been tending to, had carefully planted and raised himself, hadn't been the main ingrediant in the Potion's book then Neville never would have even thought about bringing it up to the proud Slytherin.
But it was and he had and it wasn't the plants fault, Neville told himself, so instead he just crouched down and ran his fingers over the brittle leaves.
Not many people knew that the leaves of the Shriveling Shrub, when freshly ground, had a slight numbing effect. Or that when it was combined with Dittany and Ragwort and a few other items, it would create a substance similar to the Numbing Potions that Madame Pomfry occasionally used. Not as strong, of course, but potent enough to take away pangs caused by flying a broom; or crashing one, as he'd discovered the year before.
"I've made a fool of myself, haven't I?" Neville sighed. Unsurprisingly, none of the plants answered him. They never did, despite the fact that he found himself talking with them more and more often as the years passed by. It was nice having something that would listen to him without acting as though it was a great waste of their time.
It was true that Draco and he had gotten rather close since their fifth year started, and the Slytherin boy had sat down beside him at breakfast fo their second day and struck up conversation, and their talks were always nice. Even when they strayed onto subjects Neville wasn't completely comfortable with, like when Harry and Ron would pass a class without turning in work.
Now he was starting to worry that they wouldn't anymore.
It was a silly thought, especially since Neville hadn't done anything wrong, but it was still there. After spending so long without someone to talk and complain, hesitantly but it was happening more and more often, to...He didn't want to go back to just having the garden Proffesor Sprout had graciously let him start up.
Neville sighed again, plucking off one of the frail leaves and rubbing it between his fingers. He didn't hear the door open or the footsteps clacking on the cobbled walkway until they were right behind him.
"I figured this was where you'd run off to."
Jumping, Neville lurched to his feet and spun around. The leaf fluttered to the ground and he found himself staring at a smirking Malfoy. "D-Draco?" He didn't know why he was so embarrased or worried over the whole thing, it was just a book. A helpful book.
Something friends would do for each other.
And Neville liked thinking that they were friends, even if Draco only came round when he tired of the boring conversations with his fellow Slytherins.
"No. I'm Lavender. Can't you tell?" The jibe was just met by wide-eyes staring out at him from a red face. Draco rolled his own eyes. "Did you really think I wasn't going to come after you? You're stupider then I thought, Longbottom."
Neville stayed silent, though he could feel his face heat back up; the familar red creeping up his neck and across his cheeks and ears.
"Well?" Draco insisted. "Are you going to explain why you shoved the book at me and then ran off like you were chased?"
Of course, Draco had already looked at the book-marked page in the thick potions tome. A mild Numbing Potion, something that would only last for a few hours instead of days like the standard ones most Medi-witches used. There wasn't any reason to mention that, though, so he didn't.
Folding his hands behind his back, Neville shifted nervously. He looked away from Draco before he spoke. "I dunno." He muttered, voice quiet but thankfully free of tremors this time. "I was looking through it to see what I could do with my plants, you know, if I was good at brewing potions, and found it. Just thought it might help next week."
Next week was the final quidditch match of the year. Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Harry wasn't Seeker for that match, Ginny having taken his place when he was banned by Umbridge, and everyone was counting on Draco to bring in the Quidditch Cup.
Something that wouldn't be easy to do, Neville figured, with the boys sides and back aching the whole time.
Which they would. Draco had told him just the week before that, ever since the Mad-Eye imposter turned him into a ferret and formally introduced him to the ground, they would hurt whenever he so much as sat on a broom. Competitve flying was painful for him now.
Draco was silent for a few moments, grey-blue eyes looking over the uncomfortable Gryffindor, before he turned on his heel and made for the door. "Defence Against the Dark Arts is about to start. We don't want to be late; Umbitch'll have our hides if we are."
Neville nodded, still silent, and started after him. He froze, blush once more dusting his cheeks, when Draco tacked on: "And thanks for the book, Longbottom. It was...Nice of you, I suppose."