Chancy Is The Night - Part 4/4
Title: Chancy Is The Night (4/4)
Author: E. M. Pink, also 
quivo
Link: Also on 
ehcu, friendslocked fic journal of me. So read here, as usual.
Type: Fiction
Length: Novella – basically about 24,000 words. In this chapter, about 7,000.
Pairings: Neville Longbottom/Male Canon Character
Cliché I’m subverting? Vampire!fic
Warnings: Dub-con, some bloodplay. Implied cross-gen pairing. Some cracky undertones.
Rating: NC-17, as this stuff is graphic.
Summary: Many years after the second war, Neville has weathered several twists and turns in his life and of those in his world. It is on the brink of another that he finds himself in a strange place, with an even stranger companion. And not one that he would ever have chosen…
Notes: Obviously post-war and post-Hogwarts, of course. Implied het. This was done with help from my kind beta, Kristina, my kind friend, Kheha, and my generous flist. Thanks to everyone who had an opinion on this – your enthusiasm carried me through the rough patches! Oh, and thanks to everyone who helped with notes about ferries and so on, your help really, er, helped.
Part IV
Footsteps. Neville jerked to attention, cursing slightly for drifting into a doze.
Much good it did him. Five vampires. Five. And all of them old, experienced, laughing to themselves over something or other, discussing something in raucous French that occasionally erupted into the cursing that Neville knew and understood. Neville tried to stay still, to keep mum, but it was inevitable that they would notice, that they would sit up and laugh and glide over to examine him with cold hands and curious comments, occasionally laughing.
At him? At the way he couldn’t seem to stop shaking? Neville didn’t know. All he knew was his intense desire to be somewhere very distant from here, and now.
One of them turned him over and tore off his bandage with a swift, contemptuous flick of her powerful wrist, and began to poke and prod at his tender neck wound as he gulped in fear. The murmuring of the other vampires became more heated, as if they were arguing amongst themselves. Neville heard, or thought he heard Ted’s last name being said a few times, and hoped. Just hoped.
The door that wasn’t there burst open, and in strode…oh, thank Merlin –
“Bonsoir,” Ted said, insolently, bowing shortly. Neville gulped, fighting not to look away. Was there some sort of bloody vampire school of insolence Ted had gone to? Would it kill him to be more – “If you’re finished drooling over my mate, I’d like to have him back. Immediately.”
“Monsieur Ted,” one of the vampires exclaimed in mock-welcome. “’Ow pleasant to see you!”
“Maman, I thought we agreed that taking a mate early was my payment for the information I gave you,” Ted said steadily, voice cold, as if he hadn’t even heard the malicious undertone in what the male vampire nearest to him had just said. The female that had ripped off Neville’s bandage rose from her slightly stooped position nearby.
“And?” her English was surprisingly clear, but markedly different from Ted’s. Which Neville hoped was a sign that calling her ‘maman’ was an affectation that had nothing to do with actual parenthood – “I heard you would have a report for me in the next three days, but nothing that said you had taken a mate.”
Ted smiled. It wasn’t pleasant. “I had no idea he would be so…receptive to the notion. It was purely supposed to be for his direct links to the British Wizengamot, but…”
“Direct links?” The eagerness in Maman’s voice was awful to hear. “I thought you were exaggerating –”
“Ah, non – he fought with them. In the last war – you remember it? No? Well, no matter –”
Neville decided not to bite his lip against the waves of anger sweeping over him now. Wouldn’t do to bite it clear through, now –
“Très excellent, mon cher,” was the warm reply. The other vampires murmured compliments, a little grudgingly, and Ted’s smile became smug. Neville wished he could reach out and tear it off his stupid thin face.
Ah well. There was something far better, and far easier to do. “But Ted –”
“Silence!” the vampire that had been mocking Ted at the beginning strode over and kicked Neville hard, in the side, obviously venting some of his irritation at Ted’s veneration. Neville rolled away as determinedly as possible, ignoring the chuckles that caused – if only he could finish what he wanted to say, that vampire would be properly grateful to him –
“We all went to school together, that’s all,” Neville choked out, as loudly as he could. “Me and Potter were in the same dorm –”
“Him and Monsieur Potter?” Maman said, around her chuckles. “A little hard to see, but still, excellent foresight, Monsieur –”
“ – and me and Ted were in the same year,” Neville finished desperately, coughing as he didn’t manage to escape another kick, from the same source. The room stilled, and Ted’s smug expression faltered.
“Daphne died, remember, Ted?” Neville was on a roll now – he could tell the others were listening to him – “Saw you at her funeral and everything – so sad, wasn’t it? And all this time –”
“Shut up, Longbottom!”
“ – we shared an apartment,” Neville insisted, “and you didn’t ever think to tell me –”
“Is this true?” Maman’s tone was steely.
Neville kept going, around Ted’s sputter – “You could’ve told me, I wouldn’t have minded, Ted –”
“Shut up!” Ted shouted, striding towards him with a murderous look on his face. The male vampire that had been kicking Neville around looked insufferably smug now, standing aside to allow access to Neville’s battered body as if it was some sort of favour –
“ – if you’d just told the truth.” Fear was fully involved in Ted’s expression now, fear in a way that made Neville guiltily happy that he’d bothered. Even if it meant being torn apart by Ted’s steely, practical hands, which were tugging him roughly off the floor and…
…leaving him easy access to the stakes in his pockets. Neville smiled, reached, wandlessly enlarged, and hey presto: pandemonium.
* * *
Several minutes later, Neville opened his sore eyes to the sight of...Ted? Swabbing at something –
“Get the fuck away from me!” Neville meant to say. What came out was a hideous gurgle that made Ted’s face crease with worry as he leaned closer, trying to get to something that oh sweet Merlin that hurt so much –
“Stay calm,” Ted said, firmly. Not, perhaps, as firmly as he would have liked – his face showed more worry than firmness, which puzzled Neville – “Please, Neville. You’ll drown in your own blood if you keep this up –”
Neville moaned. Moan-gargled, really. Moargle, Luna would call it, probably. Neville’s eyelids began to droop against the creeping pain, as he rather felt it would be better to be out cold for whatever the fuck was going on –
“I said stay calm, not die on me!” Ted’s voice was harsh, strangely so. Neville tried to flex his fingers around the stake he knew should be in his palm, and found nothing except that his stake hand hurt more than anything else – “You idiot. Do you know how bloody long it took me to restrain you? To Apparate with you? I don’t even know if I left something behind, you fucking idiot, so you stay still and keep bloody quiet and stop flexing your fucking hand –”
Neville stopped, shock coursing through him in a way that made his head hurt. Er, more. He would’ve asked what on earth had happened; namely, why he was on his back in the motel room, possibly bleeding to death on the bed, while Ted only looked a little scratched –
“Next time, accept your fucking wand when I try to slip it to you, understand?” Ted went on, his tone growing bitter. “I can’t – I don’t understand you, Neville. You volunteer to fucking suck me off when I’m trying to tell you anything can wait, and the next moment, you can’t trust me to dissimulate in the midst of people that can kill the both of us like Potter swats flies –”
Neville averted his eyes, feeling horribly confused, as well as a monumental idiot. Ted’s voice had gone ragged, and anyway –
“Did you send a message to Potter? Because if you didn’t, we’re fucking screwed – they’ll find us, I’m surprised no one’s turned up yet –”
A knock came at the door, causing Ted to cut off his distinctly panicky speech with a sharp gasp.
Neville rasped, trying to get some air in, hoping his magic would work even under these circumstances. His headache worsened suddenly even as the door seemed to shimmer just at the corner of his eye, and Ted gasped again.
“Oh god, it’s – Neville? St. Mungo’s can regrow anything now, can’t it?” Neville gurgled, mostly in pain. As gentle as Ted was in picking him up, it fucking hurt – “If I – if we…” Ted sighed, softly. “I’m sorry, all right? I’m just – sorry.”
The pain of Apparation blacked Neville out, but not before he heard the door burst open.
* * *
It seemed like only minutes had passed since Neville had opened his eyes last, but that could easily be just the pain talking. Most of all, it was the noise around them, the distinctly British noise made by British voices around them that convinced Neville that he and the harshly breathing Ted were no longer in Calais.
But the voices around them were becoming more and more alarmed, and didn’t seem to be coming from some window or outside source, which meant –
“They were at my apartment.” Ted’s voice was low, strained. “I tried yours – it wouldn’t – I couldn’t –”
Neville tried to say something about his new wards, but it came out as a gurgle.
“I don’t – I can’t do St. Mungo’s. How it would look. I can’t – I can’t think –”
Neville could, and promptly tried to look into Ted’s eyes, hoped it would work, cursed himself for not even thinking about it in the first place –
“Neville, don’t strain your – Hogsmeade? Hogsmeade? Oh god, I should’ve thought –”
Just go.
Ted gulped. “All right.” The pain clawed at every inch of Neville, but he fought it, fought to stay awake. He couldn’t pass out now, not when they were in such a fix, fuck no –
More gasps began to hit his ears now. Screams. Neville fleetingly hoped it wasn’t a Hogsmeade weekend, but focused on mentally shouting directions, forcing them into Ted’s mind through the thickly clustering fear and guilt that Neville was surprised but gratified to see, redundant or no. The musty smell of the interior of the Shrieking Shack felt like a godsend even through all the pain of the next Apparation – the one to the Hogsmeade safe house that was only possible from here with the right password –
Neville’s eyes felt glassy, strained, and barely took in the familiar lime green walls before his body gave up, despite Ted’s desperate voice, telling him to open something, to let him in. Which, as Neville thought dully, as he drifted off, made no sense at all.
* * *
“For Christ’s sake, Potter, you’ll wake him up!” Neville jolted into awareness, wincing in anticipation of more teeth-grinding pain and feeling an acute sense of gratitude that there was little to be had. Well, compared to what he’d felt the last time he’d been awake –
“Fat chance of that, with all your noisy clanging –”
“My noisy clanging, as you put it, Potter, is what is keeping him alive!”
Neville blinked. What was Severus –
“Can the two of you shut up for one second?” And if Neville wasn’t mistaken, that was Ted, sounding strangely strained – “He’s moving –”
“And you’ll be moving too, you murdering bastard, if you don’t keep your filthy mouth shut –”
“Harry, don’t,” Neville tried to say. It came out as a mumble – ooh, an improvement – but nevertheless sprung blessed silence upon the fledgling argument he’d just heard developing.
“Neville! Oh god, you’re awake –”
“And thank you, Potter, for stating the obvious. A sacred duty that would surely go undone were it not for –”
“You’re doing it again,” Ted said, his voice sounding a little less strained, and a little more nearby. Neville had barely caught a glimpse of his face, which was paler than normal, before Severus and Harry had erupted into protective mode once again.
“Nott, get your bony vampire arse back in that chair immediately –”
“Are you really so anxious to donate your brain to the contents of my ingredient closet, Theodore?” To Neville’s surprise, Ted ignored them, but didn’t advance any more. Which meant Neville had to strain his neck to get a better look at his now quite battered-looking body. Joy all round, then.
“How do you feel, Neville?” Neville nodded and mumbled as well as he could in answer, feeling oddly glad to hear that smooth tone back in Ted’s voice again. “Right – if you need anything –”
“He’ll ask me,” Severus interrupted, rudely. “Kindly return to your seat, Theodore.” Ted scowled at Severus, but did as he asked. Neville returned to staring at the ceiling, and idly wondering who would start arguing next.
His snipe score was at around 5-3 to Severus (as usual) when it was interrupted by the sound of the door opening hastily, and someone entering the room equally hastily.
“Oh god, Harry –” That was Hermione – oh no. That means it’s serious – “Malfoy just Floo’ed me –”
“What?” Harry’s voice was blank with anger, as tended to happen when Draco’s name was mentioned in conjunction with Hermione. He’d never told Neville why he was so touchy about Draco talking to his best friend, but after seeing for himself that Draco definitely went both ways, Neville could begin to guess why – “Is Draco starting that stupid meddling with the Floos again? Because –”
“Not Draco,” Hermione said, sounding awful. “Not – it was Lucius, Harry.” Her drawn face came into view. “Oh Merlin – is – is Neville awake now?”
“’M fine,” Neville managed to mutter, a little testily, as Severus and Harry dropped what they were doing (respectively, stirring the surprisingly sweet-smelling potion that Neville had sussed was going onto his bandages and drawing things in ash at the hearth in the corner) and went to Hermione. Everyone gave him dubious looks as Hermione held up a piece of parchment in her shaking hand. “Whassat?”
“I wrote it down,” Hermione was muttering. Neville became even more impatient as he saw Ted join them without anyone (read, Severus and Harry) doing more than give him a nasty look or two. “I – I never even knew –”
“’Ello? ’M here, lissening –”
“Shit. Neville and I – we saw him,” Ted suddenly said, his voice strangled. “God –”
Neville didn’t have anything to say, then. He just wasn’t sure there was anything he wanted to do at that moment, except scream.
* * *
A week had passed. Neville had had a few hours to himself to break things as best as he could, and after a day or two of Malfoy the Elder – no, fuck that, Malfoy the Only – refusing to meet with anyone but Severus, he was finally in the chair next to Neville at a well-used room in the safe house in Hogsmeade, disdain written into every smooth line of his slightly greying form as Harry and Hermione took turns outlining the plan that would get the remnants of Draco’s fledgling family out of the hostile vampire group’s clutches.
“The real problem we have is who’ll go to the meeting in your stead, Lucius,” Hermione was saying, her voice holding steady all through the sentence, despite Lucius’ darkening countenance.
“Are you saying, Miss Granger, that I am not qualified to be present?”
“Mr. Malfoy, I neither said nor implied any such –”
“You actually wish to go?” Severus interrupted, directing a look of utmost surprise to his scowling former associate. “But the last time we talked, you said –”
“I have my reasons, Severus,” Lucius said, coldly. Severus opened his mouth to speak again, but was immediately cut off. “And no, that does not mean I have to share them with you –”
Severus bristled, making an angry, impatient sound. “Lucius, do be sensible – it could be a trap! And both Potter and I are far more used to dealing with –”
“If it is a question of danger,” Lucius said, drawing out the last word as if it was something dirty, “then I’ll be quite able to find someone far more appropriate to accompany me to the rendezvous than you or your oh-so-visible Mr. Potter –”
“I can do it.” Neville said, trying not to grit his teeth as everyone’s gazes swung round to him. Ted’s grip tightened horribly, enough that Neville found himself forced to give him a hard look. “It makes sense, all right?” He turned, fixing his eyes on Lucius’ stiff form, ignoring the glare Ted gave him as he did so. “If anything goes wrong, I can handle the vampires and still get Angelina off safely –”
“Is he serious?” Lucius demanded, his haughty surprise suddenly unravelling into cold spite. “Am I here to be mocked?”
Severus shot Neville a familiar poisonous look of disdain. “Lucius, get a hold of yourself –”
“Forgive me,” Lucius spat, rising stiffly to his feet, “if I thought we were going to go about this like adults –”
“Oh, get over yourself,” Neville found himself saying, his tone quiet but quite rude, all the same. “Who else do you think will help you? The AJS will recommend mediation to your face and spit on you behind your back. I talked to everyone I know – the consensus is that it’s about bloody time people like you got shat on.” He saw Lucius’ fists clench spasmodically, but went on. “In fact, I know several adjudicators who’d say that to your face –”
“The word is slayers,” Lucius hissed, in vicious reply, “and it’s about time someone was man enough to admit it!”
Neville rose abruptly, ignoring Ted’s insistent hand on his arm. “The word is adjudicators, Lucius, especially for you. When the fuck have you ever had any sympathy for the vampiric community? It’s people like you that are our biggest threat, not crazed vampires and prejudiced bastards in the ICW – people that betray anything and anyone for their own personal gain, and never mind the little bloodbath that their actions started!”
Hermione sighed. “Neville –”
“Mr. Malfoy, you don’t seem to realise that we here are all Draco’s friends,” Ted suddenly said loudly, cutting off Hermione. “All we need from you is some hair and two days of silence of action. And, frankly, your absence at this meeting. I highly doubt that you think that is too much to ask to help secure your line free of charge – do you?” Lucius stared at Ted. Neville gave him a look, and finally decided to sit down. After all, Ted seemed to know exactly what he was about, especially with that mention of the Malfoy line.
When Lucius finally replied, it was with a slightly strange question. “Is that you, young Nott?”
Ted just continued to stare at him, face carefully blank. After a moment, Lucius nodded sharply, drawing his wand. Everyone around the small table in the room stiffened as he muttered an incantation, then relaxed as he plucked off a rather generous lock of pale hair.
As Lucius pressed it into Ted’s languidly outstretched hand, he leant forward, prolonging the grip. “If my grandchild does not survive…”
“I understand.” Lucius frowned, but let go. He then directed a piercing look Neville’s way, before Apparating with nary a sound but a slight pop.
“Grandchild, Theodore?” That was Severus, sounding perplexed and testy all at once, in his familiar way. For a moment, as Ted sat down again, Neville fought a smile. Draco wasn’t – hadn’t been the fatherly type, of course. Severus’ surprise was understandable.
“Angelina was pregnant when we saw her,” Ted muttered, a little unwillingly.
Hermione drew in a sharp breath. “So that’s why they stressed –”
“Yeah.” Ted’s hand found Neville’s under the table. “Yeah.”
Severus shot Neville a sharp look, then shook his head. “And I don’t suppose you’re still volunteering to go, Longbottom?”
Neville opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by a hard look from Ted. “Only with backup,” Ted said, firmly. A seat away, Harry and Hermione nodded, looking vastly relieved, as if they’d thought Neville would insist on going alone.
Neville rolled his eyes. For goodness’ sake, he’d grown out of that! And anyway, there was Draco’s girlfriend involved, as well as his child, unborn or not. If that didn’t imply backup, what did?
* * *
Neville couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was wrong. Of course, that could be easily explained. Lucius’ clothes pinched and squeezed in very odd places, and Neville hated the way they rustled about him, despite the venerated air he knew they gave him. He felt hideously out of place, especially in the Leaky Cauldron, and the way Tom was looking at him made him uncomfortable, though he’d been told what to expect.
Neville’s eyes swept the pub with an air of disgust that was not entirely feigned. He’d argued long and hard with everyone, and they’d voted overwhelmingly in favour of Lucius’ most expensive (and therefore, horribly restricting) clothes. To show strength, Harry had said, enough times that Neville had wanted to punch the words back into his mouth. And of course, there had also been the argument about whether Ted was qualified to come along as backup, after how badly Neville had suffered in his company. Neville sneered at someone who stared a little too long at him as he clacked his cane impatiently on the grimy floor beside the bar, inwardly seething with irritation. Never mind the fact that the real reason Neville had come back from Calais too battered to speak was that Harry had sent him there in the first place.
When this is over, Neville thought fiercely, barely nodding to Tom as he finally glided past, me and Harry are going to have a nice, long talk –
“Your table, Mr. Malfoy,” some nervous-looking waiter said, from his left, and Neville took care to nod impatiently, just the way Lucius might, as he approached the secluded booth – a new feature of the pub that had shot into popularity during and after the war, with all the private meetings everyone had been having up and down. The booth was a shabby approximation of the ones one saw in Muggle restaurants, cloaked in layered silencing and privacy charms, and cost more than it did to reserve a normal table, especially if temporary identity detection charms were requested.
For once, Neville felt glad he was meeting with vampires who made it their business to be contemptuous of obvious magical accoutrements. From the hasty spell he covertly sent off in the direction of the shadowy booth, there was barely anything on the booth but a couple of standard silencing charms. After that, Neville barely noticed the waiter scurrying off, so absorbed was he in noting who was present at the grimy, bare table in the largeish booth. Five hunched, hooded figures sat around it, one shivering steadily, and Neville guessed (hoped, oh hoped) that it was Angelina. He slipped his hand into his left pocket and flicked a small object out, trying to make the movement as languid and relaxed as possible. The vampires would think it was a watch, for now, and no matter how much he longed to unveil them, grab Angelina and take off, there was a much safer way this had to be done.
“Morning, gentlemen,” Neville said softly, sneeringly. One of the hooded figures straightened a little, fierce grace in the movement that gradually lengthened out and saw a strong arm sweeping back a chair as the vampire stood and stalked quietly around Lucius, hissing silently. “I’m sure there’s no need for the rest of you to remain hooded. I did come here on business, and I quite require seeing the faces of my partners. Don’t you?”
“You have always been arrogant,” one of the other hooded vampires said, slowly. Neville refused to shiver at the comment, keeping his posture as cold as his barely visible smile – that was surely –
Ah, yes. Neville’s stomach plummeted into his feet, but without the usual accompanying sensation of surprise. Of course Clivert would come to the ransom delivery. Of course. Ted had given a long, detailed talk about the vampires that had captured Neville in Calais, and one of the names and descriptions that had stuck with Neville was that of the vampire that had kicked him so viciously around the room, causing most of the damage to his still rather tender kidneys.
But really, it made sense. Clivert, as Ted had said, not a little bitterly, had always been disdainful of Ted’s contributions, and had repeatedly warned ‘Maman’, the head of the entire operation, that having a vampire raised partly as a wizard in his former life was not a good strategy. Neville fought not to swallow in fear as he pretended to inspect the vacated seat before gliding into the booth and taking it. The hooded vampire that had just spoken in something close to Clivert’s slightly nasal tone made a gesture towards the other hooded ones, and soon Neville was looking into Clivert’s dead green eyes with as much disdain as he could manage.
The shivering person he’d noted from the start, however, remained hooded. So, then – down to business.
“I suppose my daughter-in-law is present?” Neville inquired briskly, reaching as calmly as possible into his robes for the signed parchment of the (fake) law – the one the very first group of protesting vampires had wanted to have passed. Clivert smiled coldly, drawing the shivering figure to his side and removing their hood with artificial tenderness. Neville sniffed disdainfully at Angelina’s wide eyed, staring face, ignoring how she began to shake harder. “Surely you jest, this is not –”
“I am not interested in your intrigues, Lucius,” Clivert said sharply, eyes narrowing at the parchment Neville had just set daintily on the table. “Your spies have surely told you who your son’s whore looks like. Is that the –”
“It is, Monsieur.” Neville smiled coldly. “Examine it, so we can be done with this farce.” Clivert snatched at it, barely even looking in his direction, and Neville affected a glance at the watch, hoping inwardly that this would just go as simply as possible. The other two vampires exchanged a look and rose, dragging the still-shaking Angelina to her feet. Clivert stood slowly, turning the gilt-edged paper over and over in his hands with a look of painful hunger on his face. Relief surged through Neville powerfully, and he copied Clivert’s slow rise. “My dear daughter, let us be gone.” Angelina was pushed none-too-gently in his direction, and he simply took her arm, fighting the urge to steady her and calm her down. “A pleasure doing business, Monsieur –”
Clivert suddenly cleared his throat. “Wait.” Neville turned around slowly, affecting surprise, the watch readied in his hand. Had it been two seconds for activation, or four?
“Go on ahead, my dear,” Neville said, instead, to Angelina, pressing the watch firmly into her shaking hand.
“Whose signature is on this?” Clivert said slowly, eyes now filling with anger. His companions began to edge slowly towards Angelina, who was looking even more wide-eyed and fearful by the second – “Antoine, detain her!”
Angelina vanished with a crack (four seconds, then), and Neville spun into action, darting around the slightly hesitating, incredulous vampires and under the table in their booth. One of them made for him with a snarl, but his crossbow was already out, and his entire mind was focused on enlarging and deploying and enlarging and deploying, despite the rotting, ashy remains of his first attacker stinging horribly in his eyes. Screams of anger and fear rang out beyond his not-so-cosy spot under the table, and Neville, still spraying stakes out from his mediocre hiding place, hoped to god that he hadn’t hurt anyone that didn’t deserve it.
And then Neville dug frantically into his pockets as one last pair of angry footsteps thudded onto his table, wholly out of reach, and there were no more stakes –
“You’re marked, Lucius – aren’t you?” Clivert’s voice was ragged, strained. Probably from all the running. Neville, deciding to at least try to make some kind of last stand, blasted his way out from under the table, hoping viciously that the bastard had been hurt, and began firing spells in every direction. But at the fourth cry of “Exculpo!” something dug what felt like steely claws into his neck, and the spell died on his lips, but not on his wand – the hand he could now feel around his neck shook horribly, but didn’t let go.
“Interesting precaution, Mr. Malfoy, I’ll concede that,” Clivert said, his tone growing louder with every syllable. “But you forgot something – I can still kill you, marked or not.” The hand disappeared and Neville fought desperately to escape, knowing already that he would fail, that his arms would be crying out in strain even as foul breath caressed his aching neck, and fangs, and suddenly –
No more.
* * *
It was quite a shock, then, that Neville found that his eyes now opened of their own accord. An excruciating pain was ebbing very slowly; a harsh, acrid pain that felt like acid was eating away at every bit of his body, and he could now hear the faint sounds of someone chanting something. Something like a spell –
Neville felt his body twitch, more of the pain ebbing suddenly, and the chanting became clearer. He stopped breathing, trying to see if he could tell who it was, and someone shook him, other, panicking voices cutting across the chanting one. Pain throbbed in his arms and legs as he was wrenched away from the person shaking him, and the chanting became clearer still, the voice of the chanter sounding almost like –
“Theodore! Stop, it’s enough!” Neville blinked – that was Snape, he was sure of it – and darkness began to descend again. This time, it was slow and not half as painful, and Neville welcomed it, letting his unseeing eyes close of his own volition.
* * *
“Neville?”
Hermione. Or, at least, Neville thought so. He’d been hearing voices for the last half hour, all different, all strange, and this voice might just be one sent to test him, to torture him, or –
“He’s still delirious,” someone said, hoarsely, from very near by. Too near by. Neville shifted away from the direction it came from, because – “See? Probably doesn’t even know it’s you –”
“Of course he does,” the Hermione-voice insisted, the stubborn lilt of the phrase sounding even more like Hermione. The stranger nearby laughed, his laughter sounding cracked. Dry.
“I was like that for two weeks, after –”
“Don’t you dare say that,” Hermione-voice said. “He’s not – he’s not been turned. It’s not documented. Just because you offered –”
“I’m just volunteering my experience, that’s all. The nurses said he’d wake up five days from now, and he’s awake today – clearly no one’s ever seen this sort of thing before. For all you know –”
“Just because you gave him blood doesn’t give you a right to –”
“Ted?” Neville hesitated at the silence his garbled word caused, but didn’t hesitate long. From the way the Hermione-voice was ranting, it could only be one person the stranger was (or was imitating) – “Is Angelina – she alright?”
Familiar arms surrounded him in a hard, unrelenting grip just this side of shaky. “Neville, you idiot. You could have Portkeyed with her, you dolt –”
“Oh, Neville, we’ve been so worried –”
“ – and what would you have done if your Severus didn’t know that fucking spell, eh? What would I have done?” Ted’s voice was steadily becoming more ragged, and it hurt. It hurt to hear his smooth tones shaking, wavering as if he was too angry to care if it manifested as tears – “You idiot. You’re always a fucking idiot –”
“Don’t say that to him, you – you vampire!” Neville jerked. Hermione sounded so – so afraid, so strained – “He’s barely even your friend, and you dare –”
“What’s going on?” Neville breathed a sigh of relief as Severus’ irate tones filled the tense silence, overshadowed the sound of Ted’s harsh, ragged breaths. Not enough, of course, as Neville could feel them in his hair – “Hermione, did I not tell you to inform me when he woke? And for goodness’ sake, Theodore, pull yourself together –”
“Fuck off,” Ted mumbled, pressing damp lips to Neville’s slightly itchy neck. “Just get out, both of you. No right, you’ve no right.” He let out a sigh, almost a sob, making it strange to hear him continue to say, in stronger tones – “I mean it, Severus. Go away.”
Severus sighed, suddenly, and Neville began to hear the sounds of quiet, fierce argument, conducted in barely audible, frantic Hermione-whispers and hissing, sharp Severus ones. From the strangled protest and the sound of heels clacking rapidly out of the room, Neville assumed that Severus had won. By then, of course, all audible sounds were retreating, winking in and out as if Neville had only dreamed them, and was waking up to something different.
It was comforting, then, to feel the warmth of Ted’s arms around him, reassuring him that he was alive more than the garbled mutters of “stupid idiot” could ever do.
* * *
The weeks crawled by. Neville regained the use of his voice more slowly than anything else – an interestingly useful thing, as it happened, as he had no trouble suppressing his screams when Ted’s tongue went places he wasn’t quite used to having explored even now. Harry came by after the third blistering letter Neville sent his way, and was nicely contrite and accepting of the perfectly irate lecture Ted gave him in Neville’s place. Hermione came around the same day, after witnessing the entire argument in her Animagus form that afternoon. It had given Neville quite the turn to see her sobbing form materialise out of the corner he’d been hearing scratching in all day, but his fear went away readily enough after Hermione was discreetly identified by Harry while she hugged the rather embarrassed Ted a little tighter than he was used to.
The sense of invaded privacy did not, of course, and the first thing Neville had done when his voice had come back as a whisper the day after the mega reconciliation was to have a firm chat with the nurse in charge of his private room about a nice strong anti-Animagus ward.
Severus stayed angry longer than anyone else, as usual, and, as Neville reflected, had certainly not told the truth during the last little talk they’d had over Neville’s most recent dose of super-strength Blood Replenisher. No one, of course, was telling him anything more than the fact that Clivert and the other vampires were very very dead, that Lucius had publicly spoken to Gran for the first time in seventy years, and that Angelina was now six months along and still firmly refusing to live in the Malfoy Manor. Neville ignored it for now, just as he ignored the fact that his Blood Replenisher tasted suspiciously more like blood nowadays.
Well, not to Ted, anyway, who’d seen right through his sadly unfeigned disgust at the dose yesterday morning and had shrugged it off as St. Mungo’s insisting he be tested for all the normal vampire cravings.
Neville, who had been dreaming wistfully of the chocolate-flavoured taste-restoring potion he’d been dosed with at the very beginning of his stay in the hospital, thought that was unfair. Now, three weeks later and two days off the Blood Replenisher, all he could feel was relief that his complicated treatment for the severe blood loss and even stranger method of replenishment that had followed it was going to be over soon.
The door opened and shut, prompting Neville to turn over in bed, restless with the slight sense of distrust he still retained every time he heard someone come in. This time, instead of looking immediately to see who it was, Neville let his eyes remain closed, and tried to listen for clues instead, to exercise his hearing, which had improved beyond what it had been before the whole Calais situation.
A deliciously familiar smooth whisper of Colloportus broke the silence, and Neville smiled almost immediately. Ted, then, obviously. Everyone else announced their presence almost immediately, and no one had said the spell with that slow, sexy intonation. Feigning sleep, Neville mumbled a string of nonsense, turning over in a parody of restlessness in a way he knew would leave an inviting stretch of space open on his bed.
Unfortunately – “I know you’re awake, you know.” Neville sighed. Ted was never one to be deceived, or even one to pretend to be deceived. It was occasionally rather disheartening. “Sleep well?” An agreeable rustle or two hit Neville’s ears then, and by the time Ted finally whispered a Silencio in the direction of the door, he’d moved over again, peeling back some of the blanket that covered his tingling skin. “You know, I’m starting to think you never put clothes on in here, you dirty-minded sod.”
Neville couldn’t restrain a grin. “You know you love it.”
“As long as you remain clothed around that nurse of yours, I’m perfectly fine with it,” Ted said, his voice going deliciously low as he bumped and crawled onto the bed, in sitting position, his hands already tugging Neville up from under the warm blanket. “Are you cold?”
Neville mouthed a no, then opened his eyes. The light hurt, as low as it probably was, and he told himself that that was why he turned and buried his face in Ted’s lap. It was just there, accessible, you name it.
Ted’s hand felt like a warm splash against his cheek, and Ted’s lips on Neville’s awkwardly positioned arm felt even better. But the best thing was the way Ted smelt, the way he smelt when Neville dug recalcitrant fingers into his tenting briefs and tugged them down, Ted’s soft groans washing over him as if from a little farther away.
Wincing at a crick in his neck after a minute of long, slow licks, Neville got on his knees properly, dragging Ted’s willing body down the bed so – right – right there. Ted distracted him with a kiss then, digging his own hands into Neville’s pyjama bottoms and playing teasingly with his cock, and Neville basked in the attention for a moment, groaning into Ted’s mouth as he squeezed and was squeezed –
“All right – that’s enough,” Neville finally snapped, finally forcing himself to pull back from Ted’s enticing tongue. “I’m trying to do something here, for Merlin’s sake –”
“Then do it,” Ted said, an arrogant smile flashing across his face. Neville rolled his eyes and began to move rapidly downwards, smirking as Ted finally grasped what he was going to do and began wiggling his hips suggestively. After a teasing lick or two up and down his lover’s trembling inner thigh, Neville caught the slowly hardening cock in his mouth and steadied it with his hands, finding that he relished the taste, just a little more than usual. Ted moaned and pushed into his mouth, and Neville pinched his balls and squeezed at them and began to lick slower despite Ted’s pleas, remembering yet again that he had his own agenda for now.
Ted caught on quickly, reaching jerkily under Neville’s abandoned pillow for the lotion they had quickly found as soon as Neville pulled off. His fingers were as cool and rough as usual, one set working Neville’s helpless nipples as the other touched and teased Neville deep down until he was faint and squirming and trying to hold back pleas. Ted gave up his game unusually quickly, his breath slightly ragged and hot against Neville’s neck as his hands roamed and squeezed and caressed. He moved distressingly slow, dragging begging groans out of Neville as his cock slid in and out inch by slow inch, sometimes scraping that spot that always had him melting in Ted’s arms.
Coming was like a strange sunburst in the pit of Neville’s stomach. It twisted him, stretched him out as Ted continued to caress and slide in and out, murmuring nothings against his cheek and finally – suddenly – sinking careful teeth into his neck. Neville felt his head loll backwards as hot, ragged pleasure swam through him, dulled a bit by the fact that he’d just exploded off the brink, and he felt more than heard Ted’s cry as he came.
They shuddered together for a while, Neville squeezing back against Ted shamelessly as Ted’s fingers stroked through his sweaty hair. Neville barely felt the pain as Ted licked at his soon-to-be bruised neck – when had he ended the bite, anyway? Neville –
“Stop thinking.” – couldn’t tell. Ted shifted against him, his softened cock feeling very odd but still sort of good inside Neville. “I mean it, Neville.” A soft, tired kiss was pressed to Neville’s neck, and then Ted began to pull out. Neville clenched his arse, almost involuntarily, and Ted groaned, making him grin. “And you say I’m insatiable.”
“Stop talking,” Neville ordered, turning over heedlessly, ignoring the lukewarm trickle of come down the insides of his thighs as he did so. “Shut up.”
Ted smiled at that, darkly, but obeyed.
Good lord, but this has been a ride. *sighs* Well, here it is - hope you had fun reading, as I did have fun writing. Pls feed the author comment and say what you think ;)