Illusions

Illusions

*

Stupid Crushes Stink

*

"I'm sorry, but I have to go," apologized Neville as he rose from his seat. "Tutoring, you know."

"Poor you," Ron said with genuine compassion. "It must be horrible to have to spend all your spare time with Malfoy. I simply can't understand how you can stand it."

"Well, I don't really have options," replied Neville with a nervous laugh. "I need that tutoring if I want to pass Potions. I've actually learnt something. Malfoy's good at teaching."

"I'm surprised he's good at anything but licking Snape's boots," Seamus said with a grin. "Very well, Neville. Now go to your torture chambers, o tutorable one."

"I don't think that 'tutorable' is even a word," Harry pointed out. "But do hurry, Neville. The starting time of your lesson is getting closer, and I don't think you want to be late."

And hurry Neville did. While he hurried towards the dungeons, he thought about his tutoring. If he had told the truth to his friends, they would have most probably been shocked -- if they had even believed him in the first place, that was. Since the truth was, he actually enjoyed the tutoring.

He'd come to notice that when there was nobody else around, Malfoy was a pretty decent guy. At first he'd been just the same nasty Slytherin he always was, but with Neville, he'd lately started to relax. Sure, he could still be as intimidating as Snape when he wanted to be that, but most of the time he was just okay. And he really was a good teacher, too -- about that, Neville hadn't lied. Professor Snape maybe was that, but in the Potions class, Neville was simply too scared to learn anything useful.

So, one reason to his tendency to actually enjoy the extra time with Potions and Malfoy -- the second and third of his former worst nightmares, the absolutely worst being Professor Snape -- was the fact that Malfoy was not that bad company. Another reason was something that he could even less tell to his friends, since appreciating Malfoy's company was nothing compared with that utter horror.

Neville felt, quite frankly, attracted to Draco Malfoy, the pride of Slytherin. This attraction was so strong that it might even be called a crush. And that made Neville more horrified than anything else.

Sure, he liked boys. There was nothing wrong with that, as the attitudes in the Wizarding World were far more tolerant than those in the Muggle World, and homosexuals had been out of the closet for centuries without fear. That was not the point. Just as surely Malfoy was good-looking, everybody knew that. Even Ron sometimes talked about "the pretty bastard" when he meant Malfoy. Admitting that was not a problem, it was a simple fact one just couldn't deny.

However, those things mattered nothing in the end. A Gryffindor might be attracted to boys, and Malfoy might be attractive. There was nothing wrong with those facts. However, no Gryffindor was ever attracted to Malfoy. That was just wrong. It was against the very laws of the nature.

But Neville just couldn't help himself. Malfoy, who was extremely good-looking even when he was cool and collected, was even more that when he was eagerly explaining something, his silver eyes blazing with excitement. It was obvious that Malfoy loved the subject just as much as Snape did, just like Neville himself loved Herbology, the only subject he was good at. That excitement made the blond abandon the cool mask he always wore. As soon as the tutoring sessions ended, the mask was put firmly back on place. And, of course, that mysterious role fascinated Neville even more.

Oh, Neville knew all about masks. He wasn't good in many subjects; in fact, he was horrible at anything else than Herbology. However, he certainly wasn't as empty-headed and forgetful as he seemed to be at times. If he had been that absentminded, he would have never passed any exams. Practical work was his true downfall; there was nothing wrong with his mind. Sure, he had to work hard, but so had everybody else, well, except for Hermione. Now there was a witch who worked definitely more than she had to.

However, as far as Neville could remember, he had lived with his Gran. And, as far as he could remember, his gran had treated him like a little child. Of course he had been a little child in the beginning, but Gran didn't seem to notice that he had grown up. After a life time of being asked whether he was sure he had put his shoe on the right foot, it was not a wonder if he didn't behave like he was expected to actually remember something. Partly it was a habit of trying to behave like his Gran expected him to do, partly it was also subconscious fear. Neville was constantly reminded of the danger of knowing too much whenever he visited his parents. Voldemort had driven his parents mad because they'd been too much a threat to him. Neville was determined to avoid his parents' fate and never be too much a threat to anyone, and the best way to achieve that was to be absolutely incompetent.

So, when he finally reached the Potions classroom, it wasn't fear that made his heart pound in his chest and blood rush in his ears. No, it was something entirely else. Something unthinkable.

"Well, so you did choose to arrive at last," said a lazy voice. Once again Neville had trouble with breathing. Malfoy was leaning against Snape's desk, wearing what Neville had now determined to be his laboratory robe, as he never wore them other than during their tutoring sessions, and always then. Short sleeves that showed well his muscular arms, a tight top that hugged the firm, Quidditch-toned chest and abdomen, and a wide hem that didn't slow him down but did nothing to hide his slim legs as the thin material clung to his skin -- that robe maybe helped Malfoy's work, but it did the absolute opposite to Neville. More than once he'd almost spoilt a potion because he'd lost himself staring at Malfoy's bottom when the blond leant over the table to reach for an ingredient or to check something from a text book.

"Yeah," Neville mumbled in response. "I got caught talking with the guys, and had to hurry."

"Well, start hurrying earlier next time." The Slytherin pushed himself away from the desk. "Very well. My dearest Godfather promised that we could use this tutoring lesson to work on our Potions project. As you clearly don't have your notes with you, we will simply use mine. Now, come on. Let's get to work."

Oh, yes. Professor Snape had forced them to work together in Potions, too. Miraculous as it was, Malfoy's grades hadn't got worse -- at least not much. That was because Professor Snape, trusting Malfoy to keep Neville from doing any really bad mistakes, no more hovered all around Neville. Thus, he wasn't as nervous and scared all the time as he'd used to, and Malfoy's exceptional skills managed to make their potions really good as long as Neville didn't spoil them. All in all, it was a good arrangement -- except that in the classroom, Malfoy was every bit the bastard he usually appeared to be.

Anyway, Neville walked to their desk, where he found a stack of notes, all written in Malfoy's thin, spidery handwriting that actually resembled much that of Professor Snape. Briefly wondering, like he did every time he saw Malfoy's notes, if all Potions-obsessed people had similar handwriting, Neville studied the next step of the project they had to do in Extended Potions. It wasn't too hard, but needed a lot of concentration. He just had to hope that Malfoy wouldn't do too much leaning over the desk this time.

Anyway, working like they usually did, Neville went to fetch the ingredients they would need, while Malfoy collected all required equipment as well as found from somewhere their first-state potion. It now had to be developed further, something that they had to do completely undistracted.

As they indeed needed to concentrate, for some time they worked in absolute silence, silently agreeing on which one of them would do which preparation task. After a moment, however, Malfoy started a conversation, like he usually did. Neville suspected he didn't like silence too much.

"If you could have anything in life, what would you want?" Malfoy asked, never taking his eyes away from the newt's eyes he was neatly dicing. "Don't think about how. Just, anything. What would it be?"

For a moment, Neville thought hard about the question. When the answer came to him, however, it seemed obvious, and he wondered how he hadn't realized it immediately. "I'd like to have my parents back," he said quietly. Both of them knew what he meant by that, so Malfoy didn't ask. "What about you?"

After another moment of silence, the Slytherin replied, "I would like to be normal. Well, so I am rather normal, but it gets sometimes irritating to be a Malfoy. Everybody immediately expects me to behave in a certain way and do certain things just because of my name. I'm a Malfoy, I'm into Dark Arts, I'm a Malfoy, I'm the leader of Slytherin House, I'm a Malfoy, I am straight..."

"What?" Neville glanced up from his work, then immediately looked back down again to make sure he wouldn't do anything wrong. "Are you straight, then?"

"No," confessed Malfoy calmly. "Sure, I am the leader of Slytherin, ask anybody. And I don't see anything bad in the Dark Arts -- they're not evil by themselves, they're just tools, just like any magic. But no, I am not straight. I'm most definitely homosexual." With a slight sigh, he added, "But it's not like I could choose, anyway. Father wants me to marry a nice, Pureblood girl he can approve and have an heir to carry on the Malfoy line. Then I can have as many male lovers as I please for anything he cares -- he's a gay himself."

"Oh." For a moment, Neville was really disappointed. He'd really hoped for something for a second, but if Lucius Malfoy was against his son having a boyfriend, then he didn't have a snowball's chance in hell to get the said son. From their discussions he'd already noticed that Malfoy valued his father's opinion above anything else. Which, of course, brought a question into his mind. "Malfoy?" he asked. As the boy replied with a quiet, noncommittal sound, he asked, "Why are you telling all these things?"

Now, he could hear the smirk in Malfoy's voice as the blond said, "Well, who would ever believe you if you told that Malfoy is a whiny little gay in a desperate need of a boyfriend, but doesn't dare to disagree with his father?" Then, with a not even half as teasing tone, he added, "No, seriously speaking, it's just that need somebody to talk to. You're not half as stupid as you appear to be, and you're certainly more intelligent company than Crabbe and Goyle. And, unlike any Slytherin, I have a rather good confidence that you won't tell anything to anybody. Even for a Gryffindor, you seem to be an extremely fair player."

"Well, I won't tell anybody," Neville replied quietly. Then he even dared to comment, "You know, you're not half as bad as you seem to be. At least I don't think you are," he added shyly.

Now, Malfoy smirked. "Well, I should think so," he chuckled. "If I was as bad as I appear to be, I would appear to be even worse." Before Neville could further examine the logic behind his words, Malfoy added, "Anyway, I do think these are ready. We should now start heating the cauldron."

Their conversation went on for still some time over the cauldron. However, neither of them anymore commented on either Malfoy's not-so-bad character or his heterosexuality. But even though Neville was a bit disappointed at this, he couldn't be entirely sad about the outcome of that tutoring session.

After all, not only did he now know that at least in theory he had some chances with Malfoy, he also knew that Malfoy actually trusted him. And that was a victory above anything else.

*