Well this is the first thing I have actually finished in a while. Bit of Nev/Dray angst. This is the main story but the second chapter details the beginning of their relationship, just because it was hard not to write it and to clear up any confusion :D.

Routine

Neville woke up to the alarm, the same time as yesterday and the same time as he would the next day. Yawning into his hand, he rolled onto his other side and pulled the blankets over his head. Five more minutes. He desperately wanted to fall asleep again but he knew it was morning. Time to move.

The silence of the morning was broken by the muffled pad of footsteps, stumbling down the hallway. He poked his face out of the blankets, eyes pointed to the door, waiting. Then he was there, small and blond, chubby fingers clutching a tatty green and blue dinosaur. Neville smiled and stepped out of bed and after pulling on his house coat, scooped up his son and carried him into the kitchen.

Normal morning routine continued, he put bread under the grill and popped the kettle on only to be confronted with the first reminder. The coffee mug. Upside down, dripping onto the draining board. Neville turns away, horrified. Too early. Something falls to the floor and he turns around. Tom points at his feet. It was the mug, he dropped it. Sighing he sweeps the mess up, trying to forget the hassle, the lie he will fail to invent.

By this point the toast is burnt. Neville sighs, louder and tries again. This time he concentrates. But the water in the kettle has gone cold. He boils it again, butters Tom's toast and places the plate in front of him, together with a small glass of orange juice. Then his own breakfast.

"What we doing today daddy?"

Neville looks up from the porridge in front of him. The same thing they did every day, the same things he did every day. House work, games and gardening. Dinner, bath, bedtime story, television, shower, sleep. But he smiled, widely. Tried to make it sound interesting, Tom grinned back. Neville's chest tightened. Sometimes home life was worth it.

Hurriedly he dressed himself and then his son. Next to housework, hoovering, polishing and mopping. Then the worst room of the morning. The en suite bathroom. On the floor, the same towel, boxers and t-shirt. With a grimace he picked up every item and shoved them into the laundry basket.

Then games, toys and general time with his son. Into the garden next and while Neville preened and planted, his son sat behind him running a fire engine across the grass, bounced a ball off the patio and scooped up dirt with small hands which he threw about the garden. Dinner next, just a small meal for his son. He would eat later. Then another batch of games and the ritual argument about bath time. Finally he would force his son into the water which he tended to enjoy once the toy boats came out and the perfect opportunity to drench Neville. Another argument about going to bed, a deliberative decision on which story he wanted. And sleep. Wonderful, beautiful sleep. Smiling, Neville pressed a kiss to the young boy's forehead and softly closed the door.

Next came making his own dinner and well...his dinner too. Some pasta concoction would do, the wine served with it would take away from the lack of adventure. The door opened and closed, a bit too harshly considering a cough could wake Tom but he did not comment. He came into the kitchen but didn't say anything. Catching sight of the bottle of wine, he poured two glasses, grabbed one and walked into the living room.

Neville squeezed his eyes shut, chanted a small phrase continually in his head and slowed down the cooking. He needed time and the other would not be back in the kitchen until the wine ran dry. The sauce needed something, a kick perhaps? In the pantry something caught his eye, a glass bottle, half full of vodka. With a sigh, he knocked back six gulps and choose not to consider what it meant.

"You alright?"

Gentle words, a tone he rarely heard. Almost unrecognisable. But if he died he would have to pay someone to look after Tom. Neville sighed.

"Yeah, just looking for the chilli."

"It's in your hand..."

Neville laughed, no harm in furthering his husband's convictions that he was mentally unstable. He shook some into the sauce and served it, the other plate taken into the lounge before Neville even had time to breathe in and out again.

Sitting alone on the couch he forced food into his mouth, letting the news programme wash over him. Before he would try conversation but now he knew better. Knew there was no point as he had nothing to say, nothing worth listening to and nothing he wanted to hear. Dinner done, Neville washed the plates on his own, he did not help. After all he did nothing but sit about all day, his husband had an important job.

He went back into the living room, sports this time. Neville sighed and picked up his book, some classical romance Hermione had decided he would enjoy. He wasn't sure if he did but it consumed his mind for a while.

"How is the book?"

"Good."

Then he got up, sat next to him and pulled Neville into him. This is the worst part. The obligation. Neville closes his eyes, tries not to revel in the warmth and bury further into it. But he does, he always does. Draco kisses the top of his head, just once. Neville wants to cry, desperately needs to. Instead he releases a muffled squeak and stands up.

"Beer or a glass of wine?"

Draco smiled and leaned forward, hands clutching his knees. He looked thoughtful, interested. "Beer" he said.

Neville hid in the pantry again, more sips straight from that glass bottle and then coffee, counter the taste. Not that Draco would kiss him. He hurried in, placed beer on the table and not in the hand waiting for it. Then back into the kitchen, no eye contact and no acknowledgement. His hands shook as he made the coffee, his breath was harsh but he didn't understand why. On the short walk back to the lounge, his grip loosened and in a graceful arch the cup hit the floor and smashed, the dark liquid spilling on his leg.

Draco rushed out, saw the mess and laughed. It was typical, almost expected of Neville. With a quick flick of his wand, the mess was gone as was his husband. Neville stood frozen for five minutes and then slunk upstairs, trying to forget.

It was one of those nights, the odd ones Neville constantly thinks about, turns over in his head and thinks about possible connotations. Tries to find some extraordinary sign that he is more than a convenient outlet. Draco isn't drunk, slightly buzzed. Happier than he would have been without. He undressed quickly and fell into bed, his hands found Neville quickly. Long fingers gripping to his hips and lips trying to find his through the haze of the dark.

Neville rolls his eyes, in the dark so of course he can't see. He wouldn't do it if he thought he could tell. This is his own comfort, his way of telling himself he was reluctant. Draco is hard. Neville can feel it and knows he is too but he does not focus on that. Shaky breaths and deep sighs he know belong to him ring off the walls and he's melting inside Draco's arms and fireworks burst in his stomach as those wonderfully soft lips press against his neck, his shoulder. That hand cups him and Neville snaps forward, whispers those syllables and slumps against him.

When its over, Draco falls asleep instantly. His breath ruffles Neville's hair and he smiles, these beautiful moments in the dark when he can pretend. These are the seconds, the precious minutes where everything is wonderful. How he thought it would be when he found Draco on that battlefield, beautiful but broken and just alone as he was. He pretends they are in that room in Snape's house, alone for four days. Just together.

In his sleep he grunts, sighs and rolls away. Neville burns, where their skin touched stings with separation. Sighing he rolls over too, burrows his head under the pillow and waits for the morning, waits for the rest of his life.

He wakes earlier than normal. Draco is up but only just, he is sitting up in the bed, legs up in front of him. He is on the phone, speaking quietly. His skin is shining, face radiant and such a beautiful smile. The exact smile always painted on Tom's face; it's a wonderful event, that they share something so integral. A laugh escapes his mouth, louder than he intended and he clamped his hand over his mouth, blushing.

"I'm in bed with him, I can't talk about that now," he says smugly.

But he stands and walks into the bathroom, clutching the phone to his ear like it was his life support. From the bed, Neville could hear the chatter, the occasionally laugh. Neville closed his eyes, waited for the tears but they did not come. He just felt numb, still. Soon Draco left the bathroom and began his morning routine. Neville just lay there, eyes sealed shut and said nothing. He had nothing to say as always.

Then it was yesterday all over again, another re-enactment of life. Of course he loved Tom, could not bear to be without him but there was something he needed desperately, he wanted to be trapped in a continual dress rehearsal of before. When Draco seemed to love him, when everything was perfect. But was it ever that wonderful? Was he simply filling in gaps with what he wanted? He couldn't really remember.

The day progressed. Neville kept functioning, kept smiling. Draco came home. He smelled different, feminine and the bile rose in Neville's throat. Slumping over the sink, he retched horribly. A hand settled on his back and he was swallowed in a cloud of a sweet, sickly scent.

"You okay baby?"

Baby...Never baby. Nevvy, lovely but never baby. He was sick again, bitterly. Images flashed in front of his mind, the hints he had been seeing for months. Those smiles, the smell and the bite mark on his chest. Those scratches, continual late nights and the physical separation, the movements of obligation. Draco pours him a glass of water, presses it into his hand but does not let go. He supports him. A memory hits him harder than the evidence, morning sickness and Draco's compassion, his adoration for Neville, for their child. He retched again but nothing was left except saliva.

"You smell different," he forced out.

Draco did not falter, not even for a second. If a man can lie to Lucius Malfoy he can to Neville Longbottom, he explained he had a meeting with middle aged women. The type who could not help but overload with make-up, perfume in helpless attempts to appear attractive. Neville wondered if that would be him, if that was him as he thought about the small attempts he made to be more attractive. To make Draco want him. He blushed.

"Don't worry, you know I could never be with anyone but you."

Not romantic, just a simple obligation. His husband and the father of his son, Neville had sacrificed so much for him, friends, family and his manhood, he had given birth for Draco, for their family. Just something to resent, a glorified babysitter. He couldn't stand and Draco supported him, the way he always did. There when it was necessary. Tears hit him like a wave and he was swallowed by them, he could do nothing but cry. Draco mumbled things to him, softened his hair. He thought he was frightened by the sickness, thought he was nothing but ill.

Slowly, he scooped him up and carried him to bed. Sliding him under the blankets, he kisses his forehead and told him to sleep. Neville just wanted him to disappear, to never see those eyes again, that blonde hair.

But he did sleep. For hours in solid blocks of nothingness. He almost forgot about Draco. When he woke no one was in the house, even Tom was gone and fear struck him so suddenly. Draco thought he was incapable, had taken their son to live with his mistress in a world of beauty, of normality. Away from him.

But there it was. A note from Draco, saying he was worried that Neville was too ill to take care of Tom. He was with Harry and Draco would pick him up after work, leaving Neville to his day, to rest. Neville was never angry but he was now. But more than that, he was hurt. Deemed incapable to do the one thing, he could do. The only thing he was good at.

He dressed with such a determinacy, nicely. A shirt and slacks, his smart jacket and he combed his hair. Into the street, on the bus and whilst he hated muggle transport and the dour expressions of the drivers, he confidently made it to the offices. He demanded to be seen. Neville Longbottom had never demanded anything in his life. But it worked. The woman behind the main desk sent him up in the elevator.

This was unusual. It was the same as those offices he had seen on television, grey, cheap carpets. Cubicles everywhere, booths filled with computers, picture frames, novelty pens, stuffed animals... He thought about Draco's version. Perhaps one picture of Tom? But probably not. That might put off the women, if they thought he had a son they may be unlikely to sleep with him.

"Excuse me, do you need any help?"

"Erm...yes. Where is Draco Malfoy's office?"

The woman looked uneasily suddenly but she told him. Around the corner, hidden away from everything else. Neville's memory brought him the final battle. Suddenly he was not on those horrible carpets but the stone floors of Hogwarts were under his shoes. He was wearing beaten sneakers, padding through the corridor and then into the Great Hall. Two feet away from the door. One foot. He could hear the sounds, the tingle of magic. Shouts, cries. Whispers. He was outside, Draco was there. Blond hair ruffled, mud on his cheeks. Robes open, pale chest. That scar through his right nipple. Except he got that during the battle, he wouldn't have it now.

But it wasn't his sneakers, it was his nice shoes. It wasn't the Great Hall, it was Draco's Office. It wasn't mud, it was lipstick. It wasn't his robes, it was his workshirt.

Neville was dizzy. He knew it. He had known it for so long but to see it. To no longer pretend his insecurities were simply getting the better of him. It was nothing but Draco's infidelity and his lack of physical attractiveness. They took a few seconds to notice Neville, she did first and pressed her lips to Draco quickly. Just to prove a point, Neville already knew.

"Nev..." was all he said.

He should run, move. Become aggressive. Hit someone? Shout? But he couldn't react, all he could was stand there. All he thought of was Tom. Visions of their young so reach up to Draco, the parent he could, should, model himself on. There was a rush of activity in front of him, dressing and then the woman was gone and the door closed. He was alone with his husband in this room with nothing to say.

"Sweetie..."

"Do you remember when you were unconscious?" Neville suddenly said.

Draco looked blank.

"After the war, when they thought you would die. I guess you can't remember, you were asleep..."

"Neville... I don't..."

"I stayed with you even though I thought you would die, just because I wanted to have the opportunity to be with you. No one looked at me the same, I was the one who supported a traitor, defended one."

"I never asked you to..."

"I never asked you to marry me, to impregnate me..."

"But you expected it. It was what you deserved, for your loyalty. I did the right thing, did what everyone wanted... You cannot be upset at me."

"I'm not...I am going to Harry's, going to get Tom. I'll see you tonight."

And Neville left. On the way to their son, he thought about their options. About running away. But he wouldn't do it. The one thing he had always wanted and Draco had too, a proper family. He was proper, they had a nice house, family meals and they both loved their son. In all honesty it was no different to how it had always been. He loved Draco, Draco loved... Well Neville didn't know if he loved anyone, if he ever had. One thing was certain, he had never loved Neville.

His husband came home early that night, almost surprised to see the other but not disappointed. Tom ran to him, embraced him eagerly. He very rarely saw his father before bed on week nights. Draco was an odd addition to their evening routine but it worked well, he even got Tom to bed on time.

Then they were alone again. It seemed they had switched roles, normally Neville would be desperate to talk things over and Draco just wanting to forgot, well not tonight. Of course there were hundreds of questions bubbling in Neville's mind but he doubted whether he wanted to know the real answer to any of them.

"I don't love her, it is just sex."

Sex. Neville had often wondered what he brought to it. Besides willingness. Before Draco, during Hogwarts he had slept with Harry. The had lost their virginity together, romantically but without the true feeling. Neither had any other option, neither wanted to die a virgin. Well in reality Harry had thousands of options but he wanted someone he could trust, someone who would keep it quiet. It had been nice, lovely in fact. Harry was affectionate, kissed everywhere lingering on his nipples. At first he had thought that was a rather straight thing to do but Harry said it was the opposite, the mere fact he enjoyed the lack of proper breasts made it clear where his interests lie. Draco was the opposite, disliking even the feel of Neville's nipples.

"You're not even gay," Neville said slowly.

Draco looked confused. They had this discussion years ago, he claimed that he liked women but loved Neville. Except he didn't love him. He felt sorry for him? Was it even that?

"Not for other men, no."

"Not for me," Neville said without even letting Draco's sentence float in the air.

And then he was on him. Kissing him weakly, hands knotting in his hair as he whined into the other's mouth. He was so needy, desperate. Arms tightly around the other's waist he kept kissing, helplessly trying to find salvation. Neville pushed him away, bitterly.

"Nevy... please... I..."

"You can't finish that sentence."

"I need you...So much..."

"What to look after your son? Do the dishes? Clean up after you, take your fucking shit day after day Draco. Be a fucking obligation while you stick your hand up some stupid office girl's skirt?"

The tears hit. He had been waiting on the tears. Draco just stood there and slowly Neville turned and dragged himself to bed. Instead of sleep he lay there, replayed their life in his head. Favourite moments cheapening as he remembered the horrible details he tried to forgot. But one night would not change, never. The first time... Beautiful, damaged Draco.

It was late, movement for the past three weeks and slowly he was beginning to walk again. He was going to be fine, healthy; himself. The fear had been suffocating, drifting through his bloodstream and feeling him with terror. But Draco hadn't forced him to leave yet. They had shared kisses, touches and Draco would often grope him inappropriately (not that he really minded) but nothing that involved undress. Neville had been napping, and Draco was at the door. He wore his bathrobe, wet hair but it had been brushed back. Skin shiny and pink. The bath, of course the bath.

He walked in the room, slowly. Perhaps trying to be seductive but Neville was convinced it was nerves. Of course he had not done this before, not with a man and Neville suspected not with a female. But it didn't matter because he was lovely and beautiful and soft. They kissed and Neville slid his hand inside that bathrobe to find nothing but acre upon acre of hot skin. Touching, soft but frantic and then penetration. Ejaculation. But more beautiful kisses together with whispered words, confessions.

He opened his eyes, Draco flushed but not smiling as he would be normally. Nervous instead. He had the power, just as he did the first time. Many possibilities float in front of him, he could label this a meaningless last fuck, throw his husband out; he could become a jealous monster, waiting for the other to vanish; but he could be himself. Be Neville Instead he could kiss that hair, cuddle into the warmth and think about it tomorrow. Or maybe for the rest of his life. But one thing was certain, Draco may need him but Neville would always need him more, want him more.

Review pwease? ^.^