A Common Bond
Disclaimer: not mine. Really. All I own is the Chamber of Secrets soundtrack on CD. And the LOTR soundtracks. And the PotC one. And assorted other things. So really, don't sue.
Thanks to: Lucidity, Lord Elrond of Hogwarts (two of my most loyal reviewers *hands our chocolate*), Samhaincat, SnapeAngst. Also Atana and Epiphanies for reviews of earlier chapters *beams*
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Chapter 4: Coping
It was five o'clock when Draco and Andromeda returned from their exploration of the town, and Draco was exhausted. Andromeda set various kitchen implements to begin preparing the evening meal and then she joined Draco in the living room. Just as she sat down and turned the TV on, the phone rang, and, grumbling, she got up again to answer it. "Hello?"
Draco did his best to pretend not to be curious (he had a reputation to uphold, after all), but he found himself paying close attention to the device.
"No, no; that's quite all right, dear. He's just here."
Andromeda beckoned to Draco and held out the receiver to him. "It's Neville."
Draco, surprised, took the receiver (having been instructed on telephone etiquette that morning by his aunt). "Hello? Longbottom?"
"It's me. You're doing a better job than Ron when it comes to telephones," Neville remarked jokingly.
"You really don't want me to reply to that," said Draco.
Neville laughed. "That's true. How are you?"
"Fine."
"How's your aunt's?"
"It's OK. I mean, it's nice, but it's not home."
"Very true. But it could be worse?"
"Easily. Bit too Mugglish for my liking – but I don't exactly have much control over that. It's pretty decent."
"What did you do today?"
"I got shown the town. The cinema thing looks intriguing."
"They're really cool," Neville assured him. "What are you doing tomorrow?"
"Going to Diagon Alley for schoolbooks. And – and going to the hospital." Draco bit his lip and willed back the rising tears. He wasn't going to cry. Not again. And certainly not with Longbottom having that kind of information.
"Oh. I s'pose I might see you, then – I'm going tomorrow, too."
Draco nodded. "Maybe, yeah."
"Cool – oh, I've got to go. Gran says tea's ready." He raised his voice, though it seemed fainter (Draco guessed that he was covering the receiver with his hand). "Coming, Gran!"
"Okay. Look, Longbottom – thanks for calling. I mean it. It was…nice."
"'S OK. See you tomorrow maybe."
"Yeah. Bye."
"Bye."
Draco put the receiver back in place. "That was odd. How did he know the number?"
"I owled him. Just in case. Far more comfortable than using Floo, wouldn't you say?"
Draco nodded fervently. "Definitely. Maybe our lot should start using them – I mean, if you're using Floo, after a while it gets really painful."
Andromeda allowed herself a small smile, careful not to let Draco see. Amazing what living in an environment with Muggle things in could do for him.
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In the end, Draco didn't meet Neville in Diagon Alley. He somehow managed to avoid all of the Weasleys (he knew that any taunts from Ron Weasley in particular would be unbearable), although he saw them from a distance. They, naturally, had Harry Potter and Hermione Granger with them. In the afternoon he went to St. Mungo's. His mother was unchanged, and the Healers told him very firmly that, after all the tests they had performed, there was absolutely no hope whatsoever of recovery. Narcissa Malfoy's mind had been completely, irreversibly, ruined.
For the remaining fortnight of the holidays, Draco went to see his mother daily. Sometimes she was asleep or sedated (he couldn't tell the difference), and other times she lay there, mumbling incoherently and waving her hands around. Draco was unable to talk to his aunt about the visits, simply because it was too painful for him to do so. He was quiet and withdrawn, and assisted his aunt with the household chores without complaint. Neville rang several times, but Draco said little, both unwilling and unable to express his thoughts and emotions.
And then September 1st came around. Andromeda took him to King's Cross and helped him put all his belongings on the school train. With the clock pointing to five minutes to eleven, she stood facing him. "I'm only an owl away if you need anything," she reminded him. "You look after yourself properly – ah! You're the Zabini girl, aren't you?"
Draco looked around to see whom his aunt was talking to. A petite girl with a mass of corkscrew-tight, dark brown curls, with numerous grips and hairbands inserted into them, and deep green eyes, turned around. "I am," she said with a tangible West Midlands accent. "I'm glad I don't have to sort my wretched brother out this year – he's a second-year now, so he's got all his Ravenclaw friends to sit with and therefore won't be bothering me. I hope, at any rate. You're Draco's aunt, aren't you?"
Andromeda nodded. "I am. Make sure Draco looks after himself, please," she requested. She knew that Draco had told Blaise of the situation.
"I will."
"Good." Andromeda pulled Draco into a tight hug, which he hesitantly returned, unused to such open affection. When she released him, she gave him a gentle push towards the train. "I'll owl you about the Christmas holidays. Work hard and have a good term."
"Bye," said Draco as Blaise hauled him onto the train. When it pulled out of King's Cross, for the first time in his life he found himself waving good bye to someone – someone who returned the gesture.
When the train rounded a corner, Blaise led him off to find an empty compartment, all the while talking about her plans to oust Pansy Parkinson as the female prefect for their year in Slytherin and to (naturally) take her place. "…It basically involves framing her for something really horrendous, all the while myself being a model student," she was saying. She paused. "Is it just me, or was that really bad grammar?"
Blaise had ambitions of becoming Head Girl, and had been most annoyed when Pansy had been selected over her for Prefect. Her middle name was ambition – Ehrgeiz, the German translation of 'ambition' – and it was why she had been placed in Slytherin (although the Sorting Hat had seriously considered Ravenclaw, where her brother was).
"Probably," agreed Draco – because it was always best to simply agree with Blaise when she was in this sort of mood. "Oh, this compartment looks empty." He opened the door, and then spotted Neville, along with sixth-year Hufflepuff Prefect Ernie Macmillan. He acknowledged them both with a nod.
"Malfoy," Neville returned.
"Can we join you?"
"Go ahead."
"Thanks."
Ernie stared in shock for a moment (Draco couldn't really blame him), then got to his feet. "I'm going to find Justin." He hurriedly exited.
"Honestly. I didn't think my outfit was that bad!" Blaise said huffily.
Draco arched one elegant eyebrow sceptically. Quite frankly, he wouldn't have been at all surprised if his best friend's outfit of a bright yellow short-sleeved top and lurid short hot-pink skirt with green polka dots had scared off the Hufflepuff. It didn't take much to scare them, in his experience.
"What?" Blaise demanded. She looked from Draco to Neville and then back again, glaring at both of them (their expressions, consisting of disbelieving smirks, were identical).
Draco attempted to look innocent. "Nothing, Blaise. Nothing."
"Liar! And don't you try to look innocent either, Longbottom!"
"I – but – I –"
"If you wore normal things, Zabini," began Draco in his old drawl, "Perhaps people wouldn't feel the need to run away from you as fast as they possibly could."
Neville winced.
"Why you –!" Blaise pushed Draco to the floor of the compartment and hit him with one of her trademark powerful Tickling Charms. When Neville began laughing at Draco's helpless predicament, he immediately wished he hadn't, as Blaise turned her wand on him. She stood there, hands on hips, a distinctly satisfied expression on her face.
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"That was some Tickling Charm," Neville remarked some time later, when the spell had been removed from the boys and they had both sufficiently recovered.
"She doesn't just do Tickling Charms strongly," Draco informed him knowledgeably. "You should see the hexes she throws at Pansy Parkinson when she irritates her."
"I – er – I'd rather not."
"Wise move," Blaise told him. "Still, it could be worse. You could be Pansy."
"Very true."
"Which is a fate worse than death, if you ask me – oh, hello, Weasley. What can we do for you?"
Ron Weasley stood in the compartment doorway, an unpleasant smirk on his face. "So, Malfoy. How's your precious mother now?"
Draco went white. "W-what do you mean?"
"Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean. I heard she's gone round the twist. Nice family you've got."
"Leave it, Ron."
The others looked round at Neville, who was nearly as white as Draco, though with anger rather than shock or fear. "Get out, Ron. It's not his fault his aunt's a nutter. It's not like she's never done such a thing before."
"Why are you defending Malfoy, of all people?" demanded Ron furiously, his face almost as red as his hair.
Neville got to his feet, seeming suddenly taller than normal. Anger radiated from him in waves. "Because, Ron, whenever you mock what Narcissa Malfoy has become, you also mock my parents, who suffered exactly the same fate at the hands of exactly the same person, that Narcissa did!" his voice rang through the air as the volume of it rose. "If I find out you've been mocking her again, you'll be very sorry indeed."
"Trust him," Blaise added coldly, assuming a threatening stance, wand raised.
"Now get out, before I hex you into the middle of next week!" He pointed his wand menacingly at Ron, who backed away, then turned and fled back down the train. Neville put his wand away and sat back down again, satisfied. "He won't give us any more hassle."
Draco stared at him in shock. "Why did you do that? You'll turn the whole of Gryffindor against you for defending a Slytherin – particularly a Malfoy!"
"Because Ron's an absolute idiot sometimes and he had no right to say those things. Besides," he added, smiling awkwardly, "that's what friends are for."
Draco looked away, though he was clearly touched. "Thanks," he mumbled.
"No problem."
"You know," Blaise remarked, "I reckon you're pretty cool, Longbottom – for a Gryffindor. Are we cool?"
Neville shrugged, but he was smiling. "I think so."
"Good. You just have to assist in The Downfall of Pansy Parkinson…"
Laughter echoed down the train from their compartment as an unlikely friendship was sealed.
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The End