Title: Are You In Love Yet? Part 4
Author: Constant Vigilance
Status: FIN
Email: tirel@pcnuthut.com

Website: https://www.angelfire.com/tv2/firebird_ascending/
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Draco/Neville
Spoilers: AU. Post Hogwarts.
Warnings: Slash, Mpreg (for a bit)
Disclaimer: I own nothing. JKR is God.
Summary: Draco is cursed. Neville teaches him to save himself.
Notes: This story is an entry in Misconceptions: Harry Potter Mpreg Fuh-Q-Fest Wave 2 (http://hpmpregfqf.design-of-decadence.net/)

Challenge #274: Incorporate plot elements of the fairy tale Beauty And The Beast into an Mpreg fic. (Submitted by Turquoisia Xenia)

The days passed quickly in quiet research. Draco found nothing helpful to cure his current curse. Of course, now he had another nasty group of curses to add to his arsenal, but he decided against mentioning that to Neville. The boy…man…was astounding. Apparently, herbology was the only class he was able to float through, retaining knowledge like a vault. The other classes, he tended to retain knowledge like a sieve, having to revisit the information daily. Hence, his amazing study and research skills.

Neville was in the library, often before Draco, every day. He forced Draco to stop for meals and tea, citing that an expectant father needed to keep his health up. He begged…oh, all right. He asked nicely and Draco caved on the second request for the cursed man to research in the library with him. He stated it might even help Draco to be able to bounce ideas off of him. Draco knew, however, that Neville just wanted to keep an eye on him.

The sudden influx of information about Draco’s impending pregnancy seemed to galvanize Neville into taking on a mother hen role. Neville refused to share the worst parts with Draco, but there were some very frightening reasons why he began to obsessively stalk the Slytherin. He began to insist on retrieving books from high shelves, on staying late at dinner until Draco had managed to awkwardly eat whatever he allowed Neville to put on his plate, on sending Draco to bed at a decent hour and not letting him start researching before 9 a.m. Draco learned he might as well stay in bed for all of the pesky hovering Neville did should Draco rise at an earlier hour. Nothing got done. Nothing. Until Neville noted that it was past 9 a.m.

Draco managed to grit his teeth and accept Neville’s newfound bothersomeness. Save one item. Neville badgered him nearly everyday about finding a mediwitch to come to the manor. Telling the stubborn Gryffindor no didn’t work. Telling him he’d think about it didn’t work. Threatening to injure him worked, but only in as much it pissed Neville off to the nth degree and sent him on a stalk through the manor after flinging a (very priceless) book to the ground and telling Draco to bugger off.

Neville had stormed through the house, intent on getting as far away from that ungrateful sod as possible. He climbed stair after stair, hoping to get high enough that the dungeon dweller would refuse to follow. Eventually, he found a small passageway behind a door on the fourth floor. Carefully, he pushed the silent door open and ventured inside.

Astonished, he looked at the only normal room in the entire manor. Things were stacked haphazardly, furniture had covers over them, and even the window was a bit dirty. Neville rubbed his hands together and bounced on the couch. Gleefully grinning, he decided that this would be his new sanctuary when the desire to just strangle Draco got to be too much.

He sat there, reveling in the mess for nearly a quarter of an hour before his curiosity got the better of him. Then he began to explore. Most boxes held broken toys, the likes of which he’d never seen in person. He remembered the ads for some of them when he was a child, but there was no way his Gran could afford things like starter brooms and charmed fully functional plushy pets. Further inspection found more boxes of designer robes in child size. None of them had worn marks on them. Most of them, actually, looked brand new.

Frowning, he made a note in his head to ask Draco about donating some of these to charity. Some of the orphans of The War had little to nothing in the way of clothing, only wearing what donations and charity money could afford. And the toys? They looked simple enough to fix. Neville couldn’t understand why they weren’t fixed originally. Even he could probably fix one or two of them.

He backed away warily. Not that he would try. He knew all too well what happened when he ‘tried’ something he was ‘pretty sure’ he could do. Disaster.

Moving away from the boxes, he noticed what appeared to be dozens of portraits stacked against each other and leaning on the wall. All faced the wall and Neville was curious how anything in a Malfoy house would allow itself to face a wall. Carefully, he pulled the first one back. Draco stared up at him, lips pursed and a sneer on his face.

“Oh, dear Merlin,” the portrait cried. “What the hell is a Longbottom doing in my home? Where are my parents? Get out, Longbottom! Before you break something!” Neville rolled his eyes and gently set the picture down against the wall next to the first pile. Facing the wall. “Longbottom! You turn me around right now!” it demanded. Neville just smiled and moved on to the next one.

They all turned out to be of Draco. Some were recent, and angrier. Some were from school, and mean. Some, though, were from Draco’s early years. Those, Neville set aside and those he went back to when he’d finished searching through the pile. He was pretty sure that Draco had ordered every picture of himself in the manor to be placed here. Or, more accurately, had probably ordered them destroyed and Gillum or another elf had brought them here, knowing that Master Draco would never set foot in this room. All the better for Neville.

He set the younger portraits up in a row and watched them watching him. “Hello,” he stated. “My name is Neville. Would you care to tell me how old each of you are?” The portraits attempted to look at each other past their frames. When that proved impossible, some of them displayed current-like Draco behavior. Neville noted that they were the more recent, probably age 9 or 10. He placed them back with the other pile facing the wall.

“Let’s try this again,” he said kindly to the remaining four portraits. “I’m Neville and you are how old?” He pointed to the first.

“I am 8,” Draco said primly, folding his hands together.

Neville nodded. “And you?” he pointed to the next one.

“I too am 8,” Draco stated, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Nearly 9. I demand to know the reasoning behind this questioning.”

Neville sighed and plucked the picture up to set it carefully beside the others against the wall. “Well, at least I know approximately when you turned into such a prat, Malfoy,” he stated under his breath. Returning to the other two, he smiled generously and repeated his question.

“I’m 6,” replied the first.

“Four,” came the nearly silent reply from the last Draco.

“Do any of you know the name Longbottom?” he tried, still looking to narrow the playing field.

The oldest Draco pushed his lips into a moue of disgust. “The Longbottoms are poor purebloods. No better than the Weasleys, my father says.”

Neville nodded sadly and returned the portrait. “Do either of you two know the name?” he asked, now almost warily.

The smallest shook his head and tears came to his eyes. “Please, sir. Put me back too?” he whimpered. “I’m afraid.”

Neville smiled gently at the littlest one and nodded. “Of course,” he agreed, handling the portrait with more care than he handled some of his plants. Then he returned to the couch, placing the last Malfoy in front of him. “Do you want to go back too?” he asked.

Six-year-old Draco shook his head vigorously. “Oh, no. I hate staring at the back of other portraits all day. I used to be able to look out in the gardens.”

Neville smiled. “The gardens are my favorite place too.”

Draco grinned. “When I grow up, I want to be a groundskeeper,” he said proudly. Neville nearly choked.

“Really? For here?”

Draco shook his head. “Nope. I want to work at Hogwarts. Mummy says it’s ever so much nicer than here.”

“Ah,” Neville replied, wondering if Draco remembered his childhood wish when he came to Hogwarts and that had been the reason he was so hard on Hagrid.

“I know who you are,” the boy said slyly.

Neville tensed warily. “Really. And who am I then, Draco?”

“You’re mummy’s true love, aren’t you?” the littlest Malfoy whispered.

Neville’s eyes widened. “She told you she was in love with my father?” he gaped.

Draco looked disappointed. “Your father?” he groused. “Rats. I thought you were making up that Neville name. Though it’s much nicer than Draco, don’t you think?” he continued as though he hadn’t rocked the very foundations of Neville’s world. “Normal. Not weird like Draco.”

Neville shrugged. “I’m rather fond of Draco, actually,” he smiled.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Mummy says that all the time. Is she here?” he seemed to focus suddenly. “Is mummy here? I miss her so much. She used to come and talk to me all the time. Then she stopped and the elves put me up here. Aren’t house elves neat?” he babbled on.

Neville grinned. “Well, your real mummy isn’t here,” he said, then quickly rushed on at the crestfallen look on the adorable 6-year-old face. “But I know where you can find something just as nice. Are you interested?”

Draco nodded so hard his frame rattled. Laughing, Neville picked it up and headed downstairs.

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He felt like he’d brought a family back together. Okay, so he’d placed two portraits across from each other and introduced them, but the absolute joy both had in meeting each other was so powerful that he felt like he could do anything…even face Draco again.

Sighing, he made his way back down to the library. He found Draco sitting at a desk, which rather surprised him. Neville though Draco would take advantage of the fact that Neville had taken off to rush back into hiding in his own room. Draco looked up when Neville came in and jumped to his feet, dropping the book in the chair.

“Neville,” he began, stiltingly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You’re just trying to help me. I should be more appreciative.”

Neville sighed. “I don’t care if you’re appreciative, Draco,” he said quietly. “I just want you to be more concerned about your health.”

Draco dropped back into his chair. “I know. I just can’t stand the thought of anyone seeing me like this. Of someone who knew what I looked like before seeing what I’ve become.”

Neville took a seat next to him. “What about me?” he pointed out. “I see you like this everyday. And I knew what you looked like before.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “But you don’t care.” Neville raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “You don’t care what I look like, Longbottom,” Draco went on. “You don’t care how rich I am. You don’t care what I can give you. Mostly, your apathy is annoying, but in the case of my appearance, it’s actually been quite helpful.”

Neville grinned. “So, why do you think I don’t care?”

Draco shrugged. “I really have no idea.”

“I don’t care because I see who you are on the inside. And to be completely honest, Draco, this is what you’ve looked like on the inside for as long as I’ve known you.” Draco looked hurt. Then looked as though he were trying to cover that up.

“But you’re talking to me. You’re helping me. Why would you do that if you hated me?” he asked in confusion.

Neville smiled gently. “I don’t hate you. I never hated you. I said you had an ugly personality. But every one deserves a second chance, Draco. And that was really what Pansy gave you. Another chance.”

Draco growled. “What she gave me was a bloody ugly face and a parasite growing in my belly!”

Neville looked at him, disappointment evident. “She gave you the opportunity to change your inside to match your outside. To be as beautiful inside as you are out. It isn’t her fault that you continue to choose to have your insides look like that. And you are not infected. You are pregnant,” he added harshly, startling Draco with a tone he’d never heard from the boy before.

“You are carrying a new life. You have the opportunity to help that new life grow and experience the world around it. It would be a shame if you taught your child to hate and fear like your father taught you.”

Neville sat, glaring at Draco, for long minutes. Draco stared at his claws, eyes never meeting Neville’s. Finally, he stood and headed to the door. Neville couldn’t help shooting a last dig at him. “What? Aren’t you going to ask if I’m in love with you yet?” he spat.

Draco flinched but kept walking. “Why would you be? There’s nothing to love,” he returned quietly.

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