Chapter 9

"You won't like that, it's got butter on it."

"I don't care, I'm starving."

"Did it occur to you that I made it for myself because I'm starving?"

"Oh stop pouting. What's yours is mine, after all."

Draco took a large bite of the sandwich and grinned at Neville, who reached out and gave him a gentle swat to the backside. He'd had a hard morning in the greenhouses and had stopped for a breather, making himself a nice pot of tea and a sandwich the size of a small island. Of course, Draco had sauntered in and clapped eyes on it, swiping it from under Neville's nose.

"Any tea left in the pot?" Draco asked, his mouth full.

"Check it yourself, you lazy sod," Neville said, moving back to the cold cupboard to see what was left for him to make another sandwich with. "You don't like butter or cold roast beef and yet you're wolfing down my sandwich like a...a…"

"Wolf?" Draco supplied with a smirk.

"Just for that I'm going to take the last of mustard," Neville said, wagging his knife threateningly at the man. "I miss the days I was a carefree bachelor."

"Sure about that?" Draco asked, his expression wicked. "Because you seemed quite happy to be saddled with a husband last night when I rode you at a gallop in the den."

Neville grinned, despite the furious blush that heated his cheeks. The previous night had indeed been one of rather athletic endeavours. Draco had insinuated himself into his lap halfway through the programme they'd been watching, neither of them particularly interested in it, and had spelled their clothing off in the blink of an eye before riding Neville senseless….twice.

"Just because you're a fair shag doesn't mean you can help yourself to my food," Neville said, piling several different cold meats on top of one another in an attempt to match the size of his original sandwich.

"A 'fair shag'?" Draco repeated with a scoff. "You've never had it so good."

"You have an inflated ego."

"You're telling me you've had it better?" Draco asked, his usual smirk firmly in place, but Neville was sure he could detect a little flicker of uncertainty beneath the expression.

Neville smiled and said gently, "No, can't say I have."

The uncertainty vanished and Draco gave him a triumphant smile, his chin held high as he said, "Of course you haven't."

Neville shook his head indulgently and took a seat at the table with his finished sandwich. It wasn't as good as the one he'd first made and he shot Draco a glare as the man continued to chomp through his creation.

"Busy morning?" Draco asked, pouring himself a tea then retrieving another mug from the cupboard and doing the same for Neville.

Neville nodded as Draco added milk and sugar to both, handing Neville his as he took a seat opposite. "I think I've finally cracked the procedure to speed up the cultivation process. It's fiddly though, I'm sure it could be better."

"Do you have some time free this afternoon?" Draco asked as he sipped his tea. "I'd really like to take a look at the implications your research could have on mine."

"Sure, sounds good."

They finished their lunch, still bickering over Draco's theft and utter disrespect for Neville's things, then made their way to Neville's study, sitting either side of Neville's desk while Neville spread his notes out between them.

Draco's interests were fast turning to medicinal potions and he had a notion that he could gain his mastery if he could break ground in that area. Neville's work in speeding up the process of cultivation of the plants and herbs that were involved in that area had piqued his interest and started the wheels in his head turning.

Neville could never claim to understand potions but he knew plants better than anyone and could explain his process exactly to Draco. Draco, in turn, began to ruminate on the possibilities Neville's findings could offer him and, between them, they batted forth ideas that would and wouldn't work.

"Wouldn't that damage its integrity?" Draco asked as he looked over the tea tray the house elves had brought up for them and settled on a scone.

"Mm, I don't think so," Neville said, looking at the board they had drawn up, Draco's perfectly neat writing a contrast to his own chicken scratch. "You see here, at this part of the process," he said, pointing at the board, "this actually protects the species and strengthens it without altering its properties on a fundamental level."

"Interesting," Draco said with a thoughtful nod as he cut his scone in half. He reached for the clotted cream and Neville said,

"What are you doing?"

"What do you mean what am I doing? I'm having a scone."

"No…why are you putting the cream on first?"

"Because that's how you eat scones."

"No, you put the jam on first," Neville insisted, perturbed that Draco would deviate from the accepted method so spectacularly.

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco scoffed. "It's horrible like that. This way the cream acts like butter and you can taste the sweetness of the jam. Your way you just end up with a mouthful of cream."

"But you dollop clotted cream on top, you don't spread it."

"Of course you do," Draco insisted. "That's what it's made for." He demonstrated by doing just that then smearing a large splodge of raspberry jam over the top. "See?" he said, holding the scone up for Neville's inspection.

"That's an abomination," Neville said, affronted. "And you've used raspberry jam rather than strawberry!"

"This really bothers you," Draco said, seemingly gleeful at the fact. "What a strange thing to get irritated over."

"I'm not irritated, I just think you're a heathen."

Draco grinned and took a Ron-sized bite of the offending scone, smearing jam and cream all over his lips as he did so. "Mm," he said with an over-dramatic groan. "Bloody fantastic. Can't beat jam on top."

Neville snorted and chucked a pen at him, saying, "You're a lost cause. I'm horrified to think the world knows I'm married to a man who behaves so appallingly."

"Neville, you eat fruit cake with a cob of cheese. Don't tell me your ways are more normal than mine!"

"That's the traditional Yorkshire way!" Neville protested. "It's bloody delicious."

"Fruit cake is a delicacy straight from hell. If someone served me a piece of that I'd throw it at them."

"What's wrong with your tastebuds?"

"I have perfect tastebuds. In fact, I'm thinking of turning my hand to cooking, a palette like this shouldn't be wasted."

Neville burst out laughing and leant against the edge of the desk as Draco fixed him with an affronted glare.

"What, precisely, is so funny about that?" Draco asked, looking very much as though he was thinking of throwing the rest of his scone at Neville's head.

Clutching his stomach, Neville took a deep breath and said, "You? Cooking? You really can't see the funny side in that?"

"I might be a very good cook! You don't know."

"I bloody well do. You'll set the kitchen on fire."

"I'm going to make you eat your words, Longbottom."

"Better than eating your food," Neville wheezed, a cream-laded scone smacking him square on the forehead soon after.

Neville raised his head and glanced across the lawn to see who was making their way towards him. The sun was in his eyes and it was only when the figure got nearer he realised it was Harry meandering his way towards him, hands stuffed in his pockets as he smiled when Neville clocked him.

He brushed the soil from his hands and gave them a cursory wipe on a damp rag before he ventured out of the greenhouse as Harry approached. He raised a hand against the sun and said, "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Got a day off and got no one to play with," Harry said with a grin, looking far more boyish than his nearly 20 years belied.

"I'm offended at playing second fiddle."

"Only to Ron…and you wouldn't want to do what we get up to on a joint day off."

"You delight in giving me these horrible mental images."

They walked around to the south-facing patio and the elves brought them lemonade and cake, Harry tucking in like a starving man, as he always did. He'd never really got past the notion that someone would come along and take away his right to food and would eat like a man possessed whenever it was offered to him.

They spoke about Harry's training and Neville's projects, the sun warming them both as they sat sipping their drinks. Neville was sure he could detect a feeling of dissatisfaction from his friend as he spoke about his experiences and it made him wonder, not for the first time, if Harry would see the training through to the end.

"I just wonder what the future will look like," Harry said as he licked crumbs from his thumb. "I mean…we won't be partnered together, obviously…so it means working separate cases, having separate schedules. I don't want us to end up as ships in the night."

"I can't see that happening," Neville assured him. "You two are so solid."

Harry sighed and said, "Even the most solid relationships can be tested if you never see one another. I don't know…I guess it's just something we'll have to watch out for."

Neville nodded. "If anyone can make it work, you two can."

"I do quite like the bugger," Harry said with a smile. He stretched his arms above his head and eased his neck from side to side with a yawn before saying, "How are things with you and Draco? He's coming to our joint birthday thing in a couple of weeks, right?"

"Yeah I think so. At least he said as much last night."

"You seemed…happier the last time I saw you together," Harry ventured.

"I suppose," Neville said with a shrug.

"It's just…" Harry began, breaking off and scratching the bridge of his nose.

"Just what?" Neville asked, wary at the expression on the man's face.

Harry blushed a little and looked uncomfortable as he said, "Well…are you…you know…building anything beyond sex?"

"Bloody hell, Harry. What kind of a question is that?"

"Well…you've said it yourself before. Things in that area are good…other things not so good."

"Harry," Neville said, taking a deep breath and reminding himself that Harry meant well, "we were forced into this ridiculous farce of a marriage, what exactly do you expect us to build? The sex is good, you want me to apologise for that?"

"No of course not," Harry said with a huff. "I just think you shouldn't focus so much on it. Otherwise…things will only be…superficial."

"What do you want us to do? Fall madly in love with one another and have a real marriage? It's a miracle that we get on, that we're not making each other miserable constantly. You can't force things because it'll make them neater."

"I don't mean that and you know it."

"I'm struggling to understand what you do mean," Neville said, feeling defensive for reasons he couldn't quite fathom.

"I…never mind," Harry said, shaking his head. "It's none of my business. I just…I just care about you, about both of you. I don't want to see you miserable."

He turned the conversation back to auror training and Neville shook off his annoyance, even though it stayed with him until long after Harry left. He wasn't going to fall out with the man; they rarely, if ever, had cross words but his interference had irritated him. He knew Harry meant it kindly, Harry meant everything kindly but it grated, nevertheless.

The trouble was that a small part of Neville suspected that Harry was right but that part bore further scrutiny and he wasn't sure he was presently up to that. It was so easy to pretend that things were fine and dandy between himself and Draco when the sex was good and they could pass their time flirting with one another but it was true that nothing particularly deep had developed between them.

He'd made a concerted effort to spend more time with the man and he could honestly say that he enjoyed his company but...it was superficial. He didn't know how to remedy that though, didn't know why he was even supposed to. Theirs was a false marriage, one that they'd both been pushed into. It was conceivable that possibly, under other circumstances, they might have chosen one another but in this instance they hadn't.

It was a wonder enough that they hadn't killed each other, that they hadn't made life unbearable for each other from the start. He liked Draco and he was unquestionably attracted to him but he didn't know what that was supposed to mean or how he was meant to translate that into a happy marriage, if even such a thing could be possible.

He was distracted for the rest of the afternoon, so much so that he made mistakes in his work and had to go back and correct himself. He was ready to call it a day, tired and irritated and arguing with a magical variety of Deadly Nightshade when he made a near-fatal error. He'd neglected to wear gloves, a mistake he never made when dealing with the dangerous plant, when he felt a drop from one of the fruits smear itself across the back of his skin.

On a normal plant this could have resulted in a terrible irritation but in this magical variety it would likely prove fatal. Acting quickly, Neville shot to the cabinet in the corner of the greenhouse and extracted a vial of violet liquid, uncorking it and downing it in one, shivering at the disgusting taste. The antidote acted fast and ensured his safety but it wouldn't protect him from the illness that was about to ravage his system.

Already dizzy and queasy, he stumbled back up to the manor but could only make it through the back door into the kitchen. He slumped down at the table and tried to take a few deep breaths to steady himself but he could already feel his temperature spiking. His stomach was rolling and every time he tried to open his eyes he saw spots dancing in front of them.

He didn't know how long he sat there for but eventually he heard his name being called, but it was dim and muffled, as though the speaker were a long way away. He felt cool hands against his forehead and the back of his neck and he forced his eyes open to see a blurry version of Draco crouched beside him. He couldn't make out the man's features properly and he forced himself to concentrate to try and understand what the man was saying to him.

"Neville? Neville, what's happened? What's the matter?"

His voice came as though it was under water and Neville squinted as he tried to figure out what was being said to him. "Nightshade," he whispered, his mouth too dry to say more.

"Oh Merlin. Fuck, Neville, we have to get you to a hospital."

"No," Neville rasped. "Taken antidote…just…effects."

"Bloody hell. Let's get you upstairs."

Neville was sure he protested but he felt himself pulled out of his seat, Draco whispering something in his ear before he felt the disquieting sensation of apparation. Things blurred even more after that. His skin felt as though it was on fire and his head pounded. He thought perhaps he was lying down but he couldn't be certain of anything, only that he felt heavy and weightless all at once.

Something cold was pressed against his forehead and he could hear Draco's voice again, although it was still far away and muffled. It didn't matter though, it was comforting and gentle, and Neville tried to focus on the delicate threads of it while his head spun.

He began to drift and he had no idea about much of anything for a time. He'd occasionally be brought back into the realm of some kind of consciousness by a sharp, unbearable pain in his stomach and he was sure, at several points, that he was vomiting. He sank back into a strange dreamworld after each purge, though, and slept in fitful bursts where he was sure someone had lit him on fire.

He had strange dreams, dreams of his parents and his grandmother, dreams of his childhood and of things he was certain had never happened. He had nightmares about what had happened in the Department of Mysteries in his 5th year and terrifying flashes of the final battle. He was back in the courtyard with the sword in his hand only this time he didn't manage to get to the snake before it turned and got him. He thrashed in its jaws as pain seared through him as the creature's fangs pierced him, unable to escape and knowing he was facing his death.

He woke frenzied and terrified but he felt arms slide around him and soft words whispered in his ear. He didn't know where he was or whose the arms were he felt holding him but eventually his breathing evened itself out and he collapsed against something soft, his skin prickling and his muscles aching.

When he next woke it was with a clearer mind though with a still-pounding head and an overall feeling of being run over by a herd of hippogriffs. He stared at the ceiling, thankful that he was in his own bed, then turned his head when he heard a soft snore to his left. Draco was asleep in the armchair next to his bed, his head tilted to the side and his glasses dangling between his forefinger and thumb as his arm rested over the side of the chair. A book was open on his chest and his lips were parted as he breathed evenly.

Neville tried to push himself up and the creak of the bed woke Draco. He blinked a couple of times then met Neville's eyes, saying, "You're awake. How do you feel?"

"Bloody awful," Neville said, his voice hoarse and his throat sore.

Draco shifted in the armchair, wincing when he righted his neck, and leant forward to pour Neville some water from the jug on the nightstand. He moved to sit on the edge of Neville's bed and held out the glass, slipping a hand to cradle Neville's head while he helped him drink.

"Thanks," Neville said when he'd drunk his fill, Draco guiding his head gently back to the pillows. "How long have I been out?"

"A couple of days. The vomiting only stopped a few hours a go."

"Oh Merlin," Neville groaned, embarrassed. "I'm so sorry. That's…fuck…I'm mortified."

"Don't be daft," Draco said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"You shouldn't have to put up with that," Neville said, feeling his already hot cheeks heat further. He was embarrassed at the thought of Draco seeing him that way, of making a spectacle of himself and Draco having to tend to him.

"I'm not that bloody delicate," Draco protested.

"I don't mean that. I mean…it's…humiliating."

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco said with a tut. "You needed looking after. We've all thrown up, for goodness sake, I assure you it didn't traumatise me."

"Well," Neville said, clearing his throat, not particularly comforted, "thank you. I um…shouldn't keep you any longer though. I'm sure you have better things to do."

Draco fixed him with a stern look and said, "You're still very poorly. You can't even fetch yourself a drink of water, I'm not going to leave you, am I?"

"It's not…it isn't your responsibility."

"And who else's would it be, mm? You're my husband."

"In name only."

"Semantics," Draco said with a sniff. Neville opened his mouth but Draco held up a hand with another look that said he wasn't about to tolerate any arguments and said, "You'll be out of action for at least a week. I contacted a healer and they told me everything you'd need." He gestured to the line of potions on the nightstand and said, "All of these have been made by my own fair hand, apart from the green one, which Severus brewed for you specially."

"You made them for me?" Neville asked, more bewildered by that than by Snape brewing something just for him.

"Of course. I wouldn't trust the stuff St Mungo's has and Severus checked them for me to make sure they were perfect, which they are, naturally. Now, do you think your stomach can handle food? I'll ask the elves to make you something plain."

Neville should have known that it was pointless to argue with Draco; it didn't matter the topic or occasion, the man always got his way. He stayed at Neville's side and nursed him, including, to Neville's mortification, helping him shuffle to the loo and back. He made him take his potions and encouraged a little broth and dry toast down his throat, insisting that he sip water every fifteen minutes or so.

Neville slept for huge chunks at a time, his body exhausted and his system doing its best to combat the poison that had attacked it. Every time he stumbled blearily back into consciousness, Draco was there, sitting in the armchair by his bed, reading or writing in a notebook with a muggle pen. Sometimes he was dozing softly, his feet propped up on Neville's bed, his hair ruffling softly in the gentle summer breeze that rolled in through the open window.

Neville had never really been tended to when he was sick before. His gran hadn't had much of a maternal side and had left that side of things to the house elves, who were efficient and attentive but not the most caring in their endeavours. Draco was no nursemaid but it was nice to have another person there, to have his pillows plumped up and to have someone to talk to in his more lucid moments.

"You're not going to be in trouble with Mr Zanetti, are you?" Neville asked as Draco vanished their dinner plates to the kitchen a couple of evenings later. He'd been able to manage a little plain rice and was starting to feel his appetite slowly returning.

"No," Draco said, shaking his head. "He told me to take all the time I need until you're better. He sends his best."

"Nice bloke," Neville said with a smile.

"He is. You'll have to meet him one day. Now, what do you say to a bath?"

"I don't think I have the energy," Neville said with a groan. "I doubt I could keep my head above water."

"Well I don't think you'll stand another round of cleaning charms. You're in danger of becoming quite ripe. Besides, I've made you a muscle relaxant and it's best if it's applied to water."

"But I – "

"I'll help you," Draco said, moving off into the en-suite, the water running moments later.

Neville huffed but knew there was little point in arguing. He had no desire to be bathed like a child but he really did need a wash and his muscles were sore and stiff. He lay back against the pillows, sulking, until the water turned off and Draco came back into the bedroom. He peeled the bedcovers aside and said, "Come on, swing your legs over the side and I'll help you up."

"I can walk on my own," Neville protested, shifting to the edge.

"Please do try and I shall take great pleasure in laughing my head off when you fall on your arse."

He slipped an arm around Neville's waist and gently helped him to stand then shouldered most of Neville's weight as he helped him to the bathroom. He undid the buttons of Neville's pyjama shirt and slipped it from his shoulders then gave the waistband of his trousers a tug. "Put your hands on my shoulders and brace your weight on me. I'll slip these off."

"I can manage," Neville said, embarrassed.

"No, you can't," Draco said levelly. "Neville, for Merlin's sake, we've done things to each other that would make sex workers blush. Are you really telling me you want to protect your modesty now?"

"It's different being naked when you're shagging each other's brains out. This is…more vulnerable," Neville said, avoiding Draco's eyes.

"What do you think I'm going to do? Point and laugh? You and I both know you've got nothing to be embarrassed about. You're not well and I'm trying to help, stop being a pillock."

Neville sighed and gave in, bracing his hands on Draco's shoulders and looking at the wall opposite as the man pushed his trousers down over his hips and then helped him to step out of them. "Come on, into the tub."

"If you keep talking to me like I'm a toddler I'll drown you in that sodding bath."

Draco snorted and said, "I'd like to see you try. You haven't got the strength to bat away a moth right now."

Swearing revenge when he was better, Neville let himself be levered gently into the tub, the water a pleasant temperature and the muscle relaxant acting almost immediately. Draco knelt beside him, keeping him upright and sloshing the water over him. The man had been right; cleaning charms wouldn't have sufficed for another day and it made him feel better to let the fragrant, soapy water wash all over him.

Draco bathed him gently with a flannel and Neville lost the will to protest when he began to realise how good it felt. Draco held his head and washed his hair, firm fingers working shampoo through it and rinsing it away with clean water. No one had ever done that for him before an it felt strangely nice to be looked after in such a way.

Draco made him stay in the bath for twenty minutes to allow the muscle relaxant to do its job then helped him out, towelling him dry and helping him into a fresh pair of pyjamas. "You're a terrible patient," he told him as he put him back into bed, arranging the covers and giving the pillows a good shake.

"Oh and you'd be so much better, I'm sure," Neville said, rolling his eyes. "Just wait until you're ill. I'm going to have my revenge."

"If this is the way you show gratitude I'd hate to see you being ungracious. Now lie back and be quiet while I read."

He moved to the armchair and retrieved his book from the nightstand, placing those bloody glasses on his nose and getting himself comfortable. Neville leant back against the pillows, feeling ten times better for being clean and the ache in his muscles having subsided. He looked across at Draco and allowed himself a small smile at how handsome the man looked in those glasses, the black rim standing out against his pale skin, the shape of them accentuating his lovely cheekbones.

The man's feet were propped up beside him on the bed, crossed at the ankles, his toes flexing every now and again while he concentrated on the book in his hands. Neville had never really been bothered by feet before, not that he was in any danger of developing a fetish of any kind, but Draco had lovely feet and it always pleased Neville when he walked around barefoot. They were long and slender with elegant arches and a nice shape to them, and Neville appreciated that they were rather aesthetically pleasing.

He reached out and wrapped his hand around one, Draco looking up in surprise as he did so. Neville offered him a sheepish smile and Draco shook his head as his lip quirked slightly, returning his attention to his book. Neville slid his thumb gently over the sole and let his fingers linger over the top of the man's foot, rubbing softly. They sat in companionable silence, the summer breeze ruffling the curtains while Draco read and Neville rested, stroking Draco's foot and thinking that, despite still feeling rather rough, it was a rather pleasant way to spend an evening.

AN: I'm such a sucker for 'Partner A looks after Partner B when they're sick. Pining ensues'. I hope you enjoyed it :)