SaintDionysus, my awesome beta, is to thank for the idea of calling MacMillan, "Dick-Millan." She and I are eight years old and we make no apologies for our collective sense of humor.

Okay.

Fine.

Neville could admit it. Draco Malfoy was a bloody good partner.

Neville could only assume that years of cock strutting about the castle and bullying the general population had prepared Draco for the drug management business. He oddly understood people better than Neville ever would, which was truly hilarious when Neville thought about it; the fact that Draco Malfoy was, in essence, a people person.

He knew their tells, their ticks, their weaknesses just by spending a few moments in their presence. He understood what made someone a leader or a follower. There were certain characteristics which predestined individuals to be excellent in one of those two roles.

Draco, for example, was a leader.

He was so darkly charismatic; even Neville had to fight his instincts, screaming at him to blindly listen to whatever he had to say.

He was intelligent. Neville was surprised, and admittedly a little jealous, at how quickly Draco picked up on the technicalities of marijuana growing.

He always seemed to be several steps ahead. Before the product had even been fully broken down, he managed to erect a permanent barrier between the product and the layer of wormwood with which he lined the greenhouse. In doing so, he killed two birds with one stone—protecting the plants from the substance's toxicity, and keeping away pests.

Most of all, he could identify other people's motivations, and he had no qualms about manipulating them in a way that served his own. Neville suspected this gift was woven into Draco's DNA. He carried it so naturally, it seemed inseparable from his very essence.

As a leader, Draco spotted follower potential like a hawk spotted injured bunnies.

Evan Atkinson, a fourth-year Slytherin whose hero-worship of Draco was disturbingly reminiscent of the late Colin Creevy's man-crush on Harry Potter, was one of these (depending on how you saw it) 'lucky' bunnies. Though he was not alarmingly bright, he was smart enough to follow instructions. His fear/awe of Draco ensured his loyalty. Draco treated him like a potential protégé, dangling before him the tantalizing fantasy of Evan being taken under his wing, but keeping him at enough of a distance where he still had something to strive for. Evan would have opened his veins for a kind word from Draco.

Lawrence Baker was another bunny. He, however, was cleverer than Atkinson. His perfection for the task lay in the totality of his apathy. A Muggleborn Ravenclaw in his fifth year, he was one of those 'lazy but brilliant' students who might have had perfect grades if they could only be arsed to study. As it was, he was fifth in his year without ever cracking a book. He gave the appearance of being constantly about to fall asleep. He was tall and surly enough that male customers wouldn't start shit with him. Female customers were ever-so-slightly sexually intrigued by him despite the fact that he was the scrawniest fucker Draco had ever seen. He seemed to subsist on a cocktail of Adderall, black coffee, raw vegetables, and The Ganj. He was too lazy to steal from them, but just for good measure, Draco threw in a modest gratis with his commission.

Janet Mantel was the last of their merry band of miscreants. A sixth-year Gryffindor lesbian with a shaved head and a neck tattoo of a shark wearing high heels, she was the most reliable of the three. Her talent for followership lay in the fact that she was pretty much otherwise unemployable despite the fact that she was relatively intelligent and possessed decent social skills. Though it was unsettling to some, she refused to change her appearance for any person (bloody Gryffindor principles). Her tattoo, which she got on a dare, she loved because it never failed to make her and her friends laugh. She kept her head shaved because she had no desire to maintain hair. Her ears she gauged because—shut the fuck up. When Draco offered her a job, she was in no position to turn it down. He was not disappointed. She was personable in a bizarre way, she knew how to count, and her Gryffindor morality prevented her from trying to cheat her employer.

So, drug dealers they became, under Malfoy's management. The snake had six rules for his little bunnies.

First rule: Don't ask questions above your pay grade; namely, anything regarding the business above the point of their involvement, i.e. where the pot comes from, whether there are others at the top besides Draco, that sort of thing.

Second rule: No weed on credit. The customer gets the product when the Galleons change hands.

Third rule: 5% commission on all sales. This kept them in healthy competition with one another.

Fourth rule: Despite rule number 3, there are to be no whispers of 'turfs' or ownership regarding customer bases, or anything that involved unhealthy competition between the three.

Fifth rule: Don't solicit. Word will pass and drugs sell themselves. This kept them from making the mistake of misjudging a situation and trying to sell to a fink.

And sixth, and most importantly: Don't ever, ever, goddamned EVER reveal Draco's identity. As they did not know Neville was involved at all, his anonymity was pre-guaranteed. However, for Draco's part, he had them sign a magical contract to ensure their secrecy. He also informed them that if they broke said contract, they would fall victim to a hex, the effects of which were both permanent and ugly—an idea he stole from the fifth-year antics of his brilliant and equally terrifying wife-to-be.

Draco managed his employees firmly, but fairly. He was not a tyrant, nor was he their friend. Neville despised himself a little for respecting him.

And the effects were undeniable. One thing was for sure. Business was booming. Neville couldn't believe how quickly they moved the product. Hufflepuffs especially seemed to plow through the stuff. And best of all, because the drug was developed from a magical, dual-purpose strain, they were able to sell it for far more than if it had been regular, run-of-the mill marijuana.

Mua-ha-fucking-ha.

Neville and Draco leaned against the wall in the first-floor corridor, watching the students scamper through the hall.

"You see that one there?" Draco asked, pointing to a dumpy, freckled fourth year Hufflepuff, his robes a-bulge with sweets. "He might look like a grass, but he and his mates are some of our biggest customers."

Neville grinned. "I can't imagine they go through more than Dean and Seamus. It's all they bloody talk about these days—the 'Magic Mary Jane.' I don't remember the last time I saw them when they weren't high."

Draco snickered, delighted to hear that they were taking so much of those two toe-rags' money. "I wondered why Finnegan seemed impossibly stupider lately." Draco's amused expression fell as Ernie MacMillan sauntered through the corridor, parting the sea of the lowly peasant students who didn't possess a comically shiny Head Boy badge. Draco nudged his chin in MacMillan's direction. "We'll need to watch out. Head-Giving Boy there harped for an hour at the prefect meeting the other night about ridding the school of drugs. He's trying to jump-start a drug-free campaign using the prefects to create an 'if you see something, say something' incentive with some of the younger students."

Neville rolled his eyes. "How'd that go over with the prefects?"

"Like a sack of shit hitting the pavement."

Neville chuckled. "Glad to hear it. How's Hermione dealing with it?"

Draco sighed. "She's exhausted, I think. She made the point at the meeting that the only drug any of them have actually ever confiscated has been marijuana, and MacMillan nearly had a conniption." A shadow fell across Draco's handsome features. "He fucking yelled at her in front of everyone and told her that if she thought marijuana wasn't just as dangerous as hard drugs, then she had no right to call herself Head Girl."

Neville's eyes widened. "He did what?"

"I lost it," Draco said, recalling the fury coursing through his veins at seeing MacMillan raise his greasy voice at the woman Draco loved. Even the memory of it triggered a montage of fantasies involving the Head Boy squealing in agony as Draco ripped him limb from limb. "I would have beaten him to a pulp if Hermione hadn't thrown a silent Petrificus at me."

Neville laughed. "I would have loved to have seen that."

Draco's lips disappeared into a thin line. He had been most displeased with her for doing that. "She didn't even cast a Finite until the meeting was over." Despite his displeasure with her, he couldn't help but smirk at the memory of the argument that followed in the prefect meeting room after everyone had left.

"Why the fuck would you hex me?"

"Because I'm not about to let you get yourself expelled!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Oh, and I suppose you had to wait until the end of the meeting to drop the spell."

She smirked (a habit which she picked up from him). He summoned the will to not break the flawless fury in his countenance as he felt his pants tighten at the expression she now wore like a pro.

Hermione edged mere inches from his face and silkily whispered, "Consider it payback then. If I recall, you blind-sided me with that same spell once-upon-a-time."

Draco's jaw clenched at the memory of the night he almost lost her back in sixth year. "That was different. That was for your protection. You did this for what? To protect Dick-Millan?"

Hermione tilted her head haughtily. He tried and failed to suppress the swelling of his pride (and his cock) at the realization that she would make one hell of a Malfoy. "I did it for me, you arse. I'm the one who has to work with the git." Her gaze softened, and her eyes sparkled with manipulation. "And I did it for you, too. The last thing I want is for you to get expelled. Then who would take me behind the greenhouse?"

Ooooohhhh. That little minx.

She edged ever closer. "And on my bed?" Her tongue flicked out to wet her bottom lip. "And in that alcove on the third floor." She nuzzled his nose with her own. "And the Restricted Section of the library where I sucked you off for the first time."

All of Draco's decision-making powers pulsed angrily just south of his navel. His mind was a goddamned mess.

Must…fuck her. She wins argument…we fuck sooner.

By some miracle, the hefty corner of his brain where he stored his arrogance kept just enough blood from journeying to his cock for him to hold out on letting her win the argument.

This part of the brain also knew she'd make it ever so worth his while if he could just hold out a little bit longer. If he played his cards right, he'd win the argument, she'd be riled up to the point of bursting, and then…

He'd fuck her prissy cunt till she forgot how to walk.

The lust cloud over his eyes cleared. He smirked. "You think just because I want to bend you over this desk right now, you can walk all over me?" He relished in the confused expression on her face as he lowered his lips to her ear and whispered, "I want an apology."

She glared at her Slytherin and smiled humorlessly. "Too fucking bad. I'm not apologizing."

Draco's pupils exploded. "You don't want to push me right now, Hermione. I'm fucking furious with you."

She snarled. "Get over it."

The two of them breathed heavily, panting in each other's faces, their hands balled up into fists at their sides, their nails piercing their flesh to cause just enough pain to take the edge off. Draco licked his bottom lip as he watched Hermione bite her own.

They had made a mess of that room.

Draco pulled a hamstring and Hermione sprained a wrist. And that night—oh, that night—when they retired to her dorm…

Had Hermione Granger not been the best person Draco had ever met, he would have thought she had all the makings of the most ruthless of Death Eaters, because that woman had a sweet talent for torture. Draco couldn't help but close his eyes and let his head fall on the stone wall as he reminisced about the exquisite sleep deprivation torture tactics Hermione bestowed upon him the evening of the argument—torture in the form of a mind-blowing series of blow jobs. He'd fall asleep, his brain fuzzy in post-coital bliss, and just as he'd slip into his REM cycle, her mouth would be on him again.

Fuck, but she did have a dirty mouth.

"Malfoy? Did you hear me?"

"Huh?" Draco asked, rousing himself from his lusty fantasy. "What did you say?"

"I asked if Hermione knows about our business."

Draco sighed. "No. And before you say anything, she doesn't need to know. As Head Girl, she'd feel conflicted, and she'd probably have no other choice but to turn us both in."

Neville scoffed. "She wouldn't do that."

"Uh, yes, she would. I mean, she'd hate herself for it, but you better believe she'd do it. She's worked too hard to get Head Girl, and it means the world to her. I'm not about to put her in a position where she feels she has to make the choice between throwing it away or getting her fiancé expelled."

"You don't think she'll figure it out? She is smarter than both of us."

Draco shrugged. "Of course, she'll figure it out. I just hope it's after we've moved all the product. I'll deal with the aftermath later." He smirked, imagining how spectacular that bout of angry sex would be.

"Whatever," Neville said. He'd been saying that a lot lately. Dating Hannah and hanging around Malfoy had significantly affected his demeanor and overall approach to life. Though he didn't actually smoke his own product, he'd adopted the calm bearing of a pothead. "Hannah doesn't know either."

"Then we agree, Longbottom. Best to keep significant others out of it."

The corners of Neville's lips quirked up at hearing Draco refer to Hannah as a 'significant other.' It had been over a month since their first date in Hogsmeade, and since that time he spent every spare moment with her. They still hadn't done It yet, but they had done other things…other wonderful things…that left Neville with little doubt about his feelings for her. He was falling so hard for her that even if he came out the other end of this year 100,000 Galleons richer, there's no way he'd do so with his heart intact. Every moment with her revealed a thousand little things to love about her.

The eye freckle that was the first thing he saw every time he opened his eyes after kissing her.

The sweet sighs she'd release when he nibbled on the spot just beneath her ear.

The way her nose crinkled when she laughed.

Her maturity.

Her innocence.

In an odd mixture of the latter two attributes, Hannah didn't use drugs at all. Along with everything else about her, Neville loved this too. A girl this perfect didn't need anything to change her…not even for a minute.

She was also one of the few girls in the school who wouldn't be impressed that Neville was a drug dealer. There was no reason for her to know, especially since she might not want anything to do with him.

He sighed. For the love of Nimue, he had it bad.

Draco narrowed his eyes at Neville. "I know that look."

"What look?" Neville asked with poorly feigned innocence.

"You're thinking about Henna."

"Hannah, for the thousandth time, you sodding waste of oxygen!"

Draco smirked. "You're in love."

Neville blushed and averted his gaze. "We're still new."

"I know what I'm seeing. The cow eyes, the blushing, the idiotic smile—"

"Well, you can fuck right off."

"—I recognize all the signs because I've been there too, mate."

Neville went cross-eyed at the sound of Draco Malfoy calling him "mate." Had he heard that correctly?

Draco didn't seem to realize he'd said anything out of the ordinary. "So, believe it or not, I'm not going to make fun of you for it. It's the best thing that ever happened to me, that's for damn sure."

Neville pinched himself to check that this wasn't some bizarre dream—that Draco Malfoy was actually talking to him about girls and love and stuff. All that was missing from this moment was a tub of Florean Fortescue butterbeer swirl ice cream, a bottle of rosé, and they'd be ready to discuss Draco's favorite hair products.

"Draco," an overly-eager voice bellowed.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Fucking Atkinson," he murmured under his breath, pushing off from the wall and expelling a long spurt of air from his lungs. "Evan," he said, assuming his inexplicably imperious-yet-charming manner. "Got anything for me today?" He backed away from Neville just enough to keep the appearance that he wasn't involved.

Evan looked around the room before speaking in a hopelessly exaggerated display of carefulness. "I 'eard from some of my Hufflepuff customers 'at MacMillan's gotta list 'o names."

Shit-eating kneazle-fucker!

Draco's demeanor remained ever-cool. "Names of what, exactly?" It disgusted him how much he reminded himself of his father right now—the slippery inflections of speech, the impregnable freeze of expression. But Merlin, if it didn't get results.

"People he finks might 'ave somefin' 'a do wiff the drugs." Evan smirked (Draco assumed in an attempt to emulate him), "But 'e don' 'ave no clue it's you. Your name ain't on 'at list."

Draco offered a rare smile. He projected it would be enough to tide Evan over for a week or more. "Now Evan, I need you to tell me exactly who is on that list. Can you remember?"

Evan nodded eagerly. "Well, 'ere's 'at Neville Longbo'om," the younger boy snorted. "As if 'e'd 'ave the brains for somefin' like this."

Draco's face betrayed not a wrinkle. "Who else, Evan?"

"Right, 'ere's also Luna Lovegood, Dean Thomas, and…" Evan bit his lip.

A single nerve in Draco's eyebrow twitched. "You don't want to tell me."

Evan shook his head.

Draco put a hand on the younger boy's shoulder. "If you think I'll be upset, I assure you, it will not be at you. Now," he offered the boy another rare smile. "Tell me."

Evan gulped. "It's…" he sighed. "It's your girl, boss. 'ermione Granger."

Draco reflexively tightened his grip on the boy's shoulder. This was fucking news.

It must have been the fact that she dared stand against MacMillan at the prefect meeting. The prick must have conflated her cool pragmatism with enthusiasm for light drugs.

He glowered with righteous fury. He'd be damned if Hermione was implicated in this.

"Um…boss?"

Draco realized he was still grasping Evan's shoulder. He released him. "Thank you for telling me, Evan. You've done very well bringing this to my attention." It was pitiful how happy it made the boy to hear that. "But I need you to do something else for me."

"Anyfin', boss."

"I need you to watch MacMillan. Continue keeping your ear to the ground with your customers, especially the Hufflepuffs, but I want you to specifically watch MacMillan. Report back to me his comings and goings—who he sees, who he talks to, what he eats for goddamned breakfast. Alright?"

The boy swiftly agreed and left Draco with his thoughts. He felt a nudge on his shoulder.

It was Neville. "Everything alright?"

Draco nodded, summoning his talent for compartmentalization and shrugging off his displeasure with Evan's news to deal with at a later time. "Of course. Business as usual." No need to bother Neville with this just yet. The bloke had the finesse of a two-legged Erumpet. He'd be sure to panic and cock everything up. No. Draco could control this. It wasn't bad yet.

But Hermione…

Neville spoke. "I meant to ask you; you know Whimsy's been talking to Winky and some of the other kitchen elves, right?"

Draco nodded. "She's trying to convince them to do edibles." He chuckled slightly. "It's the perfect plan if you think about it. They won't take payment, they know how to bloody bake, and they'd rather throw themselves in front of the Hogwarts Express than betray the loyalty of a witch or wizard they've sworn to serve. Whimsy's acting as a sort of official representative of our interests. She knows how to gain their trust."

Neville snickered. "It's moments like this where Hermione's special touch with house elves would come in handy."

Draco scoffed. "I think not. Advocate for their rights or not, they despise her. Lesson one in house elf husbandry is: Don't try to sneak them clothes." His eyes darted warily to the other boy. "You're not still in a strop about using house elves are you? Because we don't have to do edibles."

Neville shrugged. "Whatever. It's alright by me."

Draco's eye twitched as MacMillan sauntered into the Great Hall, lightly reprimanding a second year for donning an improperly tucked Oxford. Hatred boiled within him. He didn't give a toss what that prick tried to do to him. People like Dick-Millan would only go so far in life, anyway. No matter what happened while he was at Hogwarts, Draco would never lose sleep looking over his shoulder for the likes of Ernie MacMillan. But if the cunt-waffle thought he could try to harm Hermione, in any way, and get away with it…well.

Let's just say MacMillan would need to look over his shoulder for Draco Malfoy for the rest of his life. Deep in his bones, he was still Lucius Malfoy's son.

He needed to calm down. Thinking about Head-Giving Boy was giving him heart palpitations. "Come on, Longbottom."

"Where are we going?" Neville asked, following the blond.

Draco smirked. "Let's call it a working lunch."

"Well?" Neville asked.

Draco exhaled slowly. His head felt heavier than usual. A pesky corner of his brain seemed to have asked a question, probing him before allowing the marijuana access to his faculties. His answer?

Duuuuuuude.

He took another puff.

Neville examined him with apprehension. "I've never actually seen anyone high on this stuff before, Malfoy. Some drug dealer, I am that I can't even recommend my own product."

Draco's exhale got lost in full-body laughter seeping out of every pore on his body. He laughed for what seemed like ages. Everything was laughter. Laughing was life now. Made to laugh.

"Malfoy?"

Draco took what seemed like hours to compose himself. In reality, it had only been a few moments. He wiped his eyes of laughter. "You kill me, Longbottom."

"How do you feel?"

"Like," Draco smacked his lips together a few times. "I feel…" His expression stilled.

Neville had never seen anyone go so long without blinking. "Malfoy?"

"Huh?"

"I asked how you…never mind."

Draco handed Neville the joint. "You grew this."

Neville nodded, accepting the joint. "I did," he said, drawing a deep toke.

Draco looked around the greenhouse at the perfectly packaged bundles of marijuana. "And I…I built a business."

Neville exhaled. "We both have our moments, Malfoy."

"No, but you don't get it. I've never made anything before. No one in my family has."

Neville considered this. "No one in your family has ever married a Muggleborn either."

Draco smiled so widely and so stupidly Neville had the sudden urge to take pictures. No one would ever believe him otherwise. "That was the first time thinking with my cock ever went well for me."

Neville sniggered in spite of the crude turn the conversation had taken. "How did it happen?"

Draco slurred, "Well first she put It in her mouth and then we—"

"Not really what I meant, Malfoy. I know how…that stuff works."

"Pssshh. Do you? Have you put it in Babba Annett yet?"

"Hannah Abbott. And no, for your informati-vation…" Neville shook himself. That wasn't the right word. But what was the right word? This was hard. "Infor…informs…informate."

Draco was doubling over laughing once more, clutching his side.

"Informating…inflammation…sorry to inflame you, Malfoy, but Hannah and I are taking it slow."

"I'm happy for you, Longbottom. Even freaks like you need someone to snuggle their bits."

"You make no sense, Malfoy."

"I'm high."

"I know."

The two boys sat in amicable silence, smoking for some time.

Draco broke first. "To answer your question, we argued."

Neville turned his head slowly (but very slowly) to face Draco. "Huh?"

"Hermione and I getting together? We argued. In the library. She was right, probably. I can't remember. I was too busy staring at her bra through her jumper." He clutched his side, shaking in laughter. "Then we just started snogging."

Neville laughed. "That would be how you two got together."

"I'm high."

"I know. You know, I never thought of Hermione as being the type of girl to fall for a bad boy."

"Psshh. She wasn't, really. I was an arse in the beginning but I snapped out of it for the most part."

Neville snorted.

"I said for the most part."

"So that was when Hermione fell for you?"

"Not until long after I fell for her. In fact, she freely admits that in the beginning I was just stress relief for her. Some people jog, some smoke out. Hermione used dick. My dick, to be exact."

"Sounds awful."

"I live to serve."

"When did you know you loved her?"

Draco knocked his head back on the greenhouse wall. He sat in silence for about five minutes before speaking. "I think it was when I called her a 'Mudblood' and broke up with her."

Neville's eyes narrowed. "Romance for the ages, you two are."

Draco laughed. A lot. "No. No, Longbottom." He took a moment to compose himself. "We'd been sneaking around and doing it for a while, and I asked her on a date. She didn't show because I ax-identally poisoned Weasel. So I got mad at her and broke up with her."

Neville shook his head. "You honestly don't see what's wrong with that?"

"What part?"

"Any of it."

Draco waved it off. "You don't get it." He sighed. "I thought she just wanted me for my cock. She broke my heart. So, I broke hers."

Neville let silence sit in before speaking. "Again…that's shit."

"Quiet, Longbottom. The adults are talking. So anyway, I saw that I had hurt her and I hated myself for it."

Neville raised an eyebrow. "You hated yourself?"

Draco nodded. "For the first time in my life, yes. I wanted her to be happy more than I cared about myself. That's when I knew I loved her."

"Fuck," Neville took a puff of the almost cashed joint. "You're a fucking sap, Malfoy."

"Tell anyone, and I'll castrate that bloody great frog you're always toting under your arm."

"So you had lots of secret sex with Hermione, and now you're marrying her."

"Yyyup," Draco declared proudly.

"I still can't wrap my head around you marrying Hermione."

"Would you be able to have sex with Hermione Granger and not ask her to marry you?"

"Well, I've got a—"

"Before you started making googly eyes at Hella Habit."

"Good point." Neville shook his head. This had been the most illuminating conversation he'd ever had with Draco, and he wondered if he could take advantage of the blond's demolition of emotional barriers to ask something that had been needling at him. "Why are you doing this, Malfoy? Why, really?"

Draco sighed. "You know the only reason I came back to Hogwarts this year was to be with Hermione. I'm not interested in Ancient Runes or Arithmancy or any of that other shit you need to get a lizard in so you can work at the Ministry and die chained to your desk. But this…business…" He shrugged. "I like this stuff. And I'm a damn sight better at it than I am Ancient Runes."

"You are really good at it," Neville said.

"Thanks, mate. And you're good at growing weeds."

Neville chuckled. "Thanks, mate."

There is was; a mutual acknowledgment that the two of them were, in fact, friends. Neville thought it would feel more momentous to accept Draco Malfoy as his friend, but honestly, it didn't change anything. Claiming friendship is not the same as living it, and Draco had been Neville's friend for longer than today. He wasn't really sure when it happened. Perhaps it was that day in the library when Draco set him up with Hannah and then mercilessly ripped on him for being a virgin. Since that day Draco and Neville had fallen into a comfortable partnership; Neville as the mad scientist and Draco as the evil genius.

It worked.

What's that Harry once said about becoming friends with Hermione? There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other.

Marijuana was Neville and Draco's escaped mountain troll.

After several more moments of comfortable silence, Draco spoke up. "So, do you think you love Helena Rabbit?" He lit up another joint and inhaled deeply.

Neville chuckled. "I'm definitely falling for her. But I've never been in love before. Not really. I mean, you know I pined after Hermione for years."

Draco nodded, handing the joint to Neville. "Everyone knew about that. You've a tendency to wear your Gryffindor on your sleeve. It's why you're such a shite businessman."

Neville chuckled. "Yeah, I suppose so. Anyway, that was just puppy love. It wasn't like what the two of you have. And what's happening with Hannah…" He sighed. "It feels different."

"You feel like there can't possibly be anything bigger in the world than what's happening between you two."

Neville nodded. "Yeah."

"And you're terrified because there's no way you're supposed to be this happy forever. But you don't think your heart could survive it if it ended."

Neville turned to Draco, a look of surprise in his eyes. "Yes."

"And you know that, if you could, you'd hunt down and capture every star in the sky if you thought it would make her happy."

Neville's eyes widened. "…Yeah."

Draco nodded. "That's love, mate."

Neville sighed, rubbing his face with both hands to stimulate circulation. Between the drugs, the heady conversation, and the confirmation that he had likely set himself up for certain annihilation of the heart, he needed to ground himself. "What do I do?"

Draco shrugged. "Try not to fuck it up."

Neville took the joint from Draco and thumbed the ash on the greenhouse ground. "I'm scared she'll find out what I do and dump me," he mumbled before taking the last toke.

Draco nodded, lighting up another joint and taking a puff. "That's healthy, probably. To fear the woman you love."

"Are you scared of Hermione, then?"

Draco burst into uncontrollable laughter for the umpteenth time since they had begun their blazed heart-to-heart. "Scared, Longbottom?She scares the shit out of me. And not just because she could easily hex me out of fucking existence. She…" he released another bark-like laugh. "You know what she did to Rita Skeeter and Marietta Edgecombe, right? That bitch is stone cold. She Avada'd my Aunt Bellatrix, for fuck's sake. She would have ruled the dungeons had she listened to that damned hat and let it put her in Slytherin."

Neville's eyes widened. "No fucking way. The Sorting Hat tried to put her in Slytherin?"

Draco raised a finger to his lips and shushed in an uncharacteristic moment of gracelessness. "Don't tell anyone. She told me in confident-ness…consedence…con-seq-uen-cessss…" Draco scratched his head in confusion. Were words always this hard?

Neville shook his head. "Hermione killed Bellatrix. You killed Lucius. It might be the worst idea ever for the two of you to procreate."

Draco smirked. "I can't wait to make little murder babies with her."

"Psychopathsayswhat?"

"What?"

Neville chuckled. "Nothing."

Without warning, Draco exploded into another kidney-busting, non-sequitur burst of laughter. "I was scared to ask her to marry me too. Did you know I had the ring for five months or something before I popped the question? And even then my mum basically had to do it for me." He rolled over in another fit of uncontrolled, infectious mirth.

Neville couldn't help but join in. Between gasps for air and released breaths which manifested as laughter, he managed to choke out, "That's…fucking…pathetic, Malfoy!"

Draco laughed harder in agreement. "If…you tell anyone...that I said that…I'll clusterfuck your world up, Longbottom."

Neville tried to catch his breath, but couldn't contain the laughter pouring out of him. "You're…all talk, Malfoy."

Draco wiped his eyes as he felt the bubble of mirth in his stomach begin to dissipate. "Whew. This is some good shit you made, Longbottom."

"We did this, Malfoy. We made something."

"Hey, Longbottom," Draco said.

"Yeah, Malfoy."

"I'm high."

Neville sniggered. "I know, mate. I know."