Draco Malfoy smirked, as he lay in wait for Longbottom to appear. He had left Goyle and Crabbe inside, playing Wizarding Chess. Oh, that was a continual source of amusement. Half the time the two brutes couldn't remember the moves and needed to be reminded of them by the pieces! Still, they were his lackeys, and he was sure they would eventually learn the game.

Meeting Longbottom was a hell of a lot easier than meeting Potty would have been, that was certain. (Mental note: come up with a good nickname for Longbottom. Bottomlong has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Reference to his weight, too, at that.) Potty had lackeys, and the type that stuck with him wherever he went. Always in a crowd, that one. And it wasn't as if Potty would have actually accepted an invitation to talk, not like a person of good breeding.** Draco would have had to force the issue, and probably at wandpoint at that (by which, Draco meant, if he didn't have his wand drawn, Potty would draw his, and then they'd simply have to duel. Patience wasn't Potty's strongpoint.)

Here Malfoy was, sweating in the greenhouse. Well, he would be sweating, except that he was cleverly stationed near one of the fans, designed to keep even magical mould off the tropical plants. Longbottom liked plants - that was about the first thing Draco had learned about the young Longbottom heir. Not that it was much of a surprise - the Longbottoms were famed for their greenhouses, which even the Dark Lord was said to have coveted. It was a mark in their favor, that they had resisted his pull, Draco Malfoy thought suddenly - it couldn't have been easy. Strength of will ran in the family, apparently. Well, when Neville remembered he was a lion and not a lamb, at any rate. Which he wasn't doing a lot of lately...

Draco Malfoy's eyes narrowed, as he again contemplated the mystery that seemed to suffuse the school - almost not there, in its ephemeralness, but unctuous, like a film of oil on everything. Making everything black rainbows.***

Draco heard distinct, galumphing footsteps. That had to be Bottomlong, his heavy steps on the stone pavers. Draco hastened to where he intended to meet Longbottom, sitting silently and in perfect stillness on a bench often used for repotting. It was a trick he had picked up from his godfather, and he intended to use it to good effect.

Fortunately, Bottomlong didn't notice him - too busy thinking about the Calendula he wanted to primp, no doubt. As Bottomlong passed, Draco Malfoy stood suddenly - making certain he was just in Bottomlong's peripheral vision.

There. Neville Longbottom jumped for the sky, spinning around - and had his wand trained on Draco Malfoy, despite his ungainly reaction. He has combat instincts, Draco thought, so why isn't he using them? The pose lasted only a few seconds, barely time for an indrawn breath to whoosh out slowly. Then, unbelievably, Neville Longbottom dropped his wand, and tried to grab for it, sending it end over end past Draco's shoulder.

Draco Malfoy, using a supreme act of willpower, elected not to comment on such displays of clumsiness, "Mister Longbottom. I wonder if you could spare me a moment of your time?"

"W-what? What do you want? I mean, with me?" Bottomlong half stammered half spat. It was clear he was trying for angry, but it wasn't really working, as the cowardly approach to anger was to bite those smaller than you - and apparently Malfoy rated as at least equal.

"You're the new boy-who-lived, right?"

"I... I guess so, that's what Headmaster Dumbledore thinks, anyway... I dunno, really." Bottomlong was rubbing the back of his head, and credibly managing to make it seem like he wasn't feeling completely naked without his wand. Perhaps that was just a pose to suggest that he wasn't more formidable with a wand than without. Seeing as how Bottomlong was still ten stones heavier than Malfoy, Draco'd put some money on Neville being able to take him in a Muggle fight.

"That means its your job to fight ... You Know Who." Draco Malfoy said meaningfully, wondering what exactly this inquisition was giving him. Lots of reactions, sure, but mostly it was adding up to "Neville is a horrible actor" which, bloody bleedin' hell, he already knew.

"So they say."

"Here. If you're half the Herbology genius Prof. Sprout always says you are, this'll at least keep the Death Eaters out of your way."

And, so help Draco if he lied, Neville Longbottom's hand twitched towards the paper. And then, Bottomlong caught himself, shaking his head, and backing away. "I don't want to fight... don't make me fight...why do you even care anyway?" And Draco turned on his heel and left Neville standing there staring after him.

That last question would haunt Draco the rest of the night. But it was certainly clear - Neville had been given instructions to act this pathetic. He wasn't, and particularly not at Herbology. Oh, even if he couldn't have done half of what Draco had put together - he was at least interested. Anyone would be, with a puzzle that they knew they'd be good at.

So, thought Draco, looking up at his bedcurtains. Put the pieces together. They don't want Neville being the new stand-in for Potty. Why? Stands to reason, Draco thought, that they want someone else. Or... maybe not. No one else was stepping forward (and nearly anyone could, barring Granger and Weasley, who were too sodden in tears to do anything useful right now.). Draco frowned, considering. Someone was setting up a power vacuum on Dumbledore's side. Perhaps Dumbledore himself.

Was he trying to see who would step up?

And so help him, Draco Malfoy's Slytherin side stirred, wondering what greater ambition than being the leader of the winning side of a war would there be?**** Draco smiled wryly, and thought with more of a genuine smile, "Why, I do believe Father would kill me."

**Malfoy deludes himself into thinking he'd have accepted, if Potter asked. He wouldn't, but self-delusions are tricky little lies.

*** Um. You have seen a thin puddle of oil? It makes rainbows on asphalt.

****Malfoys, apparently, are arrogant enough to think that they'd win the war, whichever side they're on.

[a/n: write a review, please? Draco is finally taking a step towards figuring out what's going on.

Neville is going to be feeling entirely guilty about refusing Draco's... offer? And there's really no reason for it. Not that Draco is going to pay attention enough to realize it.]