There, There

Neville had never been overly fond of Malfoy, and perhaps even a little afraid of him. Since their days at Eye of Newt Academy, Malfoy had been a terror. Not at first, mind, but after Neville's gran pointed out loudly in front of the other students that Lucius Malfoy had likely been a Death Eater and that Death Eaters had tortured Neville's parents to insanity, Malfoy rose to his dark reputation with relish, like a flower unfolding.

He never really did much to earn it, now that Neville thought back on it, but he did threaten a lot.

Years later, Neville wondered if anyone would notice him at all were it not for Malfoy's unexpected show of loyalty. As best Neville could sort it out, Neville was the only other pure-blood aside from a Weasley, and none of the Weasleys were having any of his crap.

Besides, Neville was the only other person not allowed into Order meetings.

"I get why they don't let me in," said Malfoy, flopping onto the overly ornate, stiffly stuffed divan. "But you don't seem like much of a risk."

Neville looked at Malfoy's plain, pallid face. The dark circles were gone, but for all of the sleep and feeding up, he didn't appear healthier. Then again, he had always looked a bit sickly.

"Gran doesn't think I would be of much help," said Neville, his voice soft, but not timid. He didn't remember when it was that he'd stopped stammering in front of Malfoy, but it had little to do with friendly feelings. He simply wasn't afraid of him anymore.

"Your gran is a piece of work," said Malfoy. He looked away from the door and scrutinized Neville as if he'd just realized he was actually there.

After a moment's consideration, Neville decided it wasn't worth bristling at. He understood that his gran probably was being a bit hard on him, but also that she didn't want to lose her grandson to this war. He also forgave Draco his familial bitterness, as it couldn't have been easy having his own aunt try to top him off.

Neville shrugged, but Draco pressed on. "Bet she'd drop you into the Thames if it were convenient."

There was a scant rumor of old blood magic regarding families-- that spilling family blood would curse your soul forever. This was why Bellatrix only ever shunned her family and led them to a situation in which they'd die. Had Remus not seen Draco fall into the Thames, they might never have known what had happened to him.

Neville hadn't had much else to do, so he was put in charge of nursing Malfoy back to health. It was a little like tending a garden when Malfoy was asleep. It was a lot like tending a garden of angry snapdragons when Malfoy awoke.

The plan had been to leave Malfoy bound to the bed until they could sort out what else to do with him. It had been Harry's idea to interrogate him, but then, Harry was the only person who thought Malfoy might know anything. It was Neville who unbound him, finding that Draco was more wounded than dangerous, and it wasn't even the wounds on his chest or the chafing from the cuffs that were so glaring. Malfoy's pride was hurt and his ideas of loyalty to family had been trampled. As little as anyone cared for him now, most just found the little tosser a bit annoying, but not worthy of Azkaban.

Harry found a use for him eventually.

The first time it happened was in the Longbottom library. Malfoy was showing off, pulling books down with magic, having them dance around Harry's head, hitting his temples with the corners until he consented to read the books Malfoy had gotten for him. Nine times out of ten, the book was the one Harry needed. Draco was much more familiar with magical indexing and dark magic. Harry was likely right that Draco knew much about what was going on. He'd always seemed on top of things before; there didn't seem much of a reason to believe he wouldn't now other than that Malfoy was rather good at playing dumb when he needed to.

That is, if you didn't know what you were looking for.

Each time someone hinted at Horcruxes, calling them ancient artifacts or old weapons, Malfoy would merely perk a brow and then continue listening until he could annoy Harry by charming book to smack his head, or hint with vagaries that never ceased to goad Harry into action of some sort. It happened for weeks before it finally came to a head in the library.

This time, Harry had pulled the book from off of his head and glared at Neville, Ron and Hermione until they left. Though Malfoy looked a little frightened with the prospect of being alone with an angry Harry Potter, he didn't back down.

There was shouting and an obvious scuffle, and there had also been magic. One spell hit the door, sealing it closed. Ron and Hermione were worried more for Malfoy's survival than Harry's, but soon the shouting turned to talk which dissolved into moaning and the hollow thud with meat-packing slaps of bodies coming together. Neville started awkward conversation about flowers while Ron and Hermione traded looks and pretended to be interested.

Malfoy left the room first, his lips puffy and bright, hair hastily pushed back, tucking in his shirt. His chin was held high, though he met no one's eye and he strutted away with as much dignity as a man limping could.

Harry waited a couple of minutes before having the decency to look sheepish. Then he changed the subject entirely, talking about the weather and what our plans were for the winter hols assuming this war was all over with.

It was never discussed out loud, but everyone knew that when Harry needed to blow off steam, that Malfoy would push his buttons enough so that conflict was unavoidable and they'd end up in a closet or under a desk or nearly anywhere the mood struck them, reduced to moans and underfed bodies slapping together. Malfoy's pale skin showed every bruise from Harry's fingers, the back of his neck was dotted in love bites, the rest presumably charmed away. Harry was distracted any time Malfoy entered the room, and neither of them ever looked the other in the eye anymore. There was really no missing it, but they seemed content to believe that no one knew. No one wanted to bring it up-- least of all, Neville.

Their general avoidance of public situations was part of what made it such a surprise when the door to Neville's bedroom creaked open slowly and the light caught Harry's glasses, reflecting them eerily so that he appeared an eyeless humanoid bug in the doorway. Neville knew that Harry was there to see his roommate, not him. Malfoy had taken up residence in Neville's room, somehow managing to talk Neville into surrendering his bed so that Neville was left on a cot in the corner. It hadn't bothered Neville until just now, seeing the way that Harry focused on the pile of blankets with a tuft of silvery hair poking out of the top.

Harry hadn't even spared a glance to see if Neville was sleeping, but made a beeline for where Malfoy was sleeping. Neville watched in the bruise-purpled light as Harry sat on the edge of the bed, already unbuttoning his shirt with one hand as he smoothed the other over Draco's side. Neville noted how tonight there wasn't even the pretense of a fight. It wasn't surprising, given how Harry had spent the day locked away with the Order. Neville hadn't heard much, but he'd gathered between the grave looks and Draco's fussiness, that something dangerous was happening and it involved destroying some artifact.

Every time Harry came out of the room, Malfoy would interrupt whatever he was saying to Neville to cross his arms and say something cryptic-- "Well that's the CRUX of the matter, isn't it?" or "Well isn't that HORrible? To be at the CRUX of things and not have even a clue as to what's going on!"

Though Neville had the feeling there was a deeper agenda to Malfoy's ramblings-- especially given the way Harry had stopped and paled the first time he'd done it-- it hadn't changed anything. Malfoy hadn't been invited into the meeting and had decided to retire early with Neville in tow.

When Malfoy rolled over, Harry said, "You're in bed early. I thought you would wait up."

"Wait up for what, Potter?" Malfoy's voice was hard. Whatever Harry had hoped about bypassing the fight, Malfoy didn't sound like he was going to comply. Secretly, Neville was pleased.

"For me." Harry sounded let down, but his back was to Neville and so he couldn't see what his expression was. His hand was moving over the blanket, groping through it and Malfoy's breath caught.

"I'm not your whore, Potter. You can't ignore me all day and then just hop into my-- into Longbottom's bed. You know he's just over there, don't you?"

Neville squinted his eyes closed so that he could look through the slits, just in case Harry turned to acknowledge his presence. He was glad that at least someone remembered that he was there and hoped that Harry would leave off, or at the very least, that they'd go somewhere else to do this. But Harry didn't even look back. He was fishing something out of his pocket, a small, shiny square of something that opened with a tear.

"No, you're not my whore, but you seem awfully cozy with Lon-- Neville. You're awfully cozy with a lot of people, aren't you?" asked Harry as he stood up, shimmying out of his trousers. He started unrolling the small circle of shiny latex over his prick. Neville had heard of condoms before, but he'd never seen them. Wizards had their own means of protection and contraception, and he wondered if Harry didn't use this to irritate Malfoy. It was probably just another toy to use in their games.

"Potter..." Malfoy started, with a tinge of weariness in his voice. Neville wondered if his name came up a lot in these games. He wasn't sure how he felt about it if it did. "You don't see Longbottom in my bed, do you?"

"No, but I see you in his." Harry was pushing back the covers and Malfoy was grabbing them back, glaring. "I see you whispering to him all of the time. I know you like him," Harry goaded.

Closing his eyes completely, Neville wished that he could sleep, that he could vanish. He knew that now Malfoy was in a corner and he'd say something horrid. As much as he liked Malfoy and as much of a comfort as he'd grown to be, Malfoy was a snake and that all there was to it. It felt like a stone had grown in the pit of his stomach and Neville wished very much that he'd mastered Apparition.

"He's my friend," said Malfoy. His voice was a bit breathy and when Neville opened his eyes, he saw why. Harry's mouth was latched to Malfoy's nipple and he was situating himself between Malfoy's legs.

The stone melted away to something warm and Neville wanted to spring from his bed and gather Malfoy in his arms and never let him go. Only Harry had ever stood up as being his friend before and lately Harry had been so busy and distracted, Neville didn't know where he stood, other than as invisible.

"Isn't he yours?" asked Malfoy, his voice edging on nasty.

Neville broke from his warm fuzzies when Malfoy groaned, struggling and flailing against the bed. Harry had him pinned down, his face slack with bliss as he entered him. Malfoy turned his face against the pillow, moaning into it.

It was a sound Neville had heard several times before, but now he knew what it looked like. When he squeezed his eyes shut again, the vision burned the backs of his eyelids. He didn't look, couldn't look as he heard the familiar rhythm of slaps, the light squeal of springs. He chanced another look at them to see Harry's hand squeezed between them, tongues out and sloppy against each other's mouths.

"Little slag," Harry grumbled against Draco's mouth. "Bet you fuck him all of the time, don't you?"

Even though Neville knew that this was just part of their game, he couldn't help but feel insulted that his name was being dragged into it. Again, Harry seemed to forget he was there, that he existed. He held his breath, expecting the worst from Malfoy.

"No, only you," Malfoy breathed against his lips.

Harry smiled and moved faster, their bodies moving together wildly now, groans and sighs emanating from them till it got harsher, louder, the headboard banging against the back wall. In spite of himself, Neville was hard and he rolled over onto his stomach, frotting the mattress as slowly as he could, not wanting to attract attention-- not that either of the two appeared to have any time for him.

Neville imagined it was him on top of Malfoy, pushing into him, making his skin glisten in the low light. He imagined it was him calling Malfoy a slag, wearing condoms to insult him and Malfoy doing little other than acting petulant about it, but still spreading his legs for him, still letting him inside of him, letting him touch his cock.

When they climaxed in a flurry of loud clapping of hard angled bodies and grunts, Neville came with them, lonely and soft against the thin cot mattress, his body tingling, mind echoing the word friend as it came from Malfoy's mouth, the way his lips had wrapped around the spoon when Neville had nursed him back to health, the way that he flicked his hair back and looked at him out of the corner of his eye before he talked about how fat Molly Weasley's arse was or pontificated on how a human man impregnated a giant to make Hagrid. His leer, his smile, his moans.

Resting against the bed, Neville watched and listened as Malfoy tried to convince Harry to go back to his own bed and give up when Harry made it clear he wasn't going to leave until morning. He watched them kiss then and cuddle. He caught the worried look on Malfoy's face after Harry dropped off to sleep and the glance at him.

Their eyes met and Malfoy shrugged and rested his cheek back against Harry's chest and he closed his eyes, looking spitefully angelic.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Neville found himself wishing that Voldemort had chosen him.


--

The next day Luna and Ginny were at the Longbottom house, and anyone else that the Order deems a risk to just jump in and fight when they should stand aside. Malfoy and Ginny were glaring at each other and Neville thought that if anyone qualified as a skank, it would be Harry.

He'd never seen Harry do anything unseemly towards Ginny, and he'd always made it clear that they were broken up, but still, Harry was always polite in that way that boys can be when they want to date someone again. At least, that was how he behaved when Malfoy was around to observe. When Malfoy wasn't, Harry all but pretended Ginny didn't exist.

The way that Ginny was glaring at Malfoy said that the policy of not acknowledging what was going on between the two boys didn't apply to her. In spite of the palpable tension, there was little said between the two beyond snarking.

However, when Ginny excused herself to the bathroom, Luna stared at Malfoy with her large, unblinking eyes and asked the question that was on the tip of everyone's tongue. "Why do you do it?"

For a moment, Malfoy had a strange look on his face -- twisted and anxious. The mask had slipped and his worry was hard to ignore. Then the mask came back down again and he shrugged. "No idea what you mean."

"Harry," Luna pressed, leaning forward. Her radish earrings swung slowly. Her straggly hair was pinned back for now, making her face look even more surprised.

"Do you love him?" she asked, practically falling out of her chair with how on the edge of her seat she was, looking at him like a curious bird.

Malfoy stood up and glared down at her, his breathing unsteady. Neville wished very much to hear the answer to that, but Malfoy was not in a stance that looked like he would. His hand swung back like he was going to strike someone, but instead rifled through his hair.

"I don't--" Malfoy started.

"He loves you," she broke in. Luna had no time for posturing-- Malfoy's or anyone's. Something sank inside of Neville as he realized that she probably spoke the truth.

"Rubbish," said Malfoy. His hands were shaking. He shoved them in his pockets.

"He does. Like flowers and clouds and pumpkin juice. He's just not sure he'll live," Luna announced, flopping back against the couch, her terrible message sent. "Or that you will. Or that he can trust you if you both do. Takes what he can get, you know? He loved Ginny like puppies, but puppies grow up and aren't as cute anymore."

"Flowers die, clouds disappear and pumpkin juice goes bad," Malfoy retorted, glaring.

Luna looked peaceful for a moment, breathing slowly and then said, "That's why you have to enjoy them while they're here."

Malfoy stared at her, his eyes glistening. "What are you say--" Then his face hardened and he crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm going to my room." Then he paused and looked over his shoulder at Neville to offer him the chance to go with him, but Neville felt too weirdly crushed by this revelation and Malfoy's reaction to it to follow and averted his eyes. "Very well, then."

With that, Malfoy spun on his heel and started out of the room when there was a large bang, several cracks and most of the Order had reappeared carrying a bruised, bloody and very pale Harry Potter between them.

Everything was happening so quickly, that Neville was afraid to blink for fear of missing something. Malfoy had wheeled around and took in Harry's state and started barking immediately.

"Why didn't you take him to St. Mungo's?" Malfoy bellowed as he pulled his wand crossing to them.

Ron pulled his wand on Malfoy as Hermione tried to explain, "We're not sure if we can trust people there. So many people want Harry dead, but he just... the war... it's over..."

Hermione blinked a few times as that revelation caught up to her. Her face was pressed tight in exasperation of happy and terrified emotions conflicted, making her visibly unsure of how to feel.

Neville wondered if the war was over because Voldemort was dead or Harry, but Malfoy was already shoving her aside, wand pointed at Harry. He was singing his incantation, his voice low and rhythmic.

Just as Ron was about to hex Malfoy, Tonks caught his wrist and directed the stunning spell to the ceiling. Dust from the spell hitting the ceiling rained down on Draco like displaced snowflakes as Malfoy slid an arm around Harry and helped guide him to the tan settee.

Harry's head was bloodied, as if his scar had exploded. There were quite a few clean trails down his face. Harry had cried. Killing couldn't have come easy to Harry, that even without whatever this was, it must've taken everything he had to finally do it.

Though he'd always been aware of the enormity of Harry's responsibilities on some levels, Neville had never really thought of them on a practical level like this. Harry, to him, had always been almost a theoretical hero, but now seeing the way that his arm was bent unnaturally and his body stretched out over the settee with Malfoy sitting next to him, still singing, Neville realized what a hero really must be.

Lupin came in with a warm, wet flannel and went to clean Harry's face with it, but Malfoy snatched it away and started to clean him himself. The only indication that Harry wasn't dead yet was the slow, irregular rise and fall of his chest.

The room had fallen silent, everyone mesmerized by Malfoy's Latin and how he rested their foreheads together, whispering the incantation to Harry's lips. Harry's body twitched now and then as Malfoy spoke, but didn't twitch until Malfoy stopped his song. For a while, Malfoy only stared down at Harry's limp form, but the color started to come back into Harry's cheeks and the room sighed a collective sigh of relief.

Malfoy, on the other hand, sat next to Harry trying to look stony, but his face was wet with tears and he kept petting Harry's hair back, trying to put it in some semblance of order.

No one said a word, but there was a quiet peace about watching Malfoy care for Harry. No one ever really spoke of it, as they didn't speak of anything to do with Malfoy, but it was impossible not to know how much caring and love there was there between them.

For the next few days, Malfoy took care of Harry, making sure he ate even though he wasn't awake. It reminded Neville of when he'd had to take care of Malfoy. He wondered if it made Malfoy feel something deeper for Harry now that he'd had to see him through this.

Neville visited Harry after he was awake. Malfoy sat in the room, carefully monitoring all conversations and throwing people out who seemed to be stressing Harry-- and perhaps a few people who just annoyed Malfoy.

Malfoy had briefly left the room to retrieve a potion for Harry when Ron asked, "What I want to know is how Malfoy knew how to fix you up. Still all seems a bit suspicious and too convenient to me. I think we should run him in to the Ministry, let them see if they can find what they need to about where the rest of the Death Eaters might've scattered to."

Stepping aside, Neville let Malfoy past as Ron said it. His stomach tightened as he waited to hear what Malfoy's retort would be.

"Many thought the Dark Lord was rigged. Well, anyone who had ambitions on taking over for him. My father was of that theory and he taught me spells to undo it, should he ever be incapacitated," said Malfoy as he handed Harry the phial of a sticky orange liquid that Harry made an anticipatory face at.

"Nice of you to mention that," said Ron.

Hermione's voice rose above his to ask, "Your father wanted to take over?"

Malfoy ignored Hermione's question, as he tended to ignore much of what she said. Some snobbishness died hard, it seemed. "I would've, but aside from the fact I didn't know that's what you lot were off to do that day, I didn't really believe it to be true."

"But you remembered the spell," said Harry, smiling in a warm, lovesick way. His hand pressed on top of Malfoy's, and Malfoy looked down at their hands briefly and shrugged.

"Didn't even know that I remembered it," said Malfoy.

Ron opened his mouth to say more, but Hermione grabbed him by the hand to pull him out and away. Neville smiled as the couple passed him and then took one last look at Harry and Malfoy gazing at each other and then sighed and followed Ron and Hermione out.

--

Neville didn't receive news of Malfoy's trial personally, but rather read it in the Daily Prophet. While that did sting a bit, he knew that Malfoy was busy setting up house with Harry in Brighton. Per the Ministry's orders, he wasn't allowed to leave England until his trial. Malfoy, in a fit of exuberance in front of others, had said that he wanted to show Harry the world and was quite frustrated in his attempt by legal woes. So, he'd decided that at the very least, they could live on the edge of England and look out on the waters to plan their escape.

In Neville's esteem, it was a terribly romantic notion. He wondered if anyone would ever feel something like that for him. He'd let out a sigh that felt like a breath he'd been holding for months when he finally saw Malfoy in the deep basements of the Ministry. The Wizengamot looked suitably dour and pious as they looked down at him and Malfoy did his best attempt to not look intimidated.

On a break, Harry nipped off to give a quiet interview to the Prophet's newest reporter Romilda Vane. It was likely prodding from Malfoy that led to suddenly embracing the press, as Harry looked terribly uncomfortable.

Malfoy was keeping his head down as he waited; only glancing up long enough to see Neville. He brightened and sat up and waved him over. Once Neville was seated next to him, Malfoy grinned in that conspiratorial way he had before, glancing around to make sure that no one was really paying attention to him before leaning in to whisper.

Neville's heart fluttered at the swirl of breath against his cheek and ear.

"Going to put pressure on the Ministry through the Prophet. Vane still seems to have a thing for Potter. I'll eat her hand if she touches him," said Malfoy. He pulled back enough so that Neville could see the serious intent in his expression.

"I can't imagine she'd taste very good," said Neville, blushing at the closeness and his retort. He wondered if Malfoy knew the effect that he had on Neville's body. If he did, he never let on.

"Point. I'll have to invest in some condiments, then. Maybe curry?" Draco sat back and peered around at the dark court room, that twinge of fear that no one but someone who was very used to looking at his face would see. It crept in at the corners of his eyes and pushed his forehead into a crease.

Neville sighed and looked away. He was never going to be that boy. He was never going to be the hero or the one who got the boy. Or the girl. He was just Neville, and as inclusive as Malfoy was, or perhaps tried to be, he didn't see him. Not really. Malfoy only had eyes for Harry.

When Neville looked up again, Malfoy was gazing across the room at Harry, likely in that same puppyish way that Neville was looking at Malfoy. Surreptitiously, Neville ghosted his fingers over Malfoy's silvery white hair. It looked silky in this low light, or maybe he just had better time and materials to care for it. Or maybe now Neville was romanticizing Malfoy's attractiveness.

Harry looked back at them, finally and gave Neville and his hand a sharp look. Immediately, Neville drew his hand back, but Harry glared for a moment more before Malfoy turned to look at Neville, his confusion apparent.

Somehow, that confusion hurt more than anything else. Malfoy didn't know. Didn't realize. Never knew.

And now, it was far too late to say anything.

In a heartbeat, Harry was back at Malfoy's side, an arm around him and making Neville feel terribly uncomfortable by proximity, if not by words. If Neville wanted to be visible to Harry, he'd certainly found a way.

After an awkward attempt at small talk, in which Neville revealed that he was apprenticing with Reginald Seedling, the man who trained Pomona Sprout, to become a Herbology Master, Neville made his way to the back of the courtroom and the trial started again. It took a few days of testimony in which all of Malfoy's past transgressions were laid bare. Bringing the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, his attempt on Ron Weasley's and Katie Bell's life, the fact that he was marked, all of it left Harry shifting in his chair, as if he'd completely forgotten all of the damage Malfoy had wrought.

Every time Malfoy moved back to Harry's side, however, the memories seemed to vanish and the weariness on Harry's face evaporated and he looked like an 18-year-old in love once more. Aside from the glaring scar on his forehead, he could've been anyone.

It wasn't until the last day of the trial that Neville realized that Romilda Vane had been camped out at his side through the whole of the trial. She hadn't said a word to him the entire time. He was starting to think he truly must be invisible, when she caught his eye and smiled. After a quick look over his shoulder to make sure she wasn't smiling at someone else, Neville smiled back, disarmed.

"Don't look so worried," she whispered to him. "There's no way they'll throw Malfoy in Azkaban. He's shagging The Boy Who Lived. This was all political maneuvering to show that Potter was a homosexual in bed with the former enemy. It was meant to halt his political ambitions in their tracks."

"Harry had political ambitions?" asked Neville. He sat back in his chair, wondering just how much Harry had changed from the war.

Romilda rolled her eyes and shook her head. "No. Not that I, or anyone can tell. I find it ridiculous that they would think someone with as much contempt for authority as Potter has would want to run for office, but you know how politicians are."

She shrugged and sat back in her seat and Neville looked around at everyone there, noticing the vast number of politicians in the room. He was surprised he hadn't sorted this out for himself, but then, his mind was hardly on that.

"I guess," he said, glancing at Malfoy again. Malfoy still looked worried and Neville wondered if he should go tell him this news.

"It's never going to be you, you know," said Romilda. Her hand was on his back gently and Neville shivered from the contact. No one touched him, really. It was nice.

"What?"

"He and Potter have been stalking each other since Hogwarts. They'll probably burn out, but... you should move on with your life," she said.

Neville looked at her, feeling a knot of anger being crushed by defeat. He knew she was right, always knew that to be the truth, but then, he'd never really felt anything like this towards anyone else before and was loath to let it go.

She sat up, looking at Neville's face. Her smile was kind and not the foxy leer she usually had for people now that she was a reporter. "Come out for a drink with me. We'll look at the boys together, yeah?"

Romilda bumped Neville's elbow with hers and grinned. "If you like boys," she said, "then you'll be needing a proper fag hag."

Blushing, Neville looked down at his knees and shrugged. "I don't know if I like boys... just... that one..."

She covered his balled up hands with hers. "Only one way to find out, right?"

The Wizengamot reconvened while Neville thought about it. Moving on. Not thinking about unattainable boys or goals. He stared at Malfoy unabashedly, as if this were the last time he'd ever see him.

If he were set free and allowed to roam the globe with Harry, it might well be.

The verdict was read and Malfoy was cleared of all charges.

As relieved as Neville was, his heart felt broken, as if the last tether he had to Malfoy had been cut and now he was truly left alone in the world.

Malfoy and Harry stood together and embraced. Flashbulbs went off and Romilda, after a quick look back and a nod to the corner for Neville to wait for her, surged forward to ask her zillion reporter questions. Neville looked at the satisfied politicians who no doubt saw the voracious tongue kiss between Malfoy and Harry as the final canon that sunk Harry's invented political aspirations.

Neville decided that if Malfoy broke away from the crowd and came to talk to him that it would be a sign. It would give him hope. Maybe not a lot of hope, but at least he'd know he wasn't alone, that he wasn't just a convenient friend. He watched and he waited. He saw several more kisses between the two men before Harry started to usher him out.

Before Malfoy was out the door, he looked over his shoulder and right at Neville. He smiled and nodded to him before his sleek blond head vanished forever outside of the stone wall.

He saw him, he smiled, but he didn't break away.

Romilda returned and tipped Neville's head up with her index finger. She gave him a questioning look.

Though everything felt tight, tense and tender, Neville asked, "So where are we going?"