Driftwood

He'd always thought that friendship, true friendship, would last forever; that nothing could change the one simple fact that his friends were his friends. But, it hadn't taken him long to realise just how wrong he was. It seemed that his friends were only friends, when he towed the line and did and thought as they did.

He understood that it had come as a shock, he'd expected that, but he hadn't expected the sudden hostility; the hooded glances that said he'd betrayed them somehow. He opened his mouth once more to try and explain that his relationship with Draco had absolutely nothing to do with betraying loyalties; that he'd always stand by them, only sometimes he'd stand by Draco too.

But they wouldn't listen; Harry wouldn't even look at him. They just couldn't understand, no matter how hard he tried to make them. They couldn't see Draco as anything other than a spoiled little rich boy, who thought of nothing but himself. Hermione had even tried to convince him of that obvious truth, the worry etched on her face. They thought Draco was using him.

They couldn't have been more wrong. Draco needed him. And, after all this time, he needed Draco too.

Harry stood up suddenly, turning to face him:

"If you prefer the company of Slytherins, Neville, why don't you go and join them?"

"This has nothing to do with House," he began but Harry cut him off.

"This has everything to do with House!" His cheeks were flushed with anger, and Neville couldn't hold his gaze. "I thought I could trust you, and all this time you've been fucking Malfoy!"

"It isn't like that,"

"Do you talk about me?" Harry spat. "Do you laugh behind me my back?"

Harry was slowly backing him up against the wall; Neville's heart was pounding in his chest.

"Harry, please…"

For one terrifying moment he thought Harry was going to hit him, but then Hermione stepped forward and between them.

"Hermione, you have to believe me, it isn't like that."

"I think you should just go, Neville."

He felt like he'd just been dropped in a bucket of ice water. Ron was leading Harry away, muttering in his ear and glancing back suspiciously at Neville.

"Hermione,"

She smiled at him, a reassuring smile: "Just give them time, they'll come round in the end."

He truly hoped so.

Draco wasn't fairing that much better, in fact, he was doing decidedly worse. Blaise hit him again, and this time his head banged back against the stone wall, making his head throb. They'd been fighting for the past ten minutes and both were getting tired. The crowd around them, however, was still crying for blood.

He caught Blaise round the back of the neck and brought his knee up into his stomach, causing him to double up, and allowing Draco to knee him to the face. Blaise hollered, as his nose broke with a resounding crack, and the Common Room went silent. Draco stepped back, wiping the blood from the side of his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You might not like me, but you should know better by now than to attack a Malfoy." His voice held that customary edge of confident superiority, and they backed away as he moved to pick up his bag from where it had been thrown. Pansy edged forward to help Blaise, who was clutching his nose, glaring at Draco with a heat that could have burned.

"A Malfoy," Pansy said, flicking her hair back over her shoulder, "What manner of Malfoy would degrade himself with a Gryffindor, and a Longbottom at that…?"

"You have no right the question me," Draco muttered threatening, calling his wand to him.

"I have every right, Draco," she sounded genuinely offended, "you're supposed to be one of us."

He moved towards the door, making sure that his back was straight and his head held high.

"Does your father know…?"

That caused him to pause: he hadn't, but he certainly would now.

"He'll be so disappointed in you."

The truth of that simple statement made Draco's hand tighten on his wand and he turned around slowly to face her; she swallowed, a flash of fear in her eyes, before she held his gaze defiantly. Blaise, using her arm as support, pulled himself to his feet and took an unsteady step towards Draco.

They had been his friends. He looked around the room, into the eyes of people that had once worshiped him, at his lost domain; and then, turning, without a backward glance, walked away from it all.

He saw Draco before Draco saw him, and he paused in the shadow of the stair, composing himself before stepping out into the entrance hall. Draco wouldn't want to see the look of concern on his face, the hurt in his eyes that the sight of Draco's bruised and blooded face had caused. He wouldn't want Neville to take him in his arms and hold him and gently kiss every cut, in an attempt to make the pain go away. He wouldn't want that.

So Neville would be strong; and he wouldn't let Draco see how his heart cried.

Draco turned at the sound of his footsteps, and a wry smile graced his lips:

"Well, I think that went well," his voice sounded casual, as if it was no big thing that they'd just been outed to the whole school "Don't you think?"

Neville shook his head: "No, I don't think so."

He moved forward, wanting to step into Draco's arms, to feel safe in the familiar embrace; but Draco was distracted, restless and Neville knew that he resented public displays of emotion; it had taken long enough for him to relax when they were alone and still often felt uncomfortable in the face of Neville's devotion, pulling away into the quiet place inside himself that Neville couldn't reach.

He would never understand, as much as he tried, just what it meant to be a Malfoy. But he would always be patient.

Draco caught his eye and was about to speak, when Professor Snape entered the hall from the dungeon, and he did not look happy.

"Could one of you please explain to me, what exactly is going on here?"

Neville stared at the floor, and refused to look up. Draco, however, was completely at ease.

"There really isn't anything to explain, Professor."

"Oh, I think there is, young Malfoy." Snape's gaze darted from one to the other of them, "I will not stand for fighting in my Common Room."

"Yes, well, Zabini started it," Draco sounded affronted that this should be being brought to him, and Neville could completely empathise; it really wasn't his fault.

"Save me the indignation, Draco." Snape muttered. "You've brought this upon yourselves; how could you have been so careless?"

Neville felt the blush work its way up his neck and onto his cheeks, Draco remained unfazed.

"Well, as they say: in the heat of the moment…"

Snape raised a slender eyebrow and then gave a soft laugh: "Done is done. Do not cause anymore disruptions."

And with that he was gone, leaving them once more alone. Snape was right, they had been careless, but after almost four years, they were bound to let their guard down a little, and the disused classroom on the second floor had always been a safe bet; until last night, that was, when Colin Creevey had blundered in on them, and then run off before either of them were composed enough to go after him.

"So, what happens now?" Draco asked.

"There's no room at the inn," Neville muttered, a hint of humor in his voice. They had just parted from Luna Lovegood and received just the same response from her (I don't think they'd let you stay, Neville, you know how they can be sometimes…) as from Justin Finch-Fletchley (I'm sorry, Neville, if it were just you, then there'd be no problem at all, but… you know ordinarily I'd do anything for you…): they were not welcome in either Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw House. Draco once again recalled the look in Finch-Fletchley eyes, one of compassion and concern for Neville; a look that asked "why?"

Why?

Draco had asked that question once himself, back at the beginning of fifth year. He had decided over the summer holiday that he was going to end whatever it was they had, that he wasn't comfortable any longer with the way that Neville was the first thing he thought about when he woke up in the morning. It was a weakness.

He'd been deliberately distant and cold since their return, avoiding Neville's attempts to talk to him, ignoring the look of pain and confusion in his eyes. After a week he'd asked for Neville to join him in the second floor classroom, and been met by a spitting mad Gryffindor; he'd expected nothing less. Neville hadn't understood at that point that it was over; he'd only thought Draco was playing with him, much as he had at the start of their relationship.

"I have just one question," he'd said, once Neville had stopped yelling at him. "Why exactly are you with me?"

Neville had given him a small, sad smile; but his anger had disappeared – almost as if he'd suddenly understood something that had eluded him.

"Because I see you, Draco," he'd replied simply. "I see you, in there, hidden behind all that Malfoy-ism."

Draco's own anger had flared at that but before he could retort, Neville had continued:

"Its like, you're given keys to a new car, and its one of those state-of-the-art, chrome and leather beauties, with all the trimmings, and you think: there's no way that's mine, its way too good for me, it's one of those cars that chooses its driver, not the other way round." Neville paused, with a little laugh, not really looking at Draco. "And you're so scared to touch it, because you might mark it amazing body work, and you're so intimidated; but then when you finally work up the nerve to take it for a ride, the leather moulds to you perfectly, the wheel feels right under your hand, and it runs like a dream, practically purrs, but only for you, because for anyone else it's still intimidating and scary. Do you get what I mean, Draco?"

Draco hadn't really known when the flush had first appeared on his cheeks, but he couldn't deny it was there.

"I can't say I really know much, if anything, about cars, but I think your meaning's quite clear."

"Ok, are we good then?"

And Draco hadn't said anything then, or later, about splitting up. He supposed being accepted, despite all his faults, was probably the best he could ever hope for.

"It must be time for lunch, I'm famished." Draco said, dismissing the fact that they had absolutely nowhere to sleep that evening. He turned and headed towards the great hall, leaving Neville staring after him in dismay.

"Draco, are you really going in there?"

Draco paused, a slight frown playing over his forehead: "Well, where else am I going to eat?" His voice held that note of irritation, that note which always got right under Neville's skin.

How could Neville explain that he just didn't have the energy right now to face the resentment of his friends, and the curiosity of the school? He wasn't entirely sure that Draco would understand at all. But the look in Draco's eyes subtly changed, as did the tone of his voice: "Come on," he said, "I don't really want to go in alone."

And, neither would Neville let him.

Nobody did outwardly stare at them, but there was a sudden lull in conversation when they entered. Luna called them over to the Ravenclaw table, where she was sitting alone, none of the others really paying her any attention. It was once they were seated that conversation resumed, and Neville deliberately avoided meeting anyone's eye. He was very conscious that Draco sat apart from him, the space between them feeling very large and cold.

Draco was chatting pleasantly with Luna about something or other, and Neville let his glance drift around the hall – it seemed to him that only Harry and Zabini were watching them intently, but then he was pretty certain that wasn't necessarily the case. He really wished sometimes that he had Draco's poise and indifference.

He had completely lost his appetite, pushing his food despondently around his plate. He felt movement beside him and looked up, meeting Draco's gaze; his heart skipped an apprehensive beat but before he could question just what Draco intended to do, their lips met; Draco's tongue delved into his mouth, demanding and possessive. He moaned softly as they came apart, breathing heavily, and wanting more.

Draco's eyes were laughing and Neville shook his head; he really was the damndest creature!

"I thought you didn't like public displays," he muttered.

Draco shrugged. "Are you finished?"

"Yeah,"

"I want to talk to Professor Snape; maybe he can do something about this situation."

Neville followed him out of the hall, allowing the closing doors to swallow the immediate burst of chatter.

But Snape was no help at all, and Draco was beginning to regret the decision to go to him. Snape stared at him waiting for an answer to a question Draco would not, and could not, give. After a few more moments of awkward silence, Snape sat forward in his chair and stood up.

"It is all very well, Draco, while you're still here at Hogwarts."

"I understand what you're saying," Draco attempted to preempt him, to change the subject, but Snape wasn't having any of it.

"Does he know the truth? Have you been anywhere near honest with him?"

Draco met and held his gaze, challenging, but he knew that Snape could see the truth written on his face, it was set in the tightened muscles of his shoulders, and the clenched fists at his side.

"I didn't think so." Snape said, walking around the desk to face him.

"He'll understand." Draco muttered, berating the note of doubt in his voice. This was the one subject he'd successfully avoided over the last year, batting it out of his waking thoughts, and refusing to let it creep, skulking into the light; even when he'd waken in the small hours of the night, crying out in despair.

"You give him far too much credit, Draco."

Maybe he did put too much faith in Neville's acceptance, trusting that when he did know the truth, he would still want Draco, as much as Draco would need him. He closed his eyes and the images from his dream once again assaulted him; images of Neville walking away from him, walking away and never coming back.

"You don't know that." Draco all but moaned, opening his eyes again.

"What exactly do you think he'll do when you finally get around to telling him that you have followed in your father's footsteps and pledged allegiance to the Dark Lord? Gryffindors are Gryffindors, Draco." Snape all but whispered.

Draco took a step backwards, and then another, and before he was even conscious of what he was doing, he was striding towards the door.

"Well, I really hope Neville proves you wrong, Professor."

He really hoped Neville proved them both wrong.

"I know where we could go," Neville said when Draco sat down beside him on the cold step. "If you don't mind plants, and a bit of dirt…"

Draco met his smile with a slight frown, but when Neville stood up and reached out his hand, Draco took it without a moment's hesitation.

Draco was asleep, his arm draped protectively across Neville's chest, his back still glistening with sweat. The smell of recent sex mingled enticingly with the earthy scents of the greenhouse, and Neville moved slightly.

Turning his head a little he watched Draco, remembering how pale and tired he'd looked when he'd returned from his conversation with Snape, and there'd been a vaguely haunted look in his eyes, a look that seemed to ask for reassurance. He'd been gentle and attentive, hands caressing and exploring, lips so soft on his own – and yet, at the same time, he'd been demanding and insistent. His need had all but overpowered Neville, drowning him in desire.

The wetness on his thighs was starting to dry and he let his gaze drift up to the glass ceiling and the stars beyond.

At times like these, when everything was still and quiet, Neville often found himself wondering if perhaps his relationship with Draco was one of the only things Draco had ever actually done solely for himself, regardless of the reactions of others and of what was expected of him. He knew that their relationship conflicted largely with one of Draco's main motivations: his need to make his father proud, and prove that he was worthy of his name and family.

And Neville knew that he couldn't honestly contend with that.

He'd tried to once, back at the beginning, and they had argued for what had felt like days; both on opposite sides of the fence, neither able to see from the perspective of the other; and in the end it had boiled down to a simple fact: if they wanted what they had to work, they'd both have to suspend their own beliefs and accept that they might never understand. Draco would not have a single criticism leveled against his father.

The events at the end of fifth year, however, had nearly ended them; Draco's anger had been complete, and Neville's part in the arrest of his father had never been, and would never be, really forgiven, it was just pushed aside for the time being, waiting for the right moment to once again rear its ugly head. There had been plenty of angry hate sex during the months that followed, but that was done with now.

Draco had eventually accepted that his father had also been in the wrong; had in fact been attempting to hurt, if not outright kill, Neville and his friends; and their equilibrium had returned to some semblance of normality. The thought that he might one day have to meet with Lucius Malfoy on more amicable terms, was not one he relished; but now that he knew about their relationship he didn't think that meeting would be in the so distant future.

He moved again and Draco pulled him closer into the heat from his body; Neville closed his eyes. Bad times were coming, and sometimes the things Draco said, and did, scared him; but it was the whispered plea just before he'd come that'd worried Neville more than any other:

don't leave me

He thought hoped that maybe, just maybe, if he were strong, then he might be able to give Draco the strength to make his own decisions and not blindly do what was expected of him.

But only time would tell; and at this precise moment Neville knew that he was loved and that, for as long as Draco wanted him, he would remain right where he was.

End