Part 3 of 4

iii. taking the heat

A hex whizzes over Draco's head as he ducks and rolls. He shoots out an answering one of his own before he has even gained his feet again, but Weasley was expecting it and deflects easily with a shield charm. Draco throws him another hex almost before the shield drops again and is pleased to see it graze Weasley's shoulder. Weasley's arm starts swelling as he attacks Draco with a rapid succession of hexes. Draco bends and throws up shield charms almost without a thought; he is about to raise his wand to shout off a new hex when the instructor ends the mock duel with a sharply shouted, "Enough!"

"Very good," he tells them, motioning the next pair to take their turn.

Draco turns round and gives Weasley a feral grin as the redhead waves his wand over his hurt arm to end the swelling.

"Not half bad for a ferret," Weasley tells him approvingly.

"Why thank you, your Weasel highness," he answers with a small mocking bow.

After the small exchange of pleasantries, they both turn their attention towards the currently duelling duo. Potter is easily running circles around Partridge.

"Potter, stop toying with him and finish him off," the instructor yells, exasperated.

Potter is by far the best duellist of their year. Draco still sports an angry red burn from the last time he had to duel him. At the time, it was all he could do to keep Neville from going up to Potter and demanding satisfaction when he saw it. Draco indulges in a small private smile at the memory.

Soon enough, the class ends, and the unlikely trio head to the changing rooms to get out of their sweaty training robes. It never ceases to amaze Draco how all it took was Neville's steadfast endorsement and almost a year of being painfully nice (he is never repeating that!) for Neville's friends to accept him. Potter and Weasley, in particular, have taken to viewing him as some sort of repentant morally disabled youth and took him under their wings. Draco pretends to be annoyed, but truth be told, all he always wanted was Potter's acceptance; and as it turns out, Weasley isn't too bad after all.

Once in the changing rooms, Weasley quickly strips off his robe, nearly blinding Draco with his broad expanse of criminally freckled back. Next to him, Potter is undressing more demurely, almost shyly. Draco undresses ostentatiously, making sure Potter gets a good look of the burn mark on his side before he slips on a clean robe. Draco never fails to be amused at how easy it is to make Potter feel guilty.

"What is this I hear?" Weasley asks as he laces up his shoes. "The papers say you've got yourself a girlfriend. Blimey, you must be important if the papers report on your sorry love life!"

"It was only in the gossip pages," Draco answers. "Potter here got first page coverage when he made up with your sister."

"Oh shut up!" Potter admonishes him with a slight blush. "They say you plan on marrying her," he adds curiously.

Potter has long suspected that Draco may in fact be gay. Draco refuses to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

"If you actually found a bird who will put up with your pasty arse, you shouldn't let her go. That's what I say," is Weasley's opinion.

Draco looks down his nose at them. It is not an easy feat, considering Weasley is more than half a head taller.

"Just because the two of you are dead set on walking down the aisle and wasting no time in filling the world with your spawn, it doesn't mean that the rest of us are in a hurry to follow your lead," he retorts.

Weasley scowls, and Potter blushes in response. It is no secret that Weasley has proposed to Granger three times so far, and each time she told him that it was too early, and they should wait a bit longer. Nor is it a particularly well kept secret that Potter has taken to carrying around a diamond ring, in the hope that he will eventually acquire the courage to ask his ginger girlfriend to be his wife.

"And since you are so curious about my affairs, Asteria is not my girlfriend, and I am not going to marry her. I am not planning on marrying anyone in the foreseeable future."

Draco doesn't know why he feels the need to clarify things. He usually likes to keep the knowledge of his private affairs as murky as possible. But somehow he has the notion that he owes it to Neville, especially since the other man seems so jealous of little Asteria.

Neville's jealousy amuses and gratifies Draco. How could someone like Neville be jealous? Why would someone like Neville be jealous over Draco? Neville should know by now that no one else could possibly compare to him. How could Draco even consider looking at someone else when he has Neville? Neville who said he loved him.

Even thinking about Neville's simple, almost diffident, proclamations makes Draco's heart expand in his chest painfully and his breath catch. He hardly dares hope that something like that could be true, but if Neville says so, it must be. Neville never lies, except when Draco asks him to.

Draco knows that Neville doesn't like lying about their relationship, but there is no way around it. How can Draco ever tell his father that he is gay? Or his mother? His mother, who has her heart set on grandchildren and seeing her son married and happily settled. Doesn't Neville realise that after all his parents have lost, he can't take this from them as well?

But where does that leave Draco? Will he have to get married eventually? And if so, why not to Asteria? She is a very sweet girl, funny and easy to get along with, once you surpass her initial shyness. She would make a very pleasant and accommodating wife. Draco shies away from the thought. How can he possibly give Neville up and spend the rest of his life with a woman?

The neverending litany of circular and conflicting thoughts start to make Draco's head pound as he morosely follows his classmates to the pub. He proceeds to try and drink his confusion and rising panic away, even though it is still only lunchtime.

~ o ~

Narcissa pensively stirs a dash of lemon into her second cup of tea of the morning. Outside it is slowly getting brighter, a rare December morning that isn't completely overcast.

The time is steadily getting later, perilously close to midday, and Narcissa has long finished her breakfast. She has read the Daily Prophet from cover to cover, and yet she is still at the breakfast table, waiting. Lying in wait, actually. She would haughtily refute anyone who dared mention that was what she was in fact doing, but the undeniable truth is that, this Sunday morning, she is laying in wait for her son, who has yet to return home.

Narcissa is not worried about her son's whereabouts; she knows exactly where he spent the night, and where he obviously still is, and she can think of no safer place for him to spend his time. She has long pretended to be unaware of all the times her son neglects to return home for the night – but truly, how could Draco believe her to be ignorant of anything that goes on in her household?

This morning, however, she wants to catch him out. She hopes that forcing a confrontation might extract the confession she's seeking, because subtle machinations have so far failed to bear fruit.

Despite all her foisting of Asteria Greengrass on him, her manipulation of the press, and her constant nudges and hints, Draco has yet to crack. He is showing strain, in the lines of worry and frustration that have appeared on his high forehead, and in his ineffectual outrage at Rita Skeeter's writings – he even composed and sent a cutting letter of complaint to the Prophet in one of his fits of pique, but little was he to know that it was no match for Narcissa's well placed bribes and promises; but he has yet to crack.

Narcissa is beginning to worry at her son's restraint; it is most unlike him to be so stoic. She counted on him giving in at the first sign of adversity and loudly proclaiming his opposition to Narcissa's obvious matrimonial plans for him.

Draco was never one to suffer in silence, nor was he one to willingly forsake something that made him happy. Narcissa is starting to suspect that she might have over-estimated her son's feelings for his lover. It would be a shame if she had, because she believes Neville Longbottom to be good for Draco. But, on the other hand, if it is so, then maybe she needn't give up her dream of grandchildren after all. In any case, things have to be resolved soon.

Narcissa's tea is almost cold enough to be undrinkable, and she has wasted the whole morning waiting, when Draco finally returns. She hears the whoosh of the Floo in the reception room, and Draco's cautious steps as he tries to sneak to his rooms.

Soon enough, she spies his rumpled figure creeping past the wide open doors of the oriental sitting room she purposely chose to breakfast in.

"Good morning, Draco," she says sharply, startling him.

Draco jumps and turns to give her a sheepish look. "Mother, what are you doing here?" he asks.

"Having a late breakfast and wondering where my errant son could be," she answers haughtily, feeling annoyed at having been kept waiting for so long.

"Hmm..." Draco studies his feet as two bright pink spots appear high on his cheekbones.

"If I remember correctly, you took Asteria out to dinner yesterday evening. Have you been with her until this time?" Narcissa demands with narrowed eyes.

She doesn't for a minute believe he has, but playing stupid has served her well on many occasions.

Draco's eyes widen in shock. "No, of course not!" he exclaims. "You know I don't think of Asteria like that!"

Narcissa raises a questioning eyebrow, demanding a more satisfactory answer.

"I was out with friends," Draco mumbles. "We lost track of time, had a little bit too much to drink, and I ended up spending the night at a friend's house."

"And would that friend be, by any chance, Neville Longbottom?" Narcissa asks pointedly.

"Yes," is the defensive reply.

Narcissa hums in response, managing to infuse even that with suspicion and a wealth of innuendo.

Draco doesn't rise to the bait; he simply stares at her mulishly.

Such a difficult boy, Narcissa thinks before changing tack.

"I don't see what you find lacking in Asteria Greengrass," she says airily. "She's a charming young lady with a beautiful temperament. Quite perfect, really. I think you're just being picky and contrary."

Narcissa raises an eyebrow, daring him to refute her.

Draco's expression clearly betrays his disagreement, but still he says nothing.

Damn the boy! Sometimes he is just as stubborn as his father, Narcissa thinks. Obviously subtlety and finesse will not do the job. Narcissa doesn't like being obvious and crass, but if she has to, she will.

"Draco dear," she says slowly, "I know you believe you're still young, but it really is time you considered matrimony.

"Becoming an Auror, and befriending two such illustrious heroes has done wonders towards reforming your image – and that of the family – in the eyes of the world, and is making them overlook the mistakes of your poor father and your own difficult youth.

"If you were to marry, or at least show the intention of doing so, it would prove once and for all that you have become a serious, upstanding young man who will become a conscientious and productive member of the wizarding community."

Draco's eyes are bulging, filled with disbelief and desperation, and his face is chalk white; yet he still stays silent.

Narcissa has no choice but to ruthlessly continue.

"I believe Asteria would make an ideal mate for you. You could have a long engagement, and I'm sure you'll learn to love her. That is, unless you have a previous attachment you neglected to mention. Have you, darling?" Narcissa looks at Draco pointedly, her gaze laden with meaning.

And still Draco says nothing. His face grey, he chokes out a "no" and flees the room.

Narcissa sits back, most disappointed in her son. She knows she hasn't made things easy for him, but she believes that if one truly wants something, it is worth fighting for it. Overcoming adversity will only make his bond with Neville stronger. Otherwise... Well, if he doesn't fight for it, then he doesn't want it enough, and he definitely doesn't deserve it. Either way, Narcissa plans on coming out victorious.

~ o ~

Outside, a light snow is falling as the sky gradually turns dark and evening comes. Inside his greenhouse, Neville seems oblivious to all of this. Floating lamps illuminate every cranny of the lush space, throwing into bright relief every leafy plant and every gaily coloured flower. It is so hot and humid inside, the windows are foggy, and Neville is wearing a simple cardigan over his shirt.

The whimsical wind-chime hanging above the door of the large greenhouse - a present from Luna Lovegood - chirrups and gurgles and whistles as the aforementioned young lady enters, but Neville is so engrossed in pruning his Avaricious Orchid he doesn't even notice.

Humming to herself, Luna makes her way through the densely populated greenhouse, petting and murmuring greetings and encouragement to the plants she passes.

At the back of the greenhouse, tucked into the very corner, is Neville's office. It's a cramped space, with a rickety set of shelves overbrimming with folders and gardening manuals, a large old desk, with a teapot and some mugs on it, and three mismatched chairs.

Luna places her package on the table, takes off her heavy coat, and unwinds her long multicoloured scarf to reveal a bright pink nose and cheeks to match. She fills the teapot with water she quickly sets to boiling with a murmured spell, and starts hunting through the drawers of the desk for the teabags. She eventually locates them under a box of seeds and pops two into the water.

Satisfied, she walks over to the still oblivious Neville, bends over and kisses his cheek in greeting.

"Luna!" Neville exclaims, startled. "When did you get here?"

"Not long ago," Luna answers airily. "Come on, let's have some tea. It should be ready by now."

*

Neville always enjoys Luna's weekly visits for tea and scones. She remains one of his oldest and dearest friends and the only one who has always supported him unconditionally, no matter what. Today she has brought persimmon scones, which go surprisingly well with the strong tea Neville favours.

Luna looks around the greenhouse with her usual wide-eyed gaze of pleasure and wonder.

"I'm so glad you decided to make this greenhouse," she tells him. "It's one of my favourite places, it's so friendly and joyous and crowded. And it makes you happy."

Neville blushes slightly, even though she says almost the same thing every time she comes.

"Yes, it does make me happy," he agrees. "Now, if I could just find a way to earn a proper living from it."

Luna waves his worries away, like she always does, uninterested in negative thoughts.

"It's good you have this right now," she says, "since you don't look like your Draco is making you very happy at the moment."

Neville looks around anxiously as he tries to shush her.

"Luna," he whispers uneasily, "you're not supposed to talk about that!"

"Oh, Neville!" Luna's laugh is light and tinkling. "The plants don't care about you and Draco. They told me they rather approve. Only the Fearful Fern says she would rather you indulged in your strange human coupling on the other side of the greenhouse. It makes her nervous, you see."

Neville blushes and glances at the fern suspiciously.

Luna catches his nervous glance and laughs, entertained, before turning earnest once more. "I wouldn't be talking about it, you know, if it wasn't so obvious you need to talk about it."

Neville deflates and slumps back into his chair. Luna is right, as she always is. She reads him far too well. It is no wonder she is the only person who knows about Neville and Draco. She sensed it almost immediately, without Neville having said anything.

Needless to say, he made her swear not to tell anyone, least of all Draco. Luna has kept her promise, but refuses to understand the point of it.

"Anyone can see that the two of you are in love. It's really rather silly of you to pretend to hide it," she often tells Neville, but he's relatively certain that she's the only one who has figured it out so far. He and Draco are too careful.

Neville sighs and looks at Luna dolefully, not sure where to even begin.

"You're fretting over Asteria Greengrass, aren't you?" she asks insightfully.

Neville nods morosely, feeling like a sulky child.

"Silly boy," Luna tells him, obviously reading his thoughts. "I'm sure Draco enjoys Asteria's company – she's a lovely girl, and she has a wonderful reading voice – and he has been seeing a lot of her, but it's you he loves, you know that. You're really just getting all worked up over nothing."

When Neville still looks grumpy and unconvinced, Luna wrinkles her brow in a show of slight frustration.

"Is Draco jealous over your friendship with me? Or have you seen him wearing a Delusion Bracelet?" she asks, as close to exasperated as he's ever seen her.

"No, of course not!" Neville retorts. "Draco knows we are just friends! And, anyway, Gran isn't trying to make me marry you."

"And you know Draco doesn't wear jewellery," he adds as an afterthought.

Luna laughs, amused. "Your gran doesn't think much of me. I believe she called me flighty. But I'm sure she has picked out a girl or two she'd like you to marry."

Neville blushes, remembering various conversations with his gran where she mentioned likely young ladies.

"Yeah," he is forced to concede, "but the difference is that I refuse to humour her, because I'm not planning on marrying anyone else!"

Neville flushes and looks away, the last having come out a lot louder than he had planned.

Luna sits back to nibble at the last scone with a satisfied look on her face. Neville groans; he just knows she's going to persuade him to do something he doesn't want to.

"Well, there you have it," Luna concludes with a smile.

"There I have what?" Neville is feeling sulky and not in the mood for Ravenclaw guessing games.

"You should tell Draco what you told me."

At Neville's blank look, Luna is forced to continue. "Tell him you don't want either of you going out with other people. Tell him you're afraid he might decide to get married to someone else beside you. Tell him you want to stop pretending to hide."

Neville sputters, overwhelmed. "I never said anything about going public! I can't tell him that!"

"It's obvious you want to," Luna replies calmly. "And you really should tell him. You deserve to be happy, Neville."

"But what if I lose him?" Neville is embarrassed by how small and lost his voice sounds.

"You won't," Luna reassures him, her voice so certain Neville is almost persuaded. "What happened to the brave Neville I used to know? Everything will turn out as it should, you'll see."

Neville hums in reply, deep in thought. Luna is right, as usual. He hasn't been very happy for the last two months, yet the thought of losing Draco paralyses him with fear.

Neville is so lost in churning conflicting thoughts, that he barely notices when Luna softly kisses him goodbye and leaves.

Does he dare ask for what he wants, even if it might mean losing his blond lover?