Prompt: candy

Slashtastic Drabble Prompt: push


There is something particularly devastating about a waiting room. Neville knows from far too much experience. He thinks it has something to do with the reverence of the atmosphere, the quiet, hushed tones and the shuffling of feet behind the door leading to the hall beyond where anything could be waiting for you. Even now, he can feel it in the air- a static, sterile feeling that makes him sick to his stomach. Or maybe that's just the jolt of seeing an unexpected face in St. Mungo's ten minutes before visiting hours even begin.

Draco Malfoy meets his eye before pacing the far end of the room. He flips through a stack of magazines, he studies the plaques on the walls, he does anything but look in Neville's direction. And Neville is curious, but of course he would never ask. It's not his business why Draco is here alone. It's not his business why there is a Malfoy on this floor.

They make an awkward business of entering the hall, rubbing shoulders and mumbling stiff apologies. And when they go their separate ways, Draco disappears around a corner and whatever opportune moments Neville could have seized go with him.

He wonders why he regrets it.


The next time he sees Draco his pockets are full of gum wrappers, and there's an ache inside him that he's learned to ignore, that he's come to accept as a side effect of having parents with principles.

They are in the lift going down to the main floor, and still, Neville doesn't ask. He wants to. He almost does, but before he can muster up the courage, Draco speaks, still not looking in his direction. "My mother doesn't know me anymore."

Neville nods, and the ache becomes a stabbing pain. There are so many things he could tell him. That he knows what it's like or that he's sorry or that he understands. But as the lift opens, all he says is, "My mother never did."


There are some days when they take the lift going down, and Neville reaches for Draco's hand. More often than not, this ends with Draco pushing him against the wall, kissing him hard, teeth scraping at his bottom lip and Neville revels in the harshness of him, the sharp angles and the cold hard truth in his words. Some days Neville catches a tear against his face but he doesn't point it out.

There are some days, when Draco cries openly and Neville only holds him, fingers grasping at blond hair, lips brushing against his forehead.

There are some days, when they go home and the floor is littered with candy wrappers, and newspaper clippings and Draco's tie. And maybe they are just desperate for someone else. Perhaps they just don't want the waiting room to be such a devastating place.

Perhaps they don't know themselves anymore.