Chapter Text
The days that followed Neville’s arrival were both a trial and a test of Draco’s patience.
Neville Longbottom, with his broad shoulders and gentle hands, had somehow taken root in Draco’s carefully guarded life. There was no ignoring Neville, no brushing aside the quiet warmth Neville brought into Draco’s house, or the effortless way he handled the wildness of the garden.
The man radiated steadiness and patience, grounding everything around him in a way that made Draco ache with a longing he couldn’t even begin to ignore.
Draco knew better than to let himself hope though, he, more than most, knew that hope was a dangerous thing.
The soulmate bond was a cruel joke, Draco decided. The magic tying him to Neville was undeniable, humming just beneath his skin every time they touched. But it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. And no matter how much his Veela instincts screamed otherwise, now matter how much the mantra of mate, mate, mate was rattling around in his head, Draco refused to believe that Neville would ever want someone as broken as him. And not just broken. He had been cruel; he had believed in the evils his father had installed in him. He had caused irreversible harm and then, as soon as his mother was there, he had ran from the consequences of his own actions. He still had nightmares about the fiendfyre. About watching his best friend burn to death as he flew away and left him there to his fate. It didn’t matter that Draco knew, especially looking back, that there was nothing he could have done. But even now, a small part of him screamed that he should have died with him. That he should have been in Gregory’s place. And Neville deserved better than that. Better than a half arsed teenage death eater who found it hard to keep gainful employment and who had retreated to the middle of nowhere to escape from the rest of the world, wishing desperately that he could escape from himself and what he was too.
And so Draco did the only thing he could to protect both himself and Neville. He pushed Neville away. With sharp words, cold glares, and a thousand little ways, Draco had learnt to keep someone at arm’s length.
Neville however, was nothing if not persistent.
It was late afternoon when a real argument finally happened between the two of them.
They had been working in the garden all day, a particularly stubborn patch of Venomous Thorns were refusing to be subdued annoying both of the men until the tension between them finally boiled over.
Neville had leant closer to Draco than usual, his hand brushing against Draco’s wrist. Every inch of Draco froze. The heat of the bond surging between them, making Draco’s breath catch in his throat and scaring him with its intensity. For a moment, he thought that Neville was going to kiss him. And worse, he knew he would let him.
At least until the panic set in.
“No,” Draco said sharply, stepping back as though Neville’s touch had burnt him. “Don’t!.”
Neville blinked up at Draco, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t mistake this for something. It’s not Longbottom,” Draco snapped, his voice colder than he intended for it to be. “Whatever you’re feeling, it’s not real. It’s just the bond. Just … my Veela magic is just messing with your head.”
Neville’s eyes narrowed as anger flared brightly in his eyes. “Do you think I don’t know my own mind? My own feelings? That I’m that easily led?” He asked Draco angrily.
“I think you don’t know me, not really,” Draco bit out. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t want me.” With that, Draco turned and stormed away. He refused to look behind himself, to look at whatever expression was on Neville’s face. He didn’t deserve to, after all.
Draco barely made it into his study before he lost control of his magic. His Veela instincts had already been frayed by his constant suppression of them. They surged through him, mixing with his darker Malfoy magic, the things that he had learnt that hadn’t just tainted his soul, but his very magic itself. They combined to form a wild magic the like of which Draco had never experienced before. He felt as it poured out of him, along with a low keen of the heartbreak he had brought on himself. It forced its way out of him, causing the air to crackle and simmer as it spread out, Draco in the centre of the maelstrom.
From his study, it soon reached out through every crack imaginable, forcing itself out into Draco’s already temperamental and volatile garden.
The plants responded to his magic instantly. Treating it as a threat, an invader.
Vines thickened and writhed, their thorns sharpened as they twisted toward the house. The air grew heavy, the magic of the estate turning on Draco with a vengeance.
And then they attacked.
The first vine lashed out through an open window, wrapping around Draco’s wrist and dragging him toward the garden. Others followed, wrapping around his legs and chest, their thorns biting into his skin.
Draco fought back, magic flaring as he tried to break free. But the garden was relentless as it tried to drag him to his death.
When the first vine wrapped around Draco’s throat, his Veela traits rose up. Claws, a beak, wings, all rising to the forefront of his appearance to help him survive that which was attacking him.
His wings erupted from his back in a blast of silver and white heat, luminous and much too large for the room he was in, and the vines holding him. The sheer force of their appearance sent the nearest vines recoiling away, but only for a moment.
They came back quickly enough. After all, his garden was hungry, and even Draco’s Veela powers weren’t enough to hold them back for long.
Draco was on his knees, his wings arcing around him like a protective shield, when Neville burst onto the scene.
“Draco!” Neville shouted, being heard above the chaos.
Draco looked up, his vision hazy, his mind muddled. “Get out of here!” he managed to call out, now terrified for Neville as well as himself.
“Not bloody likely,” Neville snapped out, drawing his wand almost instantly. His battle hardened reflexes surging to the forefront of his mind. This was just another enemy to be defeated, Neville told himself. It didn’t matter how much he loathed fighting, he, of all people, knew what it meant to fight for his life and looking at Draco, he realised this was a fight that could easily lead to Draco’s death. Something Neville would not allow.
As Neville moved closer, Draco’s wings caught his eye, and he froze for a heartbeat. The shape, the feathers, the sheer brilliance of them. It was exactly the same as what had been etched on to his very skin for weeks.
“I knew it,” Neville muttered to himself, awed despite the danger around them.
Draco didn’t have the strength to respond to anything Neville said. All he could do was let out a little whine of warning as he saw a vine about to lash out at the other man. The vines tried to strike Neville, to capture him like they had Draco, but Neville was ready. Neville was prepared. And you didn’t get to be the youngest Herbology Master without knowing how to subdue even the most viscous and determined of plants after all.
With that thought, Neville moved forwards with a determination Draco had never seen on him before. His magic was ruthless, but calm. Cutting through vines, flower buds and roots alike as he forced a path from the door where he was standing to Draco who was still on his knees, vines trying to wrap around him as his wings flapped slower and slower.
“Let him go!” Neville suddenly roared as he saw another vein going back to strangle Draco.
Neville growled as he pulled in all his magic and doped to the floor, slamming his fist into it, causing a shock wave of energy that had all the plants shuddering. |Neville did it again but with more force. Suddenly the vines dropped Draco unceremoniously and retreated out of the study as fast as they possibly could.
Finally, with one last thump to the ground, the garden retreated back where it came from, outside. Neville could feel the malevolence thrumming out of it, but for now the semi sentient plants understood that they would die if they tried that again, that Neville wouldn’t coax and cajole them as he had been doing. No, he would kill them all and they picked up on that as the plants all retreated as far from the house as their roots would let them.
Draco finally collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath whilst his wings flickered behind him until they finally settled enough to settle back in their normal place, folded in along his back.
Neville was at Draco’s side in an instant, his hands steady as they gripped Draco’s shoulders. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice tight with concern.
Draco nodded weakly, his body trembling. “You … saved me.”
Neville snorted, though his expression softened at Draco’s admission of disbelief. “Well yeah. I wasn’t going to let you get eaten by your own garden. That’s a bit dramatic, even for you, right?”
Draco managed a faint laugh at that, though it soon turned into a wince as he tried to stretch out his wings. “My wings,” he muttered as he looked behind him bashfully. .
“They’re beautiful,” Neville said, without hesitation. “You’re beautiful, you know that, right?” Neville asked Draco with the most serious expression Draco had seen on his face. “You …” He paused, swallowing hard as he looked into Draco’s stunning eyes. “You know they match my soul mark, right, Draco? That I have an exact replica of your wings tattooed onto me by magic herself?”
Draco’s breath caught again as his eyes meet Neville’s. He wasn’t sure what to do, what to say, but he didn’t want to mess this up, not again. Instead, he held a hand out, surprising Neville, who instantly reached out to help him.
“Come on, I’m not having this kind of conversation on my study floor after I was almost made fertiliser,” Draco said as he slowly stretched out his body and his wings, ignoring the way Neville’s eyes were roaming over him. “Do you drink Firewhiskey?” Draco suddenly asked, snapping Neville back to attention. At Neville’s nod, Draco nodded back before marching out of the study, muttering under his breath as he did so. “Good, if anyone deserves a drink, it’s after being almost eaten by their own bloody garden.”
Neville couldn’t stop the smile that crossed his face at Draco’s muttering as he followed him out of the study and into the living room.
A short time later found the two of them sat comfortably in the living room that was being dimly lit from the hearth that was casting long shadows across the walls.
Draco was all but entranced by the scent of firewhiskey that hung in the air, rich and heady, especially as it was mingling with the faint, earthy smell of soil that always seemed to cling to Neville. It made Draco conscious of the fact that his claws wanted to come out, that they wanted to grip hold of Neville and hold him tight. It especially didn’t help that his inner veela was screaming, “strong mate, brave mate, mate saved us“. He knew all that, he had been there, he didn’t need some inner bird brand consciousness screaming it at him too, especially as he was sat in the farthest corner of the couch, his hands wrapped tightly around his glass to stop himself from reaching out, from taking, from possessing the wonderful man before him.
Draco hadn’t spoken much since the attack, and Neville, perched on the armchair opposite him as he was, seemed to be waiting him out.
But patience only went so far. Even for someone as generally mild-mannered as Neville.
“I’m not leaving until we at least talk about this,” Neville said, his voice calm but firm.
Draco stared into his glass, watching as the amber liquid caught the firelight. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
Neville snorted in disbelief and a bit of annoyance as he leant forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Nothing to talk about, yeah? You nearly got eaten alive by your own garden, sprouted bloody wings, and, oh, let’s not forget, those wings happen to match the soul mark I’ve been staring at for weeks perfectly. But sure, there’s nothing to talk about.”
Draco’s jaw tightened as he refused to look up at Neville. “It’s not that simple.”
“It is,” Neville countered immediately, his tone sharper. “You’re my soulmate, Draco. That’s not something I’m just going to ignore. And you shouldn’t either.”
Draco finally looked up, his eyes glittering in the firelight. “Do you think I don’t know that?” he asked, his voice low and raw, vulnerable in a way Neville had ever imagined Draco to be. “Do you think I don’t feel it every time you’re near? The bond … it’s all unbearable, Neville. It’s constant. It’s …it’s you and it’s there and it’s under my skin, no matter what I do. It’s lodged inside me now and every about it screams for me to take, to possess, to leave nothing left of you that isn’t connected to me. And it bloody terrifies me!”
Neville’s expression softened, but he didn’t move closer. He gave Draco space, letting the words come to the other man without interruption.
Draco took a deep breath, his grip on the tumbler tightening slightly. “Do you know what it’s like? Being a Veela without a mate? It’s like walking around with half your soul missing. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to … to claim you, to keep you close, to make sure you’re safe. This feeling has been driving me crazy ever since the enchantments lifted when I was 17. 8 years and I’ve had to hide and lie and push back a part of myself because I could never have. I never deserved someone, anyone, least of all someone like you.”
Neville’s brows furrowed at Draco’s confession, at the obvious toll this had all been taking on him for much too long. “Why not?”
“Because I’m me,” Draco snapped out, the words bitter on his tongue. “Because my family is infamous. Because I have blood on my hands. Because I don’t deserve …” He cut himself off mid word, his throat tightening as he ignored the prickling in his eyes.
“You don’t get to decide what I deserve,” Neville said quietly, his voice steady as he stared into Draco’s eyes, warming his very soul. “And you don’t get to decide what I feel.”
Draco swallowed hard at the determination in Neville’s eyes, his gaze dropping away again quickly. “You’re better off without me.”
“Don’t you think I should be the one to decide that?” Neville asked, leaning back slightly. He took a slow sip of his firewhiskey before setting the glass down on the table between them. “Because here’s the thing, Malfoy. I’m not here because of the bond. I’m here because I want to be. I care about you.”
Draco blinked, the words confusing as well as elating him. “You … care?”
Neville gave Draco a small, wry smile. “Yeah, I do. Don’t know why half the time … you’re infuriating, you know that? But you’re also brilliant, and brave, and under all the prickly bits, you’ve got a good heart. And if you think I’m going to let you push me away because you’re scared, you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought you were, to be honest.”
Draco huffed out a laugh, though it was more shaky than amused. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It doesn’t have to be complicated, not really,” Neville said. “We don’t have to figure everything out tonight. But if this bond is real, and we both know it is, then I think we owe it to ourselves to try.”
Draco was silent for a long moment. Finally, he set his glass down, his hands trembling slightly as he did so. “I’m sorry,” he murmured as he looked up into Neville’s eyes, soft brown and full of kindness and hope. Looking into them almost took Draco’s breath away, and it took everything he had for him to finish his sentence, to get his thoughts out. “For earlier, I mean. For … well, for everything.”
Neville stood then, closing the small distance between the two of them. He sat down on the couch beside Draco, careful not to crowd him, but close enough that their knees brushed together. “It’s all good. We’re here, after all, after everything, aren’t we?”
Draco hesitated, then nodded. “I’m not used to this.”
“Neither am I,” Neville admitted, his voice warm. “But maybe we can figure it out together.”
For the first time in days, Draco felt the knot in his chest loosen. He let out a shaky breath as his eyes meet Neville’s again. “Together, then.”
Neville smiled as he gently took Draco’s hand and kissed the back of it, causing the other to gasp aloud as he did so.
It was a small, innocent act compared to many of the thoughts Draco had had about Neville in the last few days, but it was proof to Draco that they didn’t have to rush this. That they had time. That they could work this out between them, especially as it appeared Draco would need Neville to stop him from getting eaten by his own plants.
It was then Draco groaned out loud at a new realisation. “What is it?” Neville asked softly.
“I shall have to actually thank Potter properly. He will be insufferable,” Draco said with faux annoyance that turned into a soft smile as Neville threw his head back and laughed loudly, filling in the spaces between them.
“Eh, I will tell him. Besides, it’s not hat bad an outcome, is it?” Neville asked quietly after he had calmed down.
No, not that bad at all, Draco thought as he settled beside Neville, their entire sides touching now. For the first time in much too long, for the first time until he had been confused and scared and a child forced to play at war, just like Neville, he was feeling free, was feeling like he had a future, that he had hope. And he had hope that he and Neville could, would, make this work. That they could help one another be exactly what they needed. Draco hoped that more would come in time. But for now, his need for both his soul mate and his veela mate was appeased. For the first time in much too long, he was at peace and it was all due to the unassuming, and yet wonderfully kind and powerful man at his side.
Yes, not a bad outcome at all, Draco thought to himself as he allowed his head to roll over and rest on Neville’s shoulder as the two of them sat together in a comfortable silence, watching the flames in the hearth roar.