DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author Notes: This story contains both SLASH and blatant drug use. If these themes offend you, please do not read this story!

The characters in this story may seem a little out of character, but give it a chance. Consider this story a "coming of age" tale about the characters developing into adults. I anticipate many flames telling me off for my OOC-ness. So be it.

This story is COMPLETE. I will post new chapters weekly.

Chapter Five: Consequences

I've got no patience now
So sick of complacence now
Sick of sick of sick of sick of you
Time has come to pay...
Know your enemy!

"Know Your Enemy" by Rage Against the Machine

The night was alight with a million stars, providing the Slytherin Trio with enough light to make their way to the Quidditch pitch without a Lumos spell. All Quidditch brooms were stored in a common closet in between games. One would think that there would be danger in such practice, but there was an unwritten rule and understanding between Quidditch players: brooms are sacred.

But Neville Longbottom was no Quidditch player.

The dark Slytherin waited by the broom shed as Draco unlocked the door. Once inside the shed, it was quick work to locate the Firebolt as it was the only one of its kind on the Hogwarts's grounds. Neville picked it up and carried it outside, where Pansy and Draco were waiting. He threw it to the ground with force and drew out a small box of matches.

"I thought we'd do it the Muggle way," Neville explained to a raptly staring Pansy and Draco. "They won't be able to pin it on us if we don't use magic."

"You're really going to do it, then?" Pansy asked breathlessly, obviously nervous.

Neville did not respond, but stooped and placed the lit match on the long, straight twigs at the end of the broom. Instantly, the kindling sparked and blossomed into a cheery blaze.

Draco was helpless to prevent himself from gasping at the sight of the flaming broom. He had always wanted a Firebolt, so it disturbed him to see one being so callously destroyed. If it had been his, he would surely be out for blood.

Of course, it was Harry Potter's broom. Draco smiled broadly.

"Should we say a few words for the dearly departed?" Pansy asked sarcastically.

"Fuck no," Neville snorted, never taking his eyes from the Firebolt, which was beginning to crumble beneath the flames. "Burn, baby, burn."

"Hey, we might actually win the Quidditch Cup this year," Pansy declared happily. "He won't have enough time to get a new one, will he?"

"Doubtful," Draco opined happily. "Not a decent one anyway."

"When do you think he will see it?" Pansy asked.

"We have a potions exam on Wednesday," Neville said. "I bet he won't see it until that afternoon."

"Right," Draco laughed softly. "The Gryffindors are mentally incapable of focusing on two things at the same time. They won't practice until Wednesday afternoon, possibly Thursday."

"And the match is on Saturday morning," Pansy supplied. "They don't practice nearly as much as they did when Wood was here."

"That's because Potter is so smug," Draco squatted on his haunches, warming his hands over the crackling fire. "He is so sure that no one can beat him."

"Well, then, it's about time the Gryffindors fell, don't you think?" Neville stepped on the burning carcass of the racing broom to stamp out the fire. "That should do it. I want it to be recognizable when Potter finds it."

The two boys scooped up the smoldering pieces of the broom while Pansy collected the ashes. They were diligent to place the remains in the exact same location from which they had removed the Firebolt.

"I tell you, the past is a bucket of ashes," Pansy sprinkled the ashes over the arrangement. "Now is the time for a Slytherin Victory."

Ginny's stay in the hospital wing only lasted one day. Madam Pomfrey was able to mend her bones without any difficulties. Upon her return to the general population, her first order of business was to seek out Neville.

She waited until after dinner to seek him out in the library where, to her dismay, he was meeting up with his "customers" to make his deliveries. She waited at a table near the door until Susan Bones exited before winding her way to the back of the room. Neville had his head bent, making marks on his delivery list when Ginny rounded the corner. She approached silently and dropped the pin Neville had left for her during her convalescence on the table. It hit the wood with a muffled pling.

"Ginny!" Neville jumped to his feet and hurried around the table to hug her close. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," Ginny hugged him back briefly before pushing out of his arms. "Madam Pomfrey made me good as new!"

"You know that we need to talk about this," Neville told her seriously. "About Harry."

"Yes," Ginny sighed ruefully. "I need to explain a few things to you. And to Malfoy and Pansy."

"When?"

"Can I come down tonight?"

Ginny's presence in the Slytherin Common Room was far from an anomaly. She had been welcomed into their fold after Neville had stood by her and insisted that they leave her be. Ginny was reminded of a king addressing his peasants. They did his biding without questioning the reasons behind it.

"Yes, of course," Neville consulted his pocket watch. "I should be out of here in about half an hour. Give me an hour, okay? Someone will let you in."

"Okay, I'll be there," Ginny kissed Neville's smooth cheek and then left the library, passing Professor Trelawny on her way out. "Good evening, Professor."

An hour later, Ginny was settled into the black leather armchair in front of the Slytherin fire, regarding her three Slytherin friends as they sat side by side on the couch in front of her. They looked like children waiting for discipline from their mother, she thought fondly. Had you told Ginny a year ago that she would have not one, but three Slytherin friends she would have laughed you out of the room. But there it was: she was a fourth to the Gryffindor trio and a fourth to the Slytherin trio. Funny how life works out sometimes.

"You three need to understand Harry," Ginny began warily. It was important to her that they know the truth. She knew that if she did not explain things, something sinister was going to transpire. "I want you to listen. And don't interrupt me."

"Gryffindors are so bossy," Draco complained.

Neville elbowed him in the ribs and gestured for him to keep silent. Draco shot his boyfriend a scowl for good measure, but held his tongue.

"Harry is a great person," Ginny said, tucking her feet under her. "Neville, you know that from your time at Gryffindor. He was always kind to you."

Neville made a slight inclination of his head, although his face remained impassive.

"Harry has been through a lot," she twirled her red-gold hair around her fingers as she talked. "When he defeated Voldemort last year, he changed. He is under a lot of pressure. And it is true that he has a horrendous temper. But never—not even once-- has Harry hit me on purpose."

Draco bit his lip in order to refrain from commenting.

"He hasn't," Ginny insisted, rubbing her recently injured wrist unconsciously. "There have been a couple of accidents, but really, they have been just that."

Neville sighed in exasperation.

"He gets so frustrated," Ginny explained desperately. "And you all know how expressive he is. And when he gets overwhelmed, he strikes out."

Pansy shifted in her seat. She wanted to speak so badly.

"And he always strikes out at inanimate objects. Not me," Ginny's eyes clouded over with tears. She could see that her friends did not believe her. "Like this time—Harry and I were working on his potions project. And he got upset because he couldn't get it. He stormed out and was going to slam the door, but you know how Snape is! Harry would have gotten in so much trouble. I tried to stop the door from shutting. And my hand got caught."

Neville raised his eyebrows, considering Ginny's sincerity. She firmly believed what she was saying, that much he could tell. But was it true? He wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that Harry was intrinsically good and could be trusted with his best friend.

"What about the time you 'fell down the stairs'?" Neville questioned gently.

"I did just fall down the stairs," Ginny nodded vigorously. "You never did believe me, but that is what happened. Harry had pulled some portraits from the wall and I tripped over them."

"You can't expect us to believe that tripe," Draco lifted a perfectly sculpted eyebrow in disdain. "I mean, honestly, Weasley."

"Can you get your hands on some Veritaserum?" Ginny asked, her eyes narrowing on Draco. "I'll take it and then you can ask me anything you want."

"Even what color your panties are?" Draco asked blithely, using his old familiar friend, Humor, to mask his surprise at her offer. "I've always wondered: Hearts or Snitches?"

"Draco, really," Pansy rolled her eyes and elbowed Draco in the ribs. "Ginny are you willing to swear that your story is true?"

"Yes."

Neville exchanged a resigned look with Draco, who was rubbing his abused side dramatically and Pansy. They had no choice.

"Okay, fine," Neville held up his hands in surrender. "We believe you. Harry is not abusive. You love Harry. Harry loves you. Everyone is happy."

"And you won't kill him," Ginny prompted, her eyes stern.

Neville pursed his lips to prevent a smile from crossing his features. "And we won't kill him."

"Damn," Draco muttered, heartbroken. "Denied."

Pansy elbowed him in the ribs.

"Get up, Malfoy," Harry's deep voice sounded from behind Draco as he nibbled on a piece of bread. "Get up now."

Draco set his bread on his plate and dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin before turning to look at Harry serenely. "Can I help you?"

The rest of the Slytherin table, including Neville and Pansy, fell silent and watched the encounter, bodies tensed and ready to strike.

Harry tossed a dusty piece of u-shaped gold onto the table, upsetting several plates of food and glared down at Draco, pure hatred emanating from his entire being. Draco did not spare it a glance. He knew what it was—the leg rest from the Firebolt. Neville leaned slightly so that his shoulder was touching Draco's.

Ah, so he found it.

"I knew you were a ruthless bastard," Harry spat, more venom in his voice than the wizarding icon previously thought possible to feel. "But I thought you at least had a passing respect for Quidditch. You burnt my fucking broom."

"I resent the implication," Draco said tersely, not bothering to get to his feet. "And unless you have proof, I suggest you bugger off."

"I've told McGonagall," Harry told him, smiling vindictively. "You'll be expelled for this."

Draco felt Neville twitch. He shifted, pressing into Neville firmly, although it appeared as if he was merely turning more fully to face Harry's angry eyes. "Prove I did it, and I will leave willingly."

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall intoned as she approached the scene. "You will both follow me."

Draco squeezed Neville's hand once in assurance before rising and following Professor McGonagall out of the room. Neville turned to Pansy with wild eyes.

"It's okay," Pansy soothed, turning back to her food in a great show of normalcy. "Don't react. Everyone is watching. They won't find anything if they do a Priori Incantatem, remember?"

Neville nodded and stabbed at his food with his fork. His eyes slid to the now closed door leading out of the Great Hall. How could he not worry? It was not as if McGonagall was an impartial judge when it came to the Gryffindor Seeker.

Professor McGonagall handed Draco's wand back to him. She did not trust him and likely never would, but the Priori incantatem could not lie. Draco had not used his wand to set the fire that destroyed Harry's Firebolt. She, of course, thought it was entirely possible that he had employed some other method to do it. If Veritaserum was not illegal, she would not think twice about using it in this situation.

"But Professor," Harry cried out in protest. "He did it! You know he did it!"

Draco smirked confidently.

"Yes," McGonagall sighed, making Draco's smirk falter. "I am sure that he did it. But I cannot prove it."

"Ha," Draco blurted, making Harry gurgle with anger.

"But," she held her hand up to silence them both. "The situation is too serious to ignore. Mr. Malfoy, you will be sent home for a week."

"What?"

"You are suspended from these grounds for one week," McGonagall peered over her glasses at Draco, a flash of pleasure in her eyes. "You will leave tomorrow. Your parents will be here in the morning to collect you."

Harry was hugely satisfied, despite the crushing loss of his broom. Brooms could be replaced, but the look of surprised fury on Draco's face—Harry almost thought the loss was worth it.

"Go directly to your Common Room," McGonagall continued, getting to her feet. "You are restricted to Slytherin house until your parents arrive. Am I understood?"

"Clearly," Draco hissed, standing. His lips drew back from his teeth in a feral show of rage before turning on his heel and storming from the room.

Draco made his way to down to the Slytherin dormitory, full of choler. He could not believe that he was being sent home like an errant child. Granted, he was errant, but she definitely lacked proof of that salient point!

He spat out the password and when the portal did not open as quickly as Draco thought that it should, he kicked it ferociously. Those in the Common Room who did not know Draco well, sat in paralyzed fear. Those who did know him well, fled to their dormitory rooms in great haste. Draco did not spare either group a look as he went to his own room.

"Draco," Neville leapt from the desk chair and went to him, seeing and dismissing the thunderous look on his face. "What happened?"

"I've been suspended," Draco went to the mantelpiece, picked up one of the black candles and threw it against the charmed window with an almighty roar. "I'm being sent home!"

"What?" Neville exclaimed as Draco picked up another candle. "But there is no proof!"

"There is no proof," Draco assured him as he pelted the window with the second candle, feeling greatly gratified by the sound of it crashing into the stone wall. "But that cow is suspending me anyway."

"How long?"

"One week," Draco looked around for something else to throw. "One fucking week."

Neville paled. He had not been separated from Draco for more than two hours at a time since he broke house. He did not want to be without Draco. No, no, nonononononono... "Can't your father do anything?"

"No, Neville," Draco raked his fingers through his impeccable blond hair. "He doesn't hold as much power now that You-Know-Who is gone."

Neville flinched. They had never spoken about Voldemort before. And they had certainly never talked about the Malfoy family's involvement in the Dark Lord's rise to power or defeat.

"I will go home," Draco told him, some of the fury gone from his voice. The punishment was unfair, but Draco knew it was not to be helped. "I will go home and spend my time looking for ways to kill that four-eyed bastard."

"Let me tell McGonagall it was me," Neville suggested.

"No, absolutely not," Draco stood before Neville and took his hands. As unfair as the punishment was, Draco would accept it without further complaint. He fervently needed to protect Neville. "They will expel you. The only reason I have not been expelled is because they cannot find proof that I actually did it. But if you go in and confess, you will be before you can blink twice."

Neville knew he was right. One did not simply confess to burning Hero Potter's broom and expect to get off with a slap to the wrist. Neville bowed his head, sadness invading his heart.

"I don't want you to go," Neville whispered, squeezing Draco's hands tightly. "I'll be lost without you."

"You won't be lost," Draco disagreed, tugging on his hands. "But you will have to take over all of the deliveries while I am gone. I'll leave everything you will need."

"I have not been away from you, not even one day," Neville looked up, meeting Draco's cool grey eyes. "I don't know what to do without you."

"Come on, HB," Draco pulled Neville into his arms, soothing him with sweet words. "I will be back before you have time to miss me. You'll have the whole bed to yourself. Just think, no one to fight with over the duvet."

"I like fighting with you," Neville muttered, wrapping his arms around Draco's waist. "And I will miss you before the carriage door closes."

"And I will miss you, but come on," Draco forced Neville to take several backward steps toward their bed. "Let's not waste the night exchanging weepy declarations and flowery vows."

Neville bumped into the bed and went toppling back onto the mattress. He looked up at Draco who was unbuttoning his shirt. "I am neither weepy nor flowery."

"Then call it a preemptive strike," Draco smiled as he dropped his shirt to the floor. He crawled onto the bed, straddling his boyfriend. "Or a proper goodbye."

Neville tried to ignore the sad ache in his chest as Draco kissed him. He was terrified, for the first time since leaving Gryffindor. He was not sure that he could handle the Slytherins on his own. He was sure that he needed Draco in order to be strong.

"Draco," Pansy called through the closed door to the boys' room. "Your father is here."

Draco reluctantly pulled away from the soft mouth he had been kissing, causing Neville to whimper and tighten his hold on Draco's shoulders. The two Slytherin boys had spent a sleepless night together, neither wanting to consider their inevitable separation. At first light, they had dressed, but then crawled directly back into bed.

"Come on, HB," Draco gently extracted himself from Neville's embrace. "I want you to meet my father."

"Oh, I don't think that is a good idea," Neville released Draco and stood up, burying his hands deep into his trouser pockets, a sure sign of his nervousness. "I mean, really, who are you going to tell him I am?"

"I thought I would go with 'Hi, Dad. This is my boyfriend Neville," Draco picked up his cloak and turned to the door. "Now, come on."

Neville rolled his eyes at his boyfriend. "Are you ever serious, Dragon?"

Draco grinned and ushered Neville into the hallway to join the waiting Pansy. The threesome walked in silence to the Common Room, where Lucius Malfoy was waiting. The elder Malfoy was leaning against the mantelpiece, surveying the room with a nostalgic look in his eyes.

"Hello, Draco," Lucius pushed away from the mantel and approached the group of Slytherins. He eyed Neville curiously for a moment. "You must be the famed and much lauded Mr. Longbottom, who broke with his house to be a Slytherin. Good show, my boy."

Neville's breath caught in his chest. He had no idea what to say.

"Dad," Draco caught Neville by the arm and hauled him to his side. "This is my boyfriend, Neville."

Lucius raised his eyebrows and blinked. "Really?"

Neville felt all of his blood rushing to his face. He made a mental note to kill Draco at the earliest opportunity. Beside him, Pansy snorted, clearly enjoying his pain. He added her to his List.

"Yes," Draco confirmed happily, nudging Neville fondly. "And he is the mastermind behind the broom burning incident."

"Really?" Lucius face lit up like the tip of a wand after a Lumos spell. He offered Neville his hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Neville. A real pleasure."

"Thank you, sir," Neville pumped Lucius' hand firmly. "Likewise."

"Shall we go?" Lucius picked up his walking stick and made a sweeping gesture. "Neville, walk with us?"

Draco hurriedly hugged Pansy. "Watch after him."

"Of course," Pansy kissed his cheek. "He will be fine. Enjoy your break."

Draco took Neville's hand and followed his father out of the Slytherin dungeons. Just as they reached the Entrance Hall, Lucius broke the easy silence. "So, which one of you actually set the fire?"

"I did, sir," Neville volunteered immediately, wanting to spare Draco any punishment that might await him at home. "I tried to tell McGonagall, but Draco would not hear of it."

"Did you?" Lucius turned to regard the dark boy clinging to his son's hand. Draco certainly could have done worse. "And Draco still took the blame?"

"They would have expelled Neville," Draco explained quickly. "And they had already convicted me, based on nothing but conjecture. There was no actual evidence."

"Naturally," Lucius sighed dramatically. "Every 'evil' thing that has ever transpired at Hogwarts has historically been blamed on a Malfoy."

"Was any of it ever true?" Neville questioned, intrigued by the possibility that the Malfoys had been pigeonholed into their current reputation.

"Oh, all of it is true," Lucius waved his hand imperially. "All excepting the meatloaf and, of course, this broom thing."

Neville laughed, taken back by Lucius' wit. He had always assumed, thanks to Gryffindors horror stories, that Malfoy Senior was a humorless and heartless git.

When they reached the Malfoy carriage, sitting just outside of the castle, Lucius once again shook Neville's hand.

"Neville," the older Slytherin clapped the younger on the shoulder warmly. "I do hope you will join us at the Manor this summer."

"Yes, sir," Neville nodded, thinking how improbable that he should be invited to Malfoy Manor for dinner let alone an entire summer. "I would enjoy that very much. Thank you."

Lucius bowed in respectful farewell before stepping into the carriage, leaving the two boys alone to say their goodbyes.

Draco wound his arms around Neville's neck and pulled him close. "Just one week, HB."

"If this wasn't goodbye," Neville whispered into his lover's ear. "And if your father was not watching us—I would cheerfully kill you over that little display in there."

"Oh, but he knows that I am gay," Draco chuckled. "I guess I forgot to mention that, huh?"

"Yes, yes, you did," Neville kissed Draco's neck quickly and pushed him away. "Now get out of here before I get 'weepy and flowery'."

Draco backed up the carriage stairs, his eyes staying on Neville's until he pulled the door shut. Once inside, he settled himself and then cracked the blind over the window, looking once again at Neville, who was holding his hand in the air, waving morosely.

"You like this boy?" Lucius asked, watching his only son smiling wistfully out the window.

"I do," Draco sighed helplessly and leaned back in his seat. "He is very—something."

"Ah, how well I remember that feeling," Lucius tapped his snake-tipped cane on the floor of the carriage, remembering. "When I met your mother, I could barely breathe for a solid month. I started to think that seeing stars was quite normal."

"And Mother?" Draco queried, his interest peaked by this new insight into his parents' life and love. "Did she see stars?"

"Oh, no," Lucius chuckled and shook his head ruefully. "She was decidedly not impressed by my advances. She had her sights set on the Ravenclaw prefect—Patrick Adderly. Merlin, but I hated that man."

"Then how did you win her over?"

"Ah, well, Adderly was a year above us," Lucius grinned. "He graduated and moved to the Americas as an ambassador for the Ministry. Your mother was bereft. I was there to offer her a steady shoulder on which to cry and a clean handkerchief with which she could wipe her eyes. I guess I eventually wore her down."

Draco laughed heartily. Try as he might, he simply could not envision his father as a lovesick Lothario.

"And now you tell me," Lucius leaned forward and swatted his son playfully on the leg. "How goes it with you and Neville? Seeing stars?"

"All is well," Draco told him, happily. "I never imagined that I would actually find someone in school who suited me so well. He is, of course, from an old, pure-blood family. And he is smart too, but no one really knows that. Herbology is his specialty, but he is gaining strength in his wand work. We've been dueling for practice. And he is the perfect blend of kind and cruel. I don't know why in the world he was ever sorted into Gryffindor. And Neville..."

Lucius smiled inwardly, listening as his son continued to sing Neville's praises. He had never heard his son speak so unreservedly. Love, he thought, was blooming underneath Draco's excited words.

"...instead of our owl," Draco paused, coloring at the realization that he had been babbling.

"Ah, I see," Lucius settled back into his seat, sensing that Draco was embarrassed by his outpouring. "You look exhausted, which is giving you a grey pallor. Why don't you try to rest? Your mother will worry herself sick if you show up looking like the dead."

"I could do with a kip," Draco yawned and closed his eyes. He was quite tired, as he and Neville had done everything short of sleeping the night before. He relaxed into the gentle swaying of the carriage, wondering what Neville was up to.

Neville, for his part, had returned to his bedroom in the Slytherin dungeons and had fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep. He awoke some hours later to the sound of loud banging on his door. He rolled out of the bed, landing on his feet and grabbing his wand. He was momentarily disoriented by the fact that Draco was not by his side with his wand at the ready. His dark eyes scanned the room, and only when he noticed that there was only one trunk in the room did he remember that Draco was not at Hogwarts. His heart gave a lurch.

"Neville," a loud voice joined in the banging. "Open up!"

Neville stumbled to the door and yanked it open, his mood as black as night. "What?"

"We've won!" Vincent Goyle was yelling in his face, jumping up and down in a way that made the large boy look like a baboon. "We've won the Quidditch Cup!"

"We won?" Neville shook his head, realizing for the first time that he had slept through that morning's Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match. "Gryffindor lost?"

"They lost!" Vincent howled in ecstasy. "You should have seen Potter's face when Patil caught the Snitch! We are up by twenty points! We've won!"

Neville felt a surge of pride on Draco's behalf, followed directly by a great sadness that he was not there to enjoy the news. Neville knew that winning the Cup for his final year on the Slytherin Quidditch team had been a dream for Draco. And now, here it was, a Slytherin victory.

"What do we do?" Vincent rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Should we have a party?"

"No," Neville shook his head, knowing that Draco should be at any celebratory party for this occasion. "We will celebrate though. Send someone down to the kitchens to bring up some cakes and pumpkin juice. We will have a real party on Saturday, when Draco returns."

"Excellent," Vincent bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement before turning to go deliver the decree to the waiting Slytherins. "Order up some cakes! The real party will wait for Draco!"

A loud roar of approval took Neville by surprise.

I am in charge.

As always, thanks for reading!