In this place it seems like such a shame
Though it all looks different now
I know its still the same
Everywhere I look, you're all I see
Just a fading fucking reminder of who I used to be
- Something I Can Never Have, Nine Inch Nails
~*~
"Hullo," Neville said as Draco sauntered into his office the next afternoon. "Hear you had a date last night."
Draco stopped and gave Neville a long look. "Oh?"
"Ron Weasley called me up at some ungodly hour this morning to pump me for information. Have fun?"
Draco sighed and flopped into Neville's visitors chair. "I didn't think he recognized me."
"From what I understand, he didn't, he coerced Jamie into telling him. He seemed...not; exactly happy about it, but he wasn't threatening you with dismemberment either. I think Hermione got to him. So." Neville propped his chin up on one hand and batted his eyelashes at his partner. "How did it go?"
Draco gave him a death glare. "None of your damn business."
Neville pouted at him. "Oh, come on. If you don't tell me, I'll just get Hermione to ask Ginny. Not that I won't do that anyway, mind you."
"And people call me a devious and evil bastard. Why is everyone so interested in my private life all of a sudden?" Draco demanded sulkily. "Did the Ministry become Gossip Central while I wasn't looking?"
"You're dating a woman whose family has the population of a small country. Everyone knows everything about everyone in the Weasley world," Neville said. "Sooner or later, the truth will out."
"Can we just not talk about it and pretend we did?"
"Not a chance," Neville grinned. "Tell me, or I will go pump Hermione for information, don't think I won't."
"We went to see a very bad play, then we went out for dinner, then I took her home. Satisfied?" Draco glared at Neville, clearly ruffled.
"That's it? No passionate midnight snogs? No mad declarations of undying love? No final-hour elopement? How am I supposed to live vicariously through you if you don't do anything fun?"
Draco threw a pen at him. "Do you mind?"
"Not at all, actually." Neville grabbed the pen out of the air before it could hit him. "And speaking of Hermione, I wanted to go down to the Library to talk to her today. Want to join me?"
"What do we need to talk to her for?"
"Because she's one of the best in England at Charms, and I think she might be able to help us out. And the Founders know we need all the help we can get." Clues were few and far between in the case that they were sharing, trying to track down the pair of thieves Draco had followed to England. They'd had a stroke of luck at the last crime scene, having found what looked like a small pendant. Neville could detect some form of magical charm on it, but he couldn't figure out what kind of charm.
Draco shrugged. "Fine. But one single crack about my private life, Longbottom, and I won't be held responsible for the consequences."
~*~
They paused on the steps of the Ministry building, their breath hanging in silvery clouds around them in the cold air, while Draco shrugged into his coat. He should have looked terribly out of place, Neville reflected, as the only person on Diagon Alley dressed in a Muggle suit and winter trenchcoat, but Draco didn't. There was an air of unconscious arrogance about him, as though whatever he was wearing was suitable for the occasion simply because he was wearing it. And Draco, Neville had to admit, dressed exceptionally well. He tended to favour various Italian Muggle designers for casual wear, but every suit he owned was hand-tailored, classically designed in Saville Row. Absolutely everything about him, from his pale hair, to the tips of his patent leather shoes, cried "aristocrat". Neville suppressed a sigh.
Draco tugged at the sleeves of his coat and raised his eyebrows at Neville. "Well?"
Neville blinked and shook himself. You are not supposed to be staring at him, he told himself sharply. "This way," he said, hoping like hell he wasn't blushing. Draco smirked at him, which didn't necessarily mean anything, and followed Neville up the street toward the brick-and-glass building that housed the Library.
One of the annoying things about Draco was that people moved for him. On a crowded street like Diagon Alley, where Neville would normally have had to push his way through the throng, Draco never had a problem. When he was with Draco all Neville had to do was follow along in the wake of the other man, because the crowds parted in front of him. Neville didn't even think people noticed they were doing it; they simply moved out of Draco's way.
It was irritating.
But then, so many things about Draco were irritating. The way he dressed, the way he smelled, the way he looked perfect all the time. The way he became first snippy and sarcastic, then icy and stiff when anyone got too close to subjects he didn't like to talk about. The prescient way he had of making the most tenuous connections between random facts and coming up with a solution to a problem. His unconscious habit of running a hand over his hair when he was nervous. The way his ears were pointed ever so slightly at the tips. The way his face lit up whenever he talked about Ginny.
Neville gritted his teeth. He had sworn to himself that he was not going to do this. He was not going to fall for Draco like a child off his first broom, dammit.
Speaking of Ginny, it was past time he talked to her. It was a bit ridiculous that they hadn't spoken in months. Granted, he'd been terribly busy, and Ginny usually had a million things on the go, but Ginny was one of his best friends. She had been his first kiss, and the only person in the wizarding world he'd willingly come out to; it was his doorstep she had showed up on a year ago with three young children in tow, to inform him with frightening calm that she and Harry had split up and that she needed a place to stay that was not currently inhabited by any member of the Trio or her family.
He'd protected her then, because she had needed him to, as she had protected him over the years. It was incumbent upon him to talk to Ginny, see what her take on the Draco Situation was. And, of course, because much as Ginny loved Hermione, she wouldn't tell her sister-in-law everything, and Neville wanted details.
Draco cleared his throat. Neville blinked, and realized that they were standing on the library stairs. "When you're ready, Longbottom."
"Sorry," Neville said sheepishly. He pulled open the door, and they stepped into the Library. Behind him, Neville heard Draco let out a low whistle of surprise. "Impressive, no?"
"Indeed," Draco said mildly, looking around. The Library was huge. The large main room was a massive two-story space paved with marble. Windows ran along the very tops of the walls, flooding the whole room with light. Row upon row of bookcases, jammed
with books, created a wide aisle that lead toward the back of the room, where a dramatic staircase swept up and split to form a Y-shape, leading up to the balcony that ringed the edges of the main floor. At the top of the landing, overlooking the room, was a large portrait of the Library's namesake, Albus Dumbledore, who waved cheerfully at passersby. There were even more bookshelves on the balcony, which was surrounded by carved wooden railings, and another staircase, slightly less dramatic, which presumably led off to another floor of books. Tables were spaced here and there throughout the room, where visitors could sit and read or write, and doors spaced along the walls between bookshelves led off to office and research spaces.
"There's a copy of every magical book ever written in here," Neville informed Draco quietly as they crossed the aisle to the main desk. "There's also an impressive collection of Muggle works, and a separate restricted section for Dark Arts books."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Is that wise?" he asked.
"Its restricted, and it takes ages to get access," Neville told him. "They keep them as a sort of preventative measure, Hermione says. For research, not for use. You're not allowed to remove them from the premises."
Draco snorted. "Up to you people, I guess."
Neville talked in hushed tones with the librarian behind the main desk while Draco stood and admired the hall. Finally, Neville thanked the witch and motioned Draco to follow him. "Hermione's stepped out, but Ms. Phillips says we can wait in her office 'til she gets back." He led Draco down a narrow hallway and through an archway, finally ending up at a heavy oak door, which Neville tapped with his wand. The door swung open to reveal a small but cheery book-lined office.
"I think Hermione has tea-making supplies about...care for some?" Neville asked, as Draco did a quick circuit of the room, peering at the bookshelves and glancing out the window. He looked over his shoulder and nodded, then went back to poking around.
"Why is it that you and I have crummy offices with bad furnishing, and people like Granger - sorry, Weasley - get cushy little places with leather armchairs and window-seats?" Draco finally asked in disgust, sitting on one of the window-seats in question and glaring at the cheerful little fire blazing in a small grate in the corner.
"Because Hermione is brilliant, so she can do research on contract for lots of money, and you and I aren't, so we have to chase down nasty little law-breaking punks for no money at all." Neville had found the teapot, and was waving his wand over the kettle to get the water to boil faster. Draco stared moodily out the window while Neville did this, as he usually did when anyone worked magic around him. Neville ignored him.
They sat in silence, sipping at their respective cups, Draco staring out the window and Neville lost in thought. He heard the women before they got to the door, feminine laughter drifting down the hall as Hermione and Lavender made their way to Hermione's office. The two women stopped in surprise in the doorway, blinking at Neville and Draco.
Hermione reacted first. "Why, Neville! What a surprise! What brings you here?" She moved forward and gave Neville a quick hug.
"Business, actually," Neville replied. "Not a social visit. Lavender, you're looking well." Lavender nodded and shook his hand, barely glancing at him. Her eyes were glued to Draco, who had nodded politely at the women and gone back to peering out the window. Neville and Hermione exchanged glances and grinned. Neville cleared his throat. "Lavender, you remember Draco Malfoy, don't you?"
Draco narrowed his eyes at Neville before unfolding himself from the window seat and stepping forward to take Lavenders hand. "Hello," he said mildly.
"Hello, Draco," Lavender giggled. "You're looking...well."
Hermione rolled her eyes as Draco disengaged his hand and retreated back to the window. "Lavender, would you mind terribly if I spoke to Neville and Draco alone?"
"Oh, not at all, luv, I'll talk to you tomorrow." Lavender patted Hermione on the shoulder before backing toward the door with a tiny smile on her lips, never taking her
eyes off Draco. Hermione followed her and gave her a not-so-subtle shove before shutting the door and locking it.
"There...now we won't have every researcher, clerk and book-shelver in the Library wandering in to see if we need anything. Nosy bunch of mother hens. How can I help you gentlemen?" Hermione turned back to her desk, dusting off her hands.
Neville grinned at her. "I have a question for you, actually. We've found a magical item, some sort of pendant or charm, but were not sure what its for, or what kind of spells are on it. I was wondering if you'd take a look at it, see if you can tell us anything."
"Of course," Hermione said, walking behind her desk and seating herself, suddenly all business. Draco had slumped back into the window-seat and was ignoring the whole procedure; Hermione raised an eyebrow, but Neville just shrugged at her. He couldn't exactly force Draco to participate if he didn't want to.
Neville dug the pendant out of a pocket of his robe and handed it to Hermione, who turned it over in her hands and examined it closely. She looked at it from every angle, pulled out her wand and muttered several spells over it, which seemed to affect it not at all. The last spell sent a soft cloud of blue sparks into the air, which twinkled and drifted slowly into nothingness, lighting the room in a soft, surreal glow. Draco glanced over at this, interested despite himself, the blue light reflecting off his hair and making him look rather ghostly.
"Well, that's odd." Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "I've done most of the simple detecting charms, and nothing is showing up. But there's a definite aura about it, isn't there? I don't think I've ever seen anything like it." She looked up at Neville. "Can I keep it for a bit? I'd like to examine it more thoroughly, do a little more research."
Neville and Draco exchanged glances. "I don't think that would be a problem," Neville said. "But I'd suggest not taking it away from the Library."
"Oh, of course not," Hermione said. "Whatever it is, its not standard magic. I'll take it down to one of the workrooms to examine it." She glanced over at the clock. "But not today, unfortunately. I'm due at the Burrow in two hours, and I have to pick up the twins, I've got to rush."
"Thanks for your help, Mione," Neville said. "Anything you find will be useful." He stood up and picked up his cloak from the back of the chair. Draco rose at the same time and waited quietly while Hermione and Neville hugged goodbye. Draco maintained a solemn silence all the way out to the street, steadfastly ignoring the quiet buzz of voices and curious glances that followed him through the Library.
"Well, Lavender seemed happy to see you," Neville remarked once they'd strode down the library steps onto the sidewalk.
"Who?"
"Lavender."
Draco glanced at him, confused. "Lavender?"
"The Lavender you just met, in 'Mione's office? Lavender Brown? Thomas now, she married Dean," Neville said, noting Draco's furrowed brow. "She was in my class in Gryffindor."
"I hadn't noticed." Draco shrugged and looked up the street. "Think Gringotts would be open this late?"
"She was the one who looked as if she wanted to eat you alive." Neville shook his head. "How could you not have noticed her? She was practically drooling on your shoes."
Draco turned to look at his partner. "She what?"
"She looked like she wanted to make you an afternoon snack." Neville grinned at the expression on Draco's face. "Yes, you, Mr. Clueless."
Draco snorted. "I honestly wasn't paying that much attention."
Neville let out a long-suffering sigh. "He has every woman in the world falling at his feet, and he doesn't even pay attention. Lavenders never made puppy-eyes at me."
"Yes, but you wouldn't care even if she did. She lacks a certain...something, doesn't she?" Draco grinned as Neville blushed and scowled at him.
"I really am going to hit you," Neville growled. "God, you're annoying." Draco just kept grinning, his eyes sparkling. Neville groaned mentally. He was trying his level best not to fall into the trap that was Draco Malfoy, but occasionally Draco made it very, very hard.
"Back to my original question, Mr. Longbottom. Do you think Gringotts is still open?"
"Probably, its not that late," Neville replied. "Why?"
"I was going to go raid the family bank account before I go out to Bath. I'm working on spending my way through the Malfoy estate," Draco said half-mockingly. "Or what's left of it. I cant dress this well on a policeman's budget, believe me." He turned his shoulder slightly to allow a woman to pass him by on the sidewalk, still smirking at Neville. "I could give you some money, you could buy a new cloak."
Neville opened his mouth, about to snap back at Draco, when a voice from behind them interrupted. "Draco Malfoy?"
Draco and Neville both stopped dead, and Draco stiffened. He turned around slowly to look at the woman they'd just passed. She had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and raised a hand to her hood when Draco turned around. She pushed her hood down to reveal an elaborate arrangement of curls piled on top of her head, which did nothing to flatter her small, round face and decidedly pug nose.
"Pansy," Draco said flatly.
"It is you!" Pansy Parkinson gave a small gasp and suddenly flung herself forward, wrapping her arms around Draco's waist. Draco froze and shot Neville an anguished look as Pansy sobbed rather melodramatically into his chest. "I thought you were dead!"
"Not yet," Draco replied, trying to pry her arms off him. He mouthed help! at Neville over the top of her head, but Neville just shrugged and grinned. Draco glared at him and managed to writhe out of Pansy's arms. "How have you been?"
"Oh, oh, I'm as well as can be expected," Pansy replied, fluttering her hands at Draco. "Its been a terrible, terrible time since...well, since..." her voice trailed off and her lip trembled slightly as she gazed up at Draco with huge eyes, hands wrapped around his wrist.
Draco nodded faintly, trying to work his arm out of her grasp. "Yes, well. Delightful as it has been to see you, I should be going." He finally managed to twist his wrist out of her hands, backing up a step. Pansy followed.
"We should talk," she said in what was probably intended as a low meaningful voice, blinking up at Draco through her eyelashes. Neville made a noise that might have been a cough, and covered his mouth with one hand.
"I don't think we have anything to talk about, Pansy," Draco replied coolly.
Pansy threw Neville a black look, then leaned closer to Draco and rested one hand on his forearm. She lowered her voice, clearly assuming that Neville wouldn't listen in. He shifted forward a few inches, to hear her mutter, "Of course we do. There are still some who are loyal, you know. I'm sure we could find things to...discuss."
Draco looked at her hand, resting on his coat jacket, then back at Pansy's face. "I really don't think so," he said icily.
Pansy glared up at him, her mouth twisting with anger, and Draco finally reached down and fastidiously lifted her hand from his arm. Pansy sucked in a quick breath and backed up a step. "What on earth has gotten into you, Draco?"
"Common sense?"
Pansy drew herself up and tossed her head. "More like foolishness. Your father would ha"
"My father," Draco said viciously, "is dead." He spun on his heel and strode toward the bank, leaving Pansy standing in the street staring after him, bewildered. She glanced quickly at Neville, who shrugged idly.
"So what did you want to talk to him about?" Neville asked her, mostly to watch her stiffen up and wrinkle her nose at him like an angry sharpei.
"I hardly think it's any business of yours!"
"It is if I choose to make it my business," Neville replied. "And if you decide to harass him, I just might."
Pansy turned to look up at him in disgust. "I'm not harassing anyone. I didn't know having a conversation with an old friend was harassment. If anyone here is doing any harassing, its you! Threatening people on the street!"
"A friend, are you?" Neville glanced meaningfully at Draco's retreating back, then looked down at Pansy. "I just thought I'd mention that if someone - a friend, say - were to try to drag Mr. Malfoy into anything he didn't want to take part in, that friend would find themselves extremely sorry."
"Squib!" Pansy hissed at him, which only made him grin.
"Watch yourself, Mrs. Flint," Neville said happily. "You do remember that you're still under surveillance, I trust?" He pointedly brushed at the badge on the breast of his cloak that proclaimed his Auror status and winked.
She growled under her breath and whirled around, flouncing down the street toward the Leaky Cauldron. Neville shrugged and started after Draco; he caught up to him across from Flourish and Blotts and fell into step beside him. Draco's face was set, jaw clenched. "It seems everyone is happy to see you today," Neville noted.
Draco made a disgusted noise.
"Did you know she married Marcus Flint?"
"No, I did not."
"Ah, well, she did. She's also under Ministry surveillance for suspected dabbling in the Dark Arts. She plea-bargained her way out of a prison sentence after the War, but she still likes to play," Neville said lightly. "Maybe you should have a little talk with her."
Draco shot a death glare at Neville out of the corner of his eye. "I am not here to be some sort of spy for your Ministry."
"Just a suggestion."
"Sod off."
"I'm just saying, if you ever do want to do a favour for the Ministry, Cecil would love to have you. And I'm sure Pansy would be delighted to talk to you," Neville said,
snickering.
"Longbottom, you're not nearly as funny as you think you are," Draco scowled.
"No sense of humour, that's your problem, Malfoy."
Draco stopped dead and whirled on him. "It is not funny! I highly doubt you'd find it quite so amusing if it were you people accosted on the street trying to lure you into the Dark Arts!"
Neville blinked, startled. Draco was glaring at him, practically trembling, his face a stiff mask of anger. "Probably not," he said slowly. Draco turned on his heel and stalked off, leaving Neville shaking his head, bewildered.
~*~
Draco's bad mood lasted through the rest of the afternoon and the entire train ride to Bath, which he spent slumped in his first-class compartment, glaring at the darkness outside the window. And he'd been in such a good mood when he woke up that morning...damn Pansy fucking Parkinson anyway. And damn Neville, for suggesting that Draco immerse himself in the Dark Arts again, even in jest. Draco knew he was being irrational, and he knew he was being unfair to Neville, who really didn't deserve to be the focus of his ire, but he didn't much care. Just the idea of being dragged back into the whole stupid mess set him on edge. Draco had closed the door on that period of his life, and nothing on earth would make him open it again.
He knew he shouldn't have come back.
It was bad enough that he had to keep coming back to Malfoy Manor, never mind taking up Dark magic, even for show, Draco thought as he collected his rented car and started the long drive out to Chipping Sodbury. He hadn't even know that he still owned the manor until a tidy little goblin from Gringotts had sent an owl to him care of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, not long after he'd started working with Neville. The letter had informed him that the bulk of the Malfoy estate - lands, investments and savings - was his to dispose of as he saw fit, if Draco would be so kind as to stop by the Diagon Alley offices at his convenience. How the goblins had known he was back in England, Draco didn't know, and was actually rather afraid to ask.
The estate was quite extensive; Lucius had been nothing if not thorough in protecting his investments, and had secured the bulk of his finances in places the government couldn't get to, just in case. The end result was that now that Lucius and Narcissa were both dead, Draco was very, very rich indeed, at least in the wizarding world. The money itself was actually a bit intimidating; Draco had assumed that all of it had been confiscated after the war, and he'd long since gotten used to being, if not poor, then at least solidly working class during the last 10 years. Having unlimited money was a novel experience, and one Draco was enjoying to the fullest, mostly by spending the money any way he could.
One of the downsides of Draco's newly rediscovered wealth, however, was the matter of dealing with things like Malfoy Manor. At the insistence of the fussy goblin who had appointed himself Draco's banker, Draco had agreed to come to the manor and catalogue - or at least, look over - the property and furnishings and decide what he wanted done with it. So Draco spent several days a week at the manor, taking the train from Bath to London and staying in a small hotel in the city in between trips.
Draco turned the car onto the road leading up to the Manor, steering carefully to avoid the potholes left after twelve years of abandonment. The house itself, looming dark and forbidding at the end of the drive, was little more than a shell now, but it still retained an unpleasant aura of old magic and ghosts. All the traps and protective charms had been stripped from the house and grounds, all the Dark Arts paraphernalia carted away, most of the finer works of art confiscated by God knew who. The Ministry had done a thorough job of going over the property after the war, taking apart curses and charms and removing anything even remotely harmful. Or valuable, Draco thought with disgust. Noble-minded freedom fighters they might have been, but that didn't stop them from lifting the silverware
He parked in the carriage yard and got out of the car, climbing up the front steps with a sigh. The huge oak door opened with a creak to reveal the vast entry hall, dominated by a huge sweeping staircase. Draco had resisted hiring any staff to look after things while he was in London, so the house was vacant, his footfalls echoing back from the ceiling the only sound as he crossed the hall. Candles lit up at his approach, and faded back into darkness as he passed, and even that slight exhibition of magic was enough to make him twitch. It was odd how, after years of refusing to use magic, he'd quickly gotten almost used to the small, homey charms that Neville and Ginny tended to use, to open doors or dry dishes or (in Ginny's case) to tie stray shoelaces without having to chase down small children, yet a minor charm like the candle-lighter in his parents house could still make him nervous.
Draco paced across the study and stood in front of the huge fireplace, the fire lighting at his approach, crackling sullenly and casting flickering shadows over the heavy furniture and empty bookshelves. Lucius Malfoy had had one of the most extensive Dark Arts libraries in England, possibly in all of Europe, but the books were all gone now, probably locked up in the restricted section of the Dumbledore Library. Lucius would have hated knowing that his precious books were being studied and handled, catalogued and pored over by anyone with an interest, held in a Library named for one of the people Lucius had hated most in the world. Draco thought it poetic justice.
The study was full of dark, heavy furniture, most of it too heavy to move easily, which was why it was still here and not furnishing some enterprising Ministry officials home. The massive oak desk in the corner was the most dominant piece, seeming to draw the eye from everywhere in the room. Draco moved toward it almost
unconsciously, pausing in the same place he had stood countless times during his childhood, back straight, feet together, head bowed.
Discipline. He could almost hear his fathers clipped voice, repeating that word over and over. Discipline, strength, ruthlessness, mercilessness. These are what bring rewards. These are what lead to success. These things will required of you at all times. I expect no less from my son.
Lucius had never raised a hand to his family. It had never been required; his voice was as effective a lash as he had ever needed. Draco knew that all too well. How many times had he stood in this spot after committing some crime or other, waiting to be acknowledged while his father wrote letters or read one of his ancient tomes, silent until Lucius gave him leave to voice his apologies?
I'm sorry, Father. For breaking the window, for flying my broom in the garden without permission, for speaking out of turn, for not beating Potter at Quidditch, for not making top grades on my OWLs. For being something other than a paper cutout of you. For wanting to get out. For wanting to have my own life to take, or to live as I pleased. For -
Draco forced his head up, forced himself to step forward and lean one hip against the desk defiantly. "But I'm not," he said defiantly, his voice unexpectedly loud in the silent room. "I'm not sorry. For any of it." His father was dead, and his rules with him.
Barely a whisper. Discipline. Draco whipped his head around, a faint breeze lifting strands of pale hair to dance around his face. Was it the dancing light cast by the candelabra on the desk that made the curtains seem to move of their own volition? He froze, eyes moving from shadow to shadow. Nothing is here, he told himself sternly. You're imagining things, he is dead, you watched him die. There's nothing here.
He shut his eyes, only to snap them open immediately as a breeze, light and gentle as silk, brushed against his cheek. The sound of his breathing was harsh in the silent, empty room. There is nothing here.
Nothing.
The very silence in the house seemed reproachful, mocking.
Draco retreated to the door of the study, then to the oaken front door, pausing in the entryway to stare up the staircase that dominated the hall. He was being ridiculous, he knew that. The house was empty, there was nothing here, he should just climb the stairs and find his room and go to bed. He stood immobile at the foot of the stair for an endless moment, until the faint, directionless wind tapped at his face again, stirring his hair lightly. Draco jumped, spun around, yanked open the door and all but ran down the steps. That is it. He wasn't staying in this place another minute.
He'd go to Gringotts first thing in the morning. They could sell the house, renovate it, tear it down, burn it to the ground for all he cared. He was done with all of it; all the ghosts, real or imagined, all the pain, all the recriminations and fear and false assumptions. It could all rot.
Like his father.
~*~
It was nearly a week before Neville managed to find time to call Ginny and arrange to meet her for lunch. She sent the children off to her mother in order to run errands, dropped by the Ministry and let Neville dragged her off to the Leaky Cauldron. They both nodded and smiled at the other wizards and witches in the bar room as they entered and old Tom led them to a small table near the back, shedding their cloaks in the warmth of the bar.
"Who knew that you were so impossible to get a hold of?" Neville said laughing as he pulled out a chair for Ginny then seated himself. "Ill have my usual, Tom, and I think Ginny would like shepherds pie." Neville raised an eyebrow inquiringly at Ginny, who nodded.
"I'm not impossible, and I'm not the one who's difficult to get hold of. I've sent you messages, you know," Ginny said reproachfully as she sat down. "And got no reply, I might add."
Neville blushed slightly. "Yes, well, you have a point. Its as much my fault, isn't it? Past time we got together and talked."
"I've been expecting this, actually," Ginny replied. "I figured Hermione would talk to you about Draco, and that it was only a matter of time before you decided to check in."
Neville smiled sheepishly. "I should probably have got in touch earlier than I have. I feel like a heel, waiting 'til you start dating Draco to talk to you. We don't talk as often as we should anymore."
"I know." Ginny leaned forward and gave Neville a quick pat on the arm. "I meant to owl you myself, actually. I have Ron and Hermione checking in every other day to make sure things are going well, meaning has he dumped you and left you sobbing and heartbroken like the evil, despicable cad he is? I need a different perspective...any alternative to that sort of thing is quite welcome."
Neville laughed. "Are they really?"
Ginny nodded. "Oh, yes. More Ron than Hermione. At least Hermione is subtle...Ron all but says that sort of thing outright. I think hell only be happy if I do come out and say yes, he's left me flat, the horrible bastard. The only reason he's being at all tolerant is because Hermione's keeping him under control, and he hasn't really come into close contact with Draco."
"And thank the Founders for that," Neville said with feeling.
"You're telling me. How would I explain that to the kids? "I'm sorry darlings, Uncle Ronnie killed Mummy's boyfriend."
Neville raised an eyebrow at Gin. "Boyfriend?"
She flushed pink and ducked her head. "Well...what else should I call him? The man who comes round and visits sometimes and buys ice cream, with occasional dinner dates and sometime snogs? Though it does feel a bit odd to have a boyfriend at my age."
"Yes, because you're so old, over there on the good side of thirty," Neville snorted. "So...snogs?"
Ginny grinned. "Ah...I see where this is going. You want details."
"Who, me?" Neville batted his eyelashes at her and tried to look innocent.
"Did Hermione put you up to this?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.
"Actually, no. I just wanted to get the other side of the story, as it were." Ginny's eyes widened. "He told you about it?"
"Not so much. Well, more like not at all," Neville admitted. "But he does get this kind of goofy little smile whenever he's seen you or is thinking about you. And you cheer him up, which is nice because he was in a downright foul mood all this week, until he talked to you."
"Really?" Ginny looked pleased.
"Yes, really. Although I don't think he realizes, or he wouldn't be so obvious about it." Neville smiled as Ginny giggled. "Its quite disgustingly cute, actually."
"I don't know that cute is a word I'd use to describe Draco," Ginny said, still giggling. "Handsome, yes, gorgeous, yes, cute...not so much."
"Got a point there. He's too angular to be cute."
"But such angles!"
"Why, if I didn't know better, I'd say you've been ogling Mr. Malfoy." Neville shook his head and grinned as she shook her head vigorously. "Yes, I rather think you have been. Honestly, you're as bad as Lavender. He's not a sex object, you know."
"Not yet, anyway." Ginny grinned wickedly.
"I'll be sure to tell him you said so."
"Oh, so you won't tell me what he thinks of me, but it's perfectly all right for you to tell him what I say about him?"
Neville snorted. "We don't talk about you. He doesn't talk about anything personal."
Ginny sighed at that. "He's so..." She trailed off, poking at the tabletop.
"So...?" Neville prompted. "So what?"
She frowned, brushing a stray curl off her face. "I don't know how to describe it. He's so--so contained. He's not hard to get along with, he's not mean, he's terribly polite, he's always darling to the children, he always answers if I ask him a direct question, yet I always have the feeling that he's hiding things. Not necessarily in a bad way, just that there are things he won't tell me. Like there are things he doesn't want me to know. Harry used to do that too, and it drove me crazy."
"Maybe its just that he's not comfortable with sharing some things with you yet," Neville said. "You've only been seeing each other for 2 months or so. If that."
"That's true. It just seems like sometimes all hell give me is superficial information. Like, I asked him when we were out last week to tell me about Canada, and while I did get a very interesting description of the major exports of some place with an incomprehensible name, he didn't tell me anything about who he'd met, or where he stayed, or if he has any friends there..." Ginny shrugged. "Well, you know what I mean."
"I guess he's got a right to keep some things to himself. You haven't told him your whole life story, have you? I mean, have you told him about, oh, the whole story behind how you and Harry split up?"
"Touché. No, I haven't," Ginny winced. "He got the watered-down version I give to strangers."
Neville offered a sympathetic smile. "The we grew apart one?"
"Well, I'd only just met him," Ginny said defensively, twisting an auburn curl around one finger. "I wasn't going to trot out the whole sordid tale. And its not like the short version isn't true to an extent."
"You cant blame him for keeping things from you if you're doing the same thing," Neville pointed out reasonably.
"I know, and its not that, really. Its just" Ginny stopped and sighed. "It seems strange to say it, but I really do want this to work out. I want all the hard, awkward, getting-to-know-you bits to be over already so we can get to the happy bits."
Neville raised an eyebrow. "Happy bits? That sounds...rather racy. Tell me more." Ginny laughed. "I meant the laughing at silly things, and kissing and goofing around and cuddling and bits. The fun things. Not racy bits. Not that I would object to racy bits, mind you."
"So Mr. Malfoy has been a perfect gentleman thus far?"
Ginny blushed again. "Yes. Although I think if Ron and 'Mione hadn't been upstairs last week, I think he would have been somewhat less of a gentleman, and done more than just kiss me goodnight on my front step." She pouted a bit. "Damn Harry anyway."
"He a good kisser?" Neville asked, then clapped his hand over his mouth in horror. "Um...never mind, I didn't ask that."
Ginny's eyes went wide, then she whooped with laughter and half-fell out of her chair. Neville went red and tried to hide his face in the tablecloth. "Oh my God! Neville, are you thinking nasty things about my man?"
"No! Nonono! I didn't ask! I didn't mean it! No!"
"You are!"
"No!"
"You are! Oh my, that's blackmail material, that is. Don't cross me now, or I'll tell Draco that you're lusting after him!"
"I am not lusting after him! I'm not!" Neville groaned and uncovered his face, propping his chin on one hand. "At least, I'm trying not to. Though, I doubt he'd be all that surprised. I think he knows."
Ginny blinked. "What, that you think he's gorgeous? He doesn't know you're..." She trailed off, knowing how uncomfortable it made Neville to talk about it.
"Um. He does, actually. He's known practically since he got back. He guessed."
"Guessed? How?"
"I have no idea. Said he had a hunch. He's good at that sort of thing, guessing things you'd rather have him not know. Makes him good at being an Auror, but he's hard to keep secrets from. You might want to bear that in mind."
Ginny raised an eyebrow at Neville, but her response was interrupted by the arrival of Tom, who brought their food and shuffled off again. Ginny waited until the old barkeep was out of earshot before replying. "Well, its not like I have a great many secrets to keep, so I don't think that will be a problem."
"I know, I just meant that it would be difficult to hide anything from him. I mean, if he could guess something about me in three weeks that Hermione hasn't guessed in almost twenty years..."
"Yes, but you didn't even know 'til after graduation, so its not really Hermione's fault she hasn't figured it out yet. And while 'Mione is brilliant at most things, she can be dreadfully unobservant." Ginny gazed at Neville seriously. "But back to our original topic. If you want me to spill details such as is Draco a good kisser, then you have to give me details too, and share what you know of his shrouded past."
Neville frowned at her. "There's not much to share. He doesn't talk to me any more than he talks to you. Probably less, really. He's been in Canada, he isn't a death eater, he doesn't like to be around magic anymore and he has absolutely no interest whatsoever in his old friends or in the Dark Arts." He described the meeting with Pansy the week before. "And then he damn near bit my head off when I joked that he should meet with her."
Ginny made a face. "I never did like Pansy Parkinson. And besides, she's married to that awful Flint man."
Neville gave her a lopsided grin. "Jealous?"
"Not at all!" Ginny snorted. "Jealous of Pansy Parkinson? That'll be the day."
He nodded sagely. "Jealous."
Ginny jabbed her fork at him. "I am not! What's to be jealous of anyway? She's a nasty little piece of work and terribly unattractive, and I am - "
"Harry Potter's ex-wife."
Ginny visibly deflated. "Please don't tell me that he's only using me for revenge on Harry. I've already been through it with 'Mione and with Ron, and I'd really rather not do it again."
"I wasn't going to say that, actually, just pointing out an obvious fact. Draco does not like Harry, and although he likes you a great deal, I think you should be prepared for things not to go as smoothly as you might wish," Neville said. "And speaking of Harry, have you told him yet?"
Ginny blanched. "No, not yet."
"Are you going to tell him sometime in the near future?"
"I'm getting to it," she said irritably. "Ill tell him eventually."
"You'd better or he'll find out from someone else. I'm pretty sure Lavender knows that you and Draco are dating, and if Lavender knows something then all of England might as well. Or he might pull a Ron and get it from one of the children, and then where will you be? Harry is not exactly rational on the subject of Draco Malfoy."
"I will tell him," Ginny repeated. "Soon." She paused. "Ish."
Neville rolled his eyes. "Want me to do it?"
"Oh, yes, that'd go over swimmingly, wouldn't it? He's already had his issues with you, I'm sure he'd take it ever so well if you told him about Draco."
Neville shrugged. "Just offering."
"I know, and I know you mean well, but you know what Harry's like when he's angry."
Neville rolled his eyes. "Do I ever."
Ginny paused and set her fork down. "I don't know if I ever told you how grateful I was to have you after he and I split up. Everything you went through for me...I really appreciated it."
"'Twas nothing, really." Neville blushed and looked down at his plate. "What friends do for each other. You know that."
Ginny smiled. "Yes, I know. Thank you anyway."
"You can thank me by telling Harry about Draco," Neville said with a sly grin. "Since I don't relish the idea of losing my partner to the wrath of Harry Potter."
"I will," Ginny said placatingly. "I promise I will."
~*~
NB: The self-lighting candles are from Robin McKinley's Beauty: A Retelling of the Story of Beauty and the Beast, which is an enchanting book and well worth reading again and again. The idea that Malfoy Manor is near Chipping Sodbury (which is,
in fact, a small town near Bath, although its closer to Bristol) is from Cassandra Claire's DD/DS/DV series.
Though it all looks different now
I know its still the same
Everywhere I look, you're all I see
Just a fading fucking reminder of who I used to be
- Something I Can Never Have, Nine Inch Nails
~*~
"Hullo," Neville said as Draco sauntered into his office the next afternoon. "Hear you had a date last night."
Draco stopped and gave Neville a long look. "Oh?"
"Ron Weasley called me up at some ungodly hour this morning to pump me for information. Have fun?"
Draco sighed and flopped into Neville's visitors chair. "I didn't think he recognized me."
"From what I understand, he didn't, he coerced Jamie into telling him. He seemed...not; exactly happy about it, but he wasn't threatening you with dismemberment either. I think Hermione got to him. So." Neville propped his chin up on one hand and batted his eyelashes at his partner. "How did it go?"
Draco gave him a death glare. "None of your damn business."
Neville pouted at him. "Oh, come on. If you don't tell me, I'll just get Hermione to ask Ginny. Not that I won't do that anyway, mind you."
"And people call me a devious and evil bastard. Why is everyone so interested in my private life all of a sudden?" Draco demanded sulkily. "Did the Ministry become Gossip Central while I wasn't looking?"
"You're dating a woman whose family has the population of a small country. Everyone knows everything about everyone in the Weasley world," Neville said. "Sooner or later, the truth will out."
"Can we just not talk about it and pretend we did?"
"Not a chance," Neville grinned. "Tell me, or I will go pump Hermione for information, don't think I won't."
"We went to see a very bad play, then we went out for dinner, then I took her home. Satisfied?" Draco glared at Neville, clearly ruffled.
"That's it? No passionate midnight snogs? No mad declarations of undying love? No final-hour elopement? How am I supposed to live vicariously through you if you don't do anything fun?"
Draco threw a pen at him. "Do you mind?"
"Not at all, actually." Neville grabbed the pen out of the air before it could hit him. "And speaking of Hermione, I wanted to go down to the Library to talk to her today. Want to join me?"
"What do we need to talk to her for?"
"Because she's one of the best in England at Charms, and I think she might be able to help us out. And the Founders know we need all the help we can get." Clues were few and far between in the case that they were sharing, trying to track down the pair of thieves Draco had followed to England. They'd had a stroke of luck at the last crime scene, having found what looked like a small pendant. Neville could detect some form of magical charm on it, but he couldn't figure out what kind of charm.
Draco shrugged. "Fine. But one single crack about my private life, Longbottom, and I won't be held responsible for the consequences."
~*~
They paused on the steps of the Ministry building, their breath hanging in silvery clouds around them in the cold air, while Draco shrugged into his coat. He should have looked terribly out of place, Neville reflected, as the only person on Diagon Alley dressed in a Muggle suit and winter trenchcoat, but Draco didn't. There was an air of unconscious arrogance about him, as though whatever he was wearing was suitable for the occasion simply because he was wearing it. And Draco, Neville had to admit, dressed exceptionally well. He tended to favour various Italian Muggle designers for casual wear, but every suit he owned was hand-tailored, classically designed in Saville Row. Absolutely everything about him, from his pale hair, to the tips of his patent leather shoes, cried "aristocrat". Neville suppressed a sigh.
Draco tugged at the sleeves of his coat and raised his eyebrows at Neville. "Well?"
Neville blinked and shook himself. You are not supposed to be staring at him, he told himself sharply. "This way," he said, hoping like hell he wasn't blushing. Draco smirked at him, which didn't necessarily mean anything, and followed Neville up the street toward the brick-and-glass building that housed the Library.
One of the annoying things about Draco was that people moved for him. On a crowded street like Diagon Alley, where Neville would normally have had to push his way through the throng, Draco never had a problem. When he was with Draco all Neville had to do was follow along in the wake of the other man, because the crowds parted in front of him. Neville didn't even think people noticed they were doing it; they simply moved out of Draco's way.
It was irritating.
But then, so many things about Draco were irritating. The way he dressed, the way he smelled, the way he looked perfect all the time. The way he became first snippy and sarcastic, then icy and stiff when anyone got too close to subjects he didn't like to talk about. The prescient way he had of making the most tenuous connections between random facts and coming up with a solution to a problem. His unconscious habit of running a hand over his hair when he was nervous. The way his ears were pointed ever so slightly at the tips. The way his face lit up whenever he talked about Ginny.
Neville gritted his teeth. He had sworn to himself that he was not going to do this. He was not going to fall for Draco like a child off his first broom, dammit.
Speaking of Ginny, it was past time he talked to her. It was a bit ridiculous that they hadn't spoken in months. Granted, he'd been terribly busy, and Ginny usually had a million things on the go, but Ginny was one of his best friends. She had been his first kiss, and the only person in the wizarding world he'd willingly come out to; it was his doorstep she had showed up on a year ago with three young children in tow, to inform him with frightening calm that she and Harry had split up and that she needed a place to stay that was not currently inhabited by any member of the Trio or her family.
He'd protected her then, because she had needed him to, as she had protected him over the years. It was incumbent upon him to talk to Ginny, see what her take on the Draco Situation was. And, of course, because much as Ginny loved Hermione, she wouldn't tell her sister-in-law everything, and Neville wanted details.
Draco cleared his throat. Neville blinked, and realized that they were standing on the library stairs. "When you're ready, Longbottom."
"Sorry," Neville said sheepishly. He pulled open the door, and they stepped into the Library. Behind him, Neville heard Draco let out a low whistle of surprise. "Impressive, no?"
"Indeed," Draco said mildly, looking around. The Library was huge. The large main room was a massive two-story space paved with marble. Windows ran along the very tops of the walls, flooding the whole room with light. Row upon row of bookcases, jammed
with books, created a wide aisle that lead toward the back of the room, where a dramatic staircase swept up and split to form a Y-shape, leading up to the balcony that ringed the edges of the main floor. At the top of the landing, overlooking the room, was a large portrait of the Library's namesake, Albus Dumbledore, who waved cheerfully at passersby. There were even more bookshelves on the balcony, which was surrounded by carved wooden railings, and another staircase, slightly less dramatic, which presumably led off to another floor of books. Tables were spaced here and there throughout the room, where visitors could sit and read or write, and doors spaced along the walls between bookshelves led off to office and research spaces.
"There's a copy of every magical book ever written in here," Neville informed Draco quietly as they crossed the aisle to the main desk. "There's also an impressive collection of Muggle works, and a separate restricted section for Dark Arts books."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Is that wise?" he asked.
"Its restricted, and it takes ages to get access," Neville told him. "They keep them as a sort of preventative measure, Hermione says. For research, not for use. You're not allowed to remove them from the premises."
Draco snorted. "Up to you people, I guess."
Neville talked in hushed tones with the librarian behind the main desk while Draco stood and admired the hall. Finally, Neville thanked the witch and motioned Draco to follow him. "Hermione's stepped out, but Ms. Phillips says we can wait in her office 'til she gets back." He led Draco down a narrow hallway and through an archway, finally ending up at a heavy oak door, which Neville tapped with his wand. The door swung open to reveal a small but cheery book-lined office.
"I think Hermione has tea-making supplies about...care for some?" Neville asked, as Draco did a quick circuit of the room, peering at the bookshelves and glancing out the window. He looked over his shoulder and nodded, then went back to poking around.
"Why is it that you and I have crummy offices with bad furnishing, and people like Granger - sorry, Weasley - get cushy little places with leather armchairs and window-seats?" Draco finally asked in disgust, sitting on one of the window-seats in question and glaring at the cheerful little fire blazing in a small grate in the corner.
"Because Hermione is brilliant, so she can do research on contract for lots of money, and you and I aren't, so we have to chase down nasty little law-breaking punks for no money at all." Neville had found the teapot, and was waving his wand over the kettle to get the water to boil faster. Draco stared moodily out the window while Neville did this, as he usually did when anyone worked magic around him. Neville ignored him.
They sat in silence, sipping at their respective cups, Draco staring out the window and Neville lost in thought. He heard the women before they got to the door, feminine laughter drifting down the hall as Hermione and Lavender made their way to Hermione's office. The two women stopped in surprise in the doorway, blinking at Neville and Draco.
Hermione reacted first. "Why, Neville! What a surprise! What brings you here?" She moved forward and gave Neville a quick hug.
"Business, actually," Neville replied. "Not a social visit. Lavender, you're looking well." Lavender nodded and shook his hand, barely glancing at him. Her eyes were glued to Draco, who had nodded politely at the women and gone back to peering out the window. Neville and Hermione exchanged glances and grinned. Neville cleared his throat. "Lavender, you remember Draco Malfoy, don't you?"
Draco narrowed his eyes at Neville before unfolding himself from the window seat and stepping forward to take Lavenders hand. "Hello," he said mildly.
"Hello, Draco," Lavender giggled. "You're looking...well."
Hermione rolled her eyes as Draco disengaged his hand and retreated back to the window. "Lavender, would you mind terribly if I spoke to Neville and Draco alone?"
"Oh, not at all, luv, I'll talk to you tomorrow." Lavender patted Hermione on the shoulder before backing toward the door with a tiny smile on her lips, never taking her
eyes off Draco. Hermione followed her and gave her a not-so-subtle shove before shutting the door and locking it.
"There...now we won't have every researcher, clerk and book-shelver in the Library wandering in to see if we need anything. Nosy bunch of mother hens. How can I help you gentlemen?" Hermione turned back to her desk, dusting off her hands.
Neville grinned at her. "I have a question for you, actually. We've found a magical item, some sort of pendant or charm, but were not sure what its for, or what kind of spells are on it. I was wondering if you'd take a look at it, see if you can tell us anything."
"Of course," Hermione said, walking behind her desk and seating herself, suddenly all business. Draco had slumped back into the window-seat and was ignoring the whole procedure; Hermione raised an eyebrow, but Neville just shrugged at her. He couldn't exactly force Draco to participate if he didn't want to.
Neville dug the pendant out of a pocket of his robe and handed it to Hermione, who turned it over in her hands and examined it closely. She looked at it from every angle, pulled out her wand and muttered several spells over it, which seemed to affect it not at all. The last spell sent a soft cloud of blue sparks into the air, which twinkled and drifted slowly into nothingness, lighting the room in a soft, surreal glow. Draco glanced over at this, interested despite himself, the blue light reflecting off his hair and making him look rather ghostly.
"Well, that's odd." Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "I've done most of the simple detecting charms, and nothing is showing up. But there's a definite aura about it, isn't there? I don't think I've ever seen anything like it." She looked up at Neville. "Can I keep it for a bit? I'd like to examine it more thoroughly, do a little more research."
Neville and Draco exchanged glances. "I don't think that would be a problem," Neville said. "But I'd suggest not taking it away from the Library."
"Oh, of course not," Hermione said. "Whatever it is, its not standard magic. I'll take it down to one of the workrooms to examine it." She glanced over at the clock. "But not today, unfortunately. I'm due at the Burrow in two hours, and I have to pick up the twins, I've got to rush."
"Thanks for your help, Mione," Neville said. "Anything you find will be useful." He stood up and picked up his cloak from the back of the chair. Draco rose at the same time and waited quietly while Hermione and Neville hugged goodbye. Draco maintained a solemn silence all the way out to the street, steadfastly ignoring the quiet buzz of voices and curious glances that followed him through the Library.
"Well, Lavender seemed happy to see you," Neville remarked once they'd strode down the library steps onto the sidewalk.
"Who?"
"Lavender."
Draco glanced at him, confused. "Lavender?"
"The Lavender you just met, in 'Mione's office? Lavender Brown? Thomas now, she married Dean," Neville said, noting Draco's furrowed brow. "She was in my class in Gryffindor."
"I hadn't noticed." Draco shrugged and looked up the street. "Think Gringotts would be open this late?"
"She was the one who looked as if she wanted to eat you alive." Neville shook his head. "How could you not have noticed her? She was practically drooling on your shoes."
Draco turned to look at his partner. "She what?"
"She looked like she wanted to make you an afternoon snack." Neville grinned at the expression on Draco's face. "Yes, you, Mr. Clueless."
Draco snorted. "I honestly wasn't paying that much attention."
Neville let out a long-suffering sigh. "He has every woman in the world falling at his feet, and he doesn't even pay attention. Lavenders never made puppy-eyes at me."
"Yes, but you wouldn't care even if she did. She lacks a certain...something, doesn't she?" Draco grinned as Neville blushed and scowled at him.
"I really am going to hit you," Neville growled. "God, you're annoying." Draco just kept grinning, his eyes sparkling. Neville groaned mentally. He was trying his level best not to fall into the trap that was Draco Malfoy, but occasionally Draco made it very, very hard.
"Back to my original question, Mr. Longbottom. Do you think Gringotts is still open?"
"Probably, its not that late," Neville replied. "Why?"
"I was going to go raid the family bank account before I go out to Bath. I'm working on spending my way through the Malfoy estate," Draco said half-mockingly. "Or what's left of it. I cant dress this well on a policeman's budget, believe me." He turned his shoulder slightly to allow a woman to pass him by on the sidewalk, still smirking at Neville. "I could give you some money, you could buy a new cloak."
Neville opened his mouth, about to snap back at Draco, when a voice from behind them interrupted. "Draco Malfoy?"
Draco and Neville both stopped dead, and Draco stiffened. He turned around slowly to look at the woman they'd just passed. She had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and raised a hand to her hood when Draco turned around. She pushed her hood down to reveal an elaborate arrangement of curls piled on top of her head, which did nothing to flatter her small, round face and decidedly pug nose.
"Pansy," Draco said flatly.
"It is you!" Pansy Parkinson gave a small gasp and suddenly flung herself forward, wrapping her arms around Draco's waist. Draco froze and shot Neville an anguished look as Pansy sobbed rather melodramatically into his chest. "I thought you were dead!"
"Not yet," Draco replied, trying to pry her arms off him. He mouthed help! at Neville over the top of her head, but Neville just shrugged and grinned. Draco glared at him and managed to writhe out of Pansy's arms. "How have you been?"
"Oh, oh, I'm as well as can be expected," Pansy replied, fluttering her hands at Draco. "Its been a terrible, terrible time since...well, since..." her voice trailed off and her lip trembled slightly as she gazed up at Draco with huge eyes, hands wrapped around his wrist.
Draco nodded faintly, trying to work his arm out of her grasp. "Yes, well. Delightful as it has been to see you, I should be going." He finally managed to twist his wrist out of her hands, backing up a step. Pansy followed.
"We should talk," she said in what was probably intended as a low meaningful voice, blinking up at Draco through her eyelashes. Neville made a noise that might have been a cough, and covered his mouth with one hand.
"I don't think we have anything to talk about, Pansy," Draco replied coolly.
Pansy threw Neville a black look, then leaned closer to Draco and rested one hand on his forearm. She lowered her voice, clearly assuming that Neville wouldn't listen in. He shifted forward a few inches, to hear her mutter, "Of course we do. There are still some who are loyal, you know. I'm sure we could find things to...discuss."
Draco looked at her hand, resting on his coat jacket, then back at Pansy's face. "I really don't think so," he said icily.
Pansy glared up at him, her mouth twisting with anger, and Draco finally reached down and fastidiously lifted her hand from his arm. Pansy sucked in a quick breath and backed up a step. "What on earth has gotten into you, Draco?"
"Common sense?"
Pansy drew herself up and tossed her head. "More like foolishness. Your father would ha"
"My father," Draco said viciously, "is dead." He spun on his heel and strode toward the bank, leaving Pansy standing in the street staring after him, bewildered. She glanced quickly at Neville, who shrugged idly.
"So what did you want to talk to him about?" Neville asked her, mostly to watch her stiffen up and wrinkle her nose at him like an angry sharpei.
"I hardly think it's any business of yours!"
"It is if I choose to make it my business," Neville replied. "And if you decide to harass him, I just might."
Pansy turned to look up at him in disgust. "I'm not harassing anyone. I didn't know having a conversation with an old friend was harassment. If anyone here is doing any harassing, its you! Threatening people on the street!"
"A friend, are you?" Neville glanced meaningfully at Draco's retreating back, then looked down at Pansy. "I just thought I'd mention that if someone - a friend, say - were to try to drag Mr. Malfoy into anything he didn't want to take part in, that friend would find themselves extremely sorry."
"Squib!" Pansy hissed at him, which only made him grin.
"Watch yourself, Mrs. Flint," Neville said happily. "You do remember that you're still under surveillance, I trust?" He pointedly brushed at the badge on the breast of his cloak that proclaimed his Auror status and winked.
She growled under her breath and whirled around, flouncing down the street toward the Leaky Cauldron. Neville shrugged and started after Draco; he caught up to him across from Flourish and Blotts and fell into step beside him. Draco's face was set, jaw clenched. "It seems everyone is happy to see you today," Neville noted.
Draco made a disgusted noise.
"Did you know she married Marcus Flint?"
"No, I did not."
"Ah, well, she did. She's also under Ministry surveillance for suspected dabbling in the Dark Arts. She plea-bargained her way out of a prison sentence after the War, but she still likes to play," Neville said lightly. "Maybe you should have a little talk with her."
Draco shot a death glare at Neville out of the corner of his eye. "I am not here to be some sort of spy for your Ministry."
"Just a suggestion."
"Sod off."
"I'm just saying, if you ever do want to do a favour for the Ministry, Cecil would love to have you. And I'm sure Pansy would be delighted to talk to you," Neville said,
snickering.
"Longbottom, you're not nearly as funny as you think you are," Draco scowled.
"No sense of humour, that's your problem, Malfoy."
Draco stopped dead and whirled on him. "It is not funny! I highly doubt you'd find it quite so amusing if it were you people accosted on the street trying to lure you into the Dark Arts!"
Neville blinked, startled. Draco was glaring at him, practically trembling, his face a stiff mask of anger. "Probably not," he said slowly. Draco turned on his heel and stalked off, leaving Neville shaking his head, bewildered.
~*~
Draco's bad mood lasted through the rest of the afternoon and the entire train ride to Bath, which he spent slumped in his first-class compartment, glaring at the darkness outside the window. And he'd been in such a good mood when he woke up that morning...damn Pansy fucking Parkinson anyway. And damn Neville, for suggesting that Draco immerse himself in the Dark Arts again, even in jest. Draco knew he was being irrational, and he knew he was being unfair to Neville, who really didn't deserve to be the focus of his ire, but he didn't much care. Just the idea of being dragged back into the whole stupid mess set him on edge. Draco had closed the door on that period of his life, and nothing on earth would make him open it again.
He knew he shouldn't have come back.
It was bad enough that he had to keep coming back to Malfoy Manor, never mind taking up Dark magic, even for show, Draco thought as he collected his rented car and started the long drive out to Chipping Sodbury. He hadn't even know that he still owned the manor until a tidy little goblin from Gringotts had sent an owl to him care of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, not long after he'd started working with Neville. The letter had informed him that the bulk of the Malfoy estate - lands, investments and savings - was his to dispose of as he saw fit, if Draco would be so kind as to stop by the Diagon Alley offices at his convenience. How the goblins had known he was back in England, Draco didn't know, and was actually rather afraid to ask.
The estate was quite extensive; Lucius had been nothing if not thorough in protecting his investments, and had secured the bulk of his finances in places the government couldn't get to, just in case. The end result was that now that Lucius and Narcissa were both dead, Draco was very, very rich indeed, at least in the wizarding world. The money itself was actually a bit intimidating; Draco had assumed that all of it had been confiscated after the war, and he'd long since gotten used to being, if not poor, then at least solidly working class during the last 10 years. Having unlimited money was a novel experience, and one Draco was enjoying to the fullest, mostly by spending the money any way he could.
One of the downsides of Draco's newly rediscovered wealth, however, was the matter of dealing with things like Malfoy Manor. At the insistence of the fussy goblin who had appointed himself Draco's banker, Draco had agreed to come to the manor and catalogue - or at least, look over - the property and furnishings and decide what he wanted done with it. So Draco spent several days a week at the manor, taking the train from Bath to London and staying in a small hotel in the city in between trips.
Draco turned the car onto the road leading up to the Manor, steering carefully to avoid the potholes left after twelve years of abandonment. The house itself, looming dark and forbidding at the end of the drive, was little more than a shell now, but it still retained an unpleasant aura of old magic and ghosts. All the traps and protective charms had been stripped from the house and grounds, all the Dark Arts paraphernalia carted away, most of the finer works of art confiscated by God knew who. The Ministry had done a thorough job of going over the property after the war, taking apart curses and charms and removing anything even remotely harmful. Or valuable, Draco thought with disgust. Noble-minded freedom fighters they might have been, but that didn't stop them from lifting the silverware
He parked in the carriage yard and got out of the car, climbing up the front steps with a sigh. The huge oak door opened with a creak to reveal the vast entry hall, dominated by a huge sweeping staircase. Draco had resisted hiring any staff to look after things while he was in London, so the house was vacant, his footfalls echoing back from the ceiling the only sound as he crossed the hall. Candles lit up at his approach, and faded back into darkness as he passed, and even that slight exhibition of magic was enough to make him twitch. It was odd how, after years of refusing to use magic, he'd quickly gotten almost used to the small, homey charms that Neville and Ginny tended to use, to open doors or dry dishes or (in Ginny's case) to tie stray shoelaces without having to chase down small children, yet a minor charm like the candle-lighter in his parents house could still make him nervous.
Draco paced across the study and stood in front of the huge fireplace, the fire lighting at his approach, crackling sullenly and casting flickering shadows over the heavy furniture and empty bookshelves. Lucius Malfoy had had one of the most extensive Dark Arts libraries in England, possibly in all of Europe, but the books were all gone now, probably locked up in the restricted section of the Dumbledore Library. Lucius would have hated knowing that his precious books were being studied and handled, catalogued and pored over by anyone with an interest, held in a Library named for one of the people Lucius had hated most in the world. Draco thought it poetic justice.
The study was full of dark, heavy furniture, most of it too heavy to move easily, which was why it was still here and not furnishing some enterprising Ministry officials home. The massive oak desk in the corner was the most dominant piece, seeming to draw the eye from everywhere in the room. Draco moved toward it almost
unconsciously, pausing in the same place he had stood countless times during his childhood, back straight, feet together, head bowed.
Discipline. He could almost hear his fathers clipped voice, repeating that word over and over. Discipline, strength, ruthlessness, mercilessness. These are what bring rewards. These are what lead to success. These things will required of you at all times. I expect no less from my son.
Lucius had never raised a hand to his family. It had never been required; his voice was as effective a lash as he had ever needed. Draco knew that all too well. How many times had he stood in this spot after committing some crime or other, waiting to be acknowledged while his father wrote letters or read one of his ancient tomes, silent until Lucius gave him leave to voice his apologies?
I'm sorry, Father. For breaking the window, for flying my broom in the garden without permission, for speaking out of turn, for not beating Potter at Quidditch, for not making top grades on my OWLs. For being something other than a paper cutout of you. For wanting to get out. For wanting to have my own life to take, or to live as I pleased. For -
Draco forced his head up, forced himself to step forward and lean one hip against the desk defiantly. "But I'm not," he said defiantly, his voice unexpectedly loud in the silent room. "I'm not sorry. For any of it." His father was dead, and his rules with him.
Barely a whisper. Discipline. Draco whipped his head around, a faint breeze lifting strands of pale hair to dance around his face. Was it the dancing light cast by the candelabra on the desk that made the curtains seem to move of their own volition? He froze, eyes moving from shadow to shadow. Nothing is here, he told himself sternly. You're imagining things, he is dead, you watched him die. There's nothing here.
He shut his eyes, only to snap them open immediately as a breeze, light and gentle as silk, brushed against his cheek. The sound of his breathing was harsh in the silent, empty room. There is nothing here.
Nothing.
The very silence in the house seemed reproachful, mocking.
Draco retreated to the door of the study, then to the oaken front door, pausing in the entryway to stare up the staircase that dominated the hall. He was being ridiculous, he knew that. The house was empty, there was nothing here, he should just climb the stairs and find his room and go to bed. He stood immobile at the foot of the stair for an endless moment, until the faint, directionless wind tapped at his face again, stirring his hair lightly. Draco jumped, spun around, yanked open the door and all but ran down the steps. That is it. He wasn't staying in this place another minute.
He'd go to Gringotts first thing in the morning. They could sell the house, renovate it, tear it down, burn it to the ground for all he cared. He was done with all of it; all the ghosts, real or imagined, all the pain, all the recriminations and fear and false assumptions. It could all rot.
Like his father.
~*~
It was nearly a week before Neville managed to find time to call Ginny and arrange to meet her for lunch. She sent the children off to her mother in order to run errands, dropped by the Ministry and let Neville dragged her off to the Leaky Cauldron. They both nodded and smiled at the other wizards and witches in the bar room as they entered and old Tom led them to a small table near the back, shedding their cloaks in the warmth of the bar.
"Who knew that you were so impossible to get a hold of?" Neville said laughing as he pulled out a chair for Ginny then seated himself. "Ill have my usual, Tom, and I think Ginny would like shepherds pie." Neville raised an eyebrow inquiringly at Ginny, who nodded.
"I'm not impossible, and I'm not the one who's difficult to get hold of. I've sent you messages, you know," Ginny said reproachfully as she sat down. "And got no reply, I might add."
Neville blushed slightly. "Yes, well, you have a point. Its as much my fault, isn't it? Past time we got together and talked."
"I've been expecting this, actually," Ginny replied. "I figured Hermione would talk to you about Draco, and that it was only a matter of time before you decided to check in."
Neville smiled sheepishly. "I should probably have got in touch earlier than I have. I feel like a heel, waiting 'til you start dating Draco to talk to you. We don't talk as often as we should anymore."
"I know." Ginny leaned forward and gave Neville a quick pat on the arm. "I meant to owl you myself, actually. I have Ron and Hermione checking in every other day to make sure things are going well, meaning has he dumped you and left you sobbing and heartbroken like the evil, despicable cad he is? I need a different perspective...any alternative to that sort of thing is quite welcome."
Neville laughed. "Are they really?"
Ginny nodded. "Oh, yes. More Ron than Hermione. At least Hermione is subtle...Ron all but says that sort of thing outright. I think hell only be happy if I do come out and say yes, he's left me flat, the horrible bastard. The only reason he's being at all tolerant is because Hermione's keeping him under control, and he hasn't really come into close contact with Draco."
"And thank the Founders for that," Neville said with feeling.
"You're telling me. How would I explain that to the kids? "I'm sorry darlings, Uncle Ronnie killed Mummy's boyfriend."
Neville raised an eyebrow at Gin. "Boyfriend?"
She flushed pink and ducked her head. "Well...what else should I call him? The man who comes round and visits sometimes and buys ice cream, with occasional dinner dates and sometime snogs? Though it does feel a bit odd to have a boyfriend at my age."
"Yes, because you're so old, over there on the good side of thirty," Neville snorted. "So...snogs?"
Ginny grinned. "Ah...I see where this is going. You want details."
"Who, me?" Neville batted his eyelashes at her and tried to look innocent.
"Did Hermione put you up to this?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.
"Actually, no. I just wanted to get the other side of the story, as it were." Ginny's eyes widened. "He told you about it?"
"Not so much. Well, more like not at all," Neville admitted. "But he does get this kind of goofy little smile whenever he's seen you or is thinking about you. And you cheer him up, which is nice because he was in a downright foul mood all this week, until he talked to you."
"Really?" Ginny looked pleased.
"Yes, really. Although I don't think he realizes, or he wouldn't be so obvious about it." Neville smiled as Ginny giggled. "Its quite disgustingly cute, actually."
"I don't know that cute is a word I'd use to describe Draco," Ginny said, still giggling. "Handsome, yes, gorgeous, yes, cute...not so much."
"Got a point there. He's too angular to be cute."
"But such angles!"
"Why, if I didn't know better, I'd say you've been ogling Mr. Malfoy." Neville shook his head and grinned as she shook her head vigorously. "Yes, I rather think you have been. Honestly, you're as bad as Lavender. He's not a sex object, you know."
"Not yet, anyway." Ginny grinned wickedly.
"I'll be sure to tell him you said so."
"Oh, so you won't tell me what he thinks of me, but it's perfectly all right for you to tell him what I say about him?"
Neville snorted. "We don't talk about you. He doesn't talk about anything personal."
Ginny sighed at that. "He's so..." She trailed off, poking at the tabletop.
"So...?" Neville prompted. "So what?"
She frowned, brushing a stray curl off her face. "I don't know how to describe it. He's so--so contained. He's not hard to get along with, he's not mean, he's terribly polite, he's always darling to the children, he always answers if I ask him a direct question, yet I always have the feeling that he's hiding things. Not necessarily in a bad way, just that there are things he won't tell me. Like there are things he doesn't want me to know. Harry used to do that too, and it drove me crazy."
"Maybe its just that he's not comfortable with sharing some things with you yet," Neville said. "You've only been seeing each other for 2 months or so. If that."
"That's true. It just seems like sometimes all hell give me is superficial information. Like, I asked him when we were out last week to tell me about Canada, and while I did get a very interesting description of the major exports of some place with an incomprehensible name, he didn't tell me anything about who he'd met, or where he stayed, or if he has any friends there..." Ginny shrugged. "Well, you know what I mean."
"I guess he's got a right to keep some things to himself. You haven't told him your whole life story, have you? I mean, have you told him about, oh, the whole story behind how you and Harry split up?"
"Touché. No, I haven't," Ginny winced. "He got the watered-down version I give to strangers."
Neville offered a sympathetic smile. "The we grew apart one?"
"Well, I'd only just met him," Ginny said defensively, twisting an auburn curl around one finger. "I wasn't going to trot out the whole sordid tale. And its not like the short version isn't true to an extent."
"You cant blame him for keeping things from you if you're doing the same thing," Neville pointed out reasonably.
"I know, and its not that, really. Its just" Ginny stopped and sighed. "It seems strange to say it, but I really do want this to work out. I want all the hard, awkward, getting-to-know-you bits to be over already so we can get to the happy bits."
Neville raised an eyebrow. "Happy bits? That sounds...rather racy. Tell me more." Ginny laughed. "I meant the laughing at silly things, and kissing and goofing around and cuddling and bits. The fun things. Not racy bits. Not that I would object to racy bits, mind you."
"So Mr. Malfoy has been a perfect gentleman thus far?"
Ginny blushed again. "Yes. Although I think if Ron and 'Mione hadn't been upstairs last week, I think he would have been somewhat less of a gentleman, and done more than just kiss me goodnight on my front step." She pouted a bit. "Damn Harry anyway."
"He a good kisser?" Neville asked, then clapped his hand over his mouth in horror. "Um...never mind, I didn't ask that."
Ginny's eyes went wide, then she whooped with laughter and half-fell out of her chair. Neville went red and tried to hide his face in the tablecloth. "Oh my God! Neville, are you thinking nasty things about my man?"
"No! Nonono! I didn't ask! I didn't mean it! No!"
"You are!"
"No!"
"You are! Oh my, that's blackmail material, that is. Don't cross me now, or I'll tell Draco that you're lusting after him!"
"I am not lusting after him! I'm not!" Neville groaned and uncovered his face, propping his chin on one hand. "At least, I'm trying not to. Though, I doubt he'd be all that surprised. I think he knows."
Ginny blinked. "What, that you think he's gorgeous? He doesn't know you're..." She trailed off, knowing how uncomfortable it made Neville to talk about it.
"Um. He does, actually. He's known practically since he got back. He guessed."
"Guessed? How?"
"I have no idea. Said he had a hunch. He's good at that sort of thing, guessing things you'd rather have him not know. Makes him good at being an Auror, but he's hard to keep secrets from. You might want to bear that in mind."
Ginny raised an eyebrow at Neville, but her response was interrupted by the arrival of Tom, who brought their food and shuffled off again. Ginny waited until the old barkeep was out of earshot before replying. "Well, its not like I have a great many secrets to keep, so I don't think that will be a problem."
"I know, I just meant that it would be difficult to hide anything from him. I mean, if he could guess something about me in three weeks that Hermione hasn't guessed in almost twenty years..."
"Yes, but you didn't even know 'til after graduation, so its not really Hermione's fault she hasn't figured it out yet. And while 'Mione is brilliant at most things, she can be dreadfully unobservant." Ginny gazed at Neville seriously. "But back to our original topic. If you want me to spill details such as is Draco a good kisser, then you have to give me details too, and share what you know of his shrouded past."
Neville frowned at her. "There's not much to share. He doesn't talk to me any more than he talks to you. Probably less, really. He's been in Canada, he isn't a death eater, he doesn't like to be around magic anymore and he has absolutely no interest whatsoever in his old friends or in the Dark Arts." He described the meeting with Pansy the week before. "And then he damn near bit my head off when I joked that he should meet with her."
Ginny made a face. "I never did like Pansy Parkinson. And besides, she's married to that awful Flint man."
Neville gave her a lopsided grin. "Jealous?"
"Not at all!" Ginny snorted. "Jealous of Pansy Parkinson? That'll be the day."
He nodded sagely. "Jealous."
Ginny jabbed her fork at him. "I am not! What's to be jealous of anyway? She's a nasty little piece of work and terribly unattractive, and I am - "
"Harry Potter's ex-wife."
Ginny visibly deflated. "Please don't tell me that he's only using me for revenge on Harry. I've already been through it with 'Mione and with Ron, and I'd really rather not do it again."
"I wasn't going to say that, actually, just pointing out an obvious fact. Draco does not like Harry, and although he likes you a great deal, I think you should be prepared for things not to go as smoothly as you might wish," Neville said. "And speaking of Harry, have you told him yet?"
Ginny blanched. "No, not yet."
"Are you going to tell him sometime in the near future?"
"I'm getting to it," she said irritably. "Ill tell him eventually."
"You'd better or he'll find out from someone else. I'm pretty sure Lavender knows that you and Draco are dating, and if Lavender knows something then all of England might as well. Or he might pull a Ron and get it from one of the children, and then where will you be? Harry is not exactly rational on the subject of Draco Malfoy."
"I will tell him," Ginny repeated. "Soon." She paused. "Ish."
Neville rolled his eyes. "Want me to do it?"
"Oh, yes, that'd go over swimmingly, wouldn't it? He's already had his issues with you, I'm sure he'd take it ever so well if you told him about Draco."
Neville shrugged. "Just offering."
"I know, and I know you mean well, but you know what Harry's like when he's angry."
Neville rolled his eyes. "Do I ever."
Ginny paused and set her fork down. "I don't know if I ever told you how grateful I was to have you after he and I split up. Everything you went through for me...I really appreciated it."
"'Twas nothing, really." Neville blushed and looked down at his plate. "What friends do for each other. You know that."
Ginny smiled. "Yes, I know. Thank you anyway."
"You can thank me by telling Harry about Draco," Neville said with a sly grin. "Since I don't relish the idea of losing my partner to the wrath of Harry Potter."
"I will," Ginny said placatingly. "I promise I will."
~*~
NB: The self-lighting candles are from Robin McKinley's Beauty: A Retelling of the Story of Beauty and the Beast, which is an enchanting book and well worth reading again and again. The idea that Malfoy Manor is near Chipping Sodbury (which is,
in fact, a small town near Bath, although its closer to Bristol) is from Cassandra Claire's DD/DS/DV series.
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