The humid air messed up his straight, white hair as he had been looking through the queues for hours by now. He let out an exasperated sigh, desperate to find the damned dittany. It was right out ridiculous, a petty crime to break in this place.

The greenhouses were eerie at nights – he realized after the first ten minutes he had been in, the plants moved away from his route, but some of them still wanted to grab him and digest his entire body, so he needed to be extra careful.

With gripping Hermione's wand tighter, he looked around, the lumos on the top of the stick painted blue shadows on the plants and flowers and he shivered at the sight.

He didn't want to waste his entire Saturday night in this damn place, but fuck, they needed the dittany. They couldn't steal it from Slughorn's office as the old fart hadn't even got a gram by the weekend.

So they resorted back to breaking in the Greenhouses. If they got away with invading in McGonagall's office, this should have been a piece of cake!

The problem was – it truly wasn't. As if the damn plants knew what he was looking for so they covered a dittany and made him go in circles – with them going wild at night time, they made a labyrinth of the narrow aisle and he needed to turn from one side to the other. And he could swear the route he had been through had been changed, because it was the third time he had encountered the Humming Hibiscuses, whispering eerie melodies in his ears.

He wasn't sure if he knew the way back to the entrance, with all the greenness climbing up against the glass walls. And all Draco saw were the horrendously big leaves of Pickering Palms and the full moon from under those, occasionally hearing the howls of the werewolves.

Eh, he still hated those creatures.

He needed to be quick – Hermione was keeping a guard outside from under the Invisibility Cloak, but without a wand. Or more like, with a useless wand. His was still checked at least weekly – and it would do no good to have the authorities see a fired stupefy in the middle of a night when he was only allowed to use magic during classes.

"I knew something was up!"

Draco needed to force himself not to flinch. The voice was too familiar to him to start panicking, so he just turned to the source of it. He had the urge to roll his eyes at the sight. Longbottom.

"I knew something was not right when I asked Lavender where she was. Let's say, she suspected she was in your bed. Yet again," he spat with so much venom that Draco marvelled how the saliva didn't rot out his tongue.

For a moment there was a pregnant silence, during while Draco contemplated his chances. How big of slap would he receive if he said: 'That 'posed to be tomorrow's programme.' Because it would have caused him so much delight!

"Hermione's outside," he answered instead, maddeningly flippantly and turned his back to the meddlesome Gryffindor. He pretended not being affected by the murderous intent that radiated off of him in ripples. Though he trusted him not to be as quick-tempered as a certain ginger tumour and not pounce on him with the idea of remodelling his – perfect – jaw-bone structure.

With a careless shrug, he continued on his route, kicking in a twisting root that was in his way. The plant scooted away as if snuffed, and Draco didn't know anymore if the accusing stare was from the over-intelligent moss or from the under-educated twat behind his back.

Now, the dittany should be at this row, he speculated, so he stepped forward, examining every herb carefully, still not quite sure which wanted to eat him. He narrowed his eyes at a suspicious one which was about to twist around his ankle, but one reprimanding glare was enough to stop it.

Uhu they knew with whom not to mess.

"You're an idiot if you think I let you walk away, Malfoy!" Neville snarled at him, suddenly his hand squeezing on his shoulder in a warning manner. With a scowl firmly set in place, Draco shrugged it away and continued his marching, not even wasting him a glare of utter contempt.

Maybe the dittany will be in the next row.

Neville tried again to grab him, but with a simple move, Draco avoided his touch. "You should really let me to my business," he said back, pointedly looking up at the full moon just as a blood-stilling howl cut through the darkness. "Hermione's outside, very well without a wand and the wolves are getting closer."

The next he knew, his head collided with the glass wall. He heard the familiar creaks as it shattered, but didn't break out of the iron frames.

Draco looked around, his eyes unfocused, but managing to settle on Neville's blurry face as he hovered above him with an angry expression, his clutch holding him in place. Draco found himself unable to fight back, his vision was swimming and swinging and he felt something warm roll down and drop on his collar form his scalp after rolling down on his hair.

He knew it was blood, but was adamant on denying it – it was a way to calm himself that he had learned during the war. When tricking himself into believing blood was just vermillion coloured sweat... yes, disgusting, but it became easier to go on rather than thinking and reliving every moment of a raid – it was more than enough to see them again in his dreams.

"You should rot in Azkaban, Malfoy!" Neville drawled with so much force that Draco needed to think back at the meek, fat little guy who he was free to abuse as he wished, without resistance. It was disturbing. "I don't know why she wastes even a minute of her life on you, but you should keep your distance from Hermione and be glad for her willingness."

That was quite enough.

Letting her wand hit the floor, he fisted his hands into balls, going back to the barbaric method – now a spell wouldn't be enough to express his rage. How dared he?

And with these thoughts on replay in his head, precisely when Neville was about to pull back, happy to have his task fulfilled, Draco didn't hesitate a second.

He punched him square on the face.

"Maybe I'm not good enough for you, but she has never complained about anything," he snarled. "You know... the performance is too good to ever be outdone," he let a cocky smirk grow on his face for better emphasis. "I'm who she couldn't find among your lot. I help her, care for her and give her what she really needs," which was the cure that was brewing in Myrtle's bathroom, though Neville didn't need to know that.

His words, undoubtedly, were true – sounded the way that was sure to rile the twat up, yes, but not lies. Just bending the meaning so he'd draw a different conclusion from them, that had no inkling to the reality.

Sadly.

"You bastard!" he sputtered at his face, yet again ready to get Draco pummelled.

He repeated his punch, but Neville managed to grab his wrist before the third could hurt him. He already had a black-eye, but that didn't stop him from twisting his entire arm against his back, halting only before his shoulder would pop out of its place.

Malfoy needed to bite down on his lower lip not to whine. He was already on his knees and it was enough of a humiliation. At least there were just the plants to be their audience – though they too seemed to cheer for the herbiologist, clapping their leaves together in mirth.

Fuckers.

Neville bent down to whisper it in his ear, which would have been menacing if it wasn't the Death Eaters method, so he was familiar with that treatment. This situation – knowing Neville couldn't do a thing that would cause him bigger harm than what Pomfrey could fix – it just flat our bored him.

"She may love you, Malfoy," he growled like even the idea was offending, "But she's too stupid to see the real you right now," he could particularly hear the smirk in his voice as he continued. "However, I rather prefer to see you from another perspective... this is a good one, Malfoy, you look so humanly, so weak—"

His ashen eyes widened by the realization.

"It was you," he cut him off, trembling from the suppressed rage as he willed himself to think rationally. It would do no good if the red fog sheathed all his brain cells. "You were the one who called the aurors."

It was never a question, and even without the nod of confirmation that came from Neville, he knew he was right. So Draco did what he was best of – contemplated, planned and decided on revenge for the time the little wanker the least expected.

The Malfoy heir gritted his teeth and moved his fingers on the hand that was still in his captive and pulling on Neville's limb he signed him to let him go.

"I'm not an idiot Malfoy. You'll fight—"

To that, the blonde snorted, expressing how he thought of the opposite, "I'm not gonna throttle you. I'm not a bloody Gryffindor," he growled out and shifted yet again. Even if it wasn't enough to really cause him any harm, it did hurt! "I need your assistance, Longbottom. Hermione needs dittany." It might as well hurt his pride as he said those words, but he hadn't the time for fooling around with idiots.

Neville arched a challenging brow at him before letting his clutch soften, "Hermione or your project?"

Draco rolled his shoulder around to test it, still on his knees, flicking away a particularly brazen devil's snare ivy, "Me, for the project, which is for Hermione," he said after a bit of contemplating. He didn't miss the warning glint pop up in the other man's eyes. He sighed, "Show me where the dittany is, that's all I ask."

"I should have given you concussion, you know," Neville murmured as he lead the both of them to the corner of the greenhouse, pointing at the lowest shelf. His tense posture suggested he was still on alert if Draco dared to start punching his face in. "Hermione doesn't tell us a thing about your business. It's maddening."

The blonde, with shushing away a plant that was in the middle of pulling out a good chunk from his hair, grabbed a pot of the awaited dittany, "What do you wish me to say? That I fucked up with letting Bellatrix have her way? That Greyback nearly got his paws on her if not for my mother who forbid him to touch anything in her house, people included?" he counted on his free hand with a bitter tone. He seemed genuine – Neville thought, but never dared to believe in it. "War caused so much more than simply suffering. I think, at some point, it'd be better off dead."

"You know, with my experience I can easily have a degree in killing snakes. One more is nothing, if you ask me," Draco frowned at that, knowing full well that there was no humour in here.

He shook his head, "That would not be required tonight. 'Though I should go back. She's waiting, and probably worrying her lips to swollen while we're conversing. I don't want it to bleed," he let on a shark-like grin that Pansy always wore. It looked horrendous on his face.

Neville grimaced at his words, "You should really shut the fuck up," he suggested, forlorn and disgusted. He never wanted to think about Hermione as someone who was sexually active and shagging the sneakiest snake of the entire universe. It was just... paradox, with her sweet but vindictive personality to the rotten egg she shared her bed with.

"As you wish," and with that, Draco disappeared in the night with a careless wave of his hand.

From the greenhouse, Neville could hear her tinkling laugh and he needed to lean on a Pickering Palm. It made him that queasy, and seeing the palm hunching with him, he felt conceived.

At least the herbs understood.

Respect the plants. Don't be jackasses like Draco.