Draco stared up at the ceiling and watched the shadows grow longer with each passing moment. Evasive sleep greeted him like an old friend and Draco sighed softly, making shapes in the folds of green silk that hung between the four posters of his school bed. His long fingers ran over his quilted duvet and said a silent and thankful prayer that at least his thoughts were not haunted by Harry Potter or Albus Dumbledore or worries over what his parents were facing over another day with his task unaccomplished.
No, tonight Draco was haunted by an entirely new specter - Neville Longbottom. Three days had passed since Longbottom had discovered him, sobbing in the boy's dungeon bathrooms and three days Draco had waited, anxiously, for the rumors and whispers about him to begin… Every time a First Year so much as giggled around him, Draco snapped, throwing hexes around like wildfire and he could feel bile rise in his throat when a Gryffindor, no matter how insignificant, merely looked in his direction. Draco was prepared and ready and all but unhinged and yet… nothing. For some inexplicable reason, Neville Longbottom had kept quiet.
And now? Draco was obsessed. He recounted every second that had passed between the two of them in the restroom, parsing each look Longbottom had given him and breaking down the very intonation with which he had said his name. Draco closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, hearing - once again - his own name coming from Longbottom's mouth. He hadn't said Malfoy the way that Potter or Weasley would have - as if it were an accusation, a curse, something dirty. Longbottom had chosen Draco and - what? He hadn't said with bitterness or even fear. Draco squeezed his eyes together tightly, painfully, and willed the ridiculous thoughts away from him. What he actually imaging that Neville Longbottom had been reverent?
