I doubt that JK Rowling ever imagined these charecters doing any of this...let's keep it our little secret.

It is also male-male slash, and if you don't care for that sort of thing, this is your cue to hit the back button. Now. I won't take it personally, honest. If you aren't into slash, good-bye. Likewise, if you're uncomfortable with elements of non-consensual sex, you'll also want to retreat. This story contains both; you can't say you weren't warned. Have I made myself clear? Still with me? Flame if you're so inclined; I could use something warm to thaw out with. February. Brrr!

This is a follow-up to "My Gryffindor". Same pairing, other pov.

Anything For You

It's fantastic, knowing the passwords to all four of the Hogwarts greenhouses. I led our class in Herbology marks in last year's OWL's, and Professor Sprout's been hinting that an assistant professorship might be available after graduation. That might even pacify Gram - all last summer, it was nothing but "Neville, you've got to work harder in school." "Neville, the Ministry needs you." "Neville, you must follow in your father's footsteps and become an auror."

Codswallop. I haven't got the temperament. I'm not a joiner, not a team player. I'm perfectly happy to be left alone with a bunch of green things to tend. Harry Potter, on the other hand, is going to make an excellant Auror, if Professor Snape doesn't fail him out of spite. He's certainly got the drive - it's what makes him a cracking good Seeker - and the fact that Headmaster Dumbledore has him as a teaching assistant for Defense Against the Dark Arts this year proves he has the skills.

I unwrap a pepper imp and pop it in my mouth as I step inside Greenhouse #3. Pocketing the crackling cellophane, I avoid the Devil's Snare creeping toward my ankle. Harry Potter...Neville, old man, there's such a thing as setting your sights too high, even if the fellow did save your life last spring and has eyes the color of fine emeralds. He's not bent that way; you only had to watch him watching Cho at all those DA meetings to see that. I blow a smoke ring at the glass ceiling. Too bad, he's pretty hot. Certainly the hottest thing in Gryffindor!

This is no time to let myself get distracted; I'm here to harvest sap from the Indigoneus Bellissima. My smile widens. I helped start the seedlings for this crop of Indigoneus last spring...these are my Indigoneus. Of course, to get the extra credit Professor Sprout promised me, I've got to successfully produce ink from the Bellissima that has the charecteristic irridescent sheen to it. Simply harvesting the sap won't do it, it has to be properly distilled, and that's going to be rough. I'm no damn good at Potions, it's my worst subject by far - Charms and Transfiguration used to be close seconds, but my old wand got broken last spring, and I'm discovering what a tremendous difference the right wand makes.

"Birch, flexible, fourteen inches, dragon heart-string," Mr. Ollivander announced as a flick of my wrist sent a swarm of fireflies flitting through the wand shop. Nothing like that ever happened with Dad's old wand. I tried two or three simple spells while I was standing there, and they all worked - like magic is supposed to! This year, I'm passing everything but Potions - I more or less squeak by in there-and I may actually become a decent wizard one of these days.

Once all the ripe pods have yielded their sap, I hold the beaker up to the sunlight to admire the magnificent blue-gold color. The greenhouse is warm, and the fragrance of the Indigoneous perfumes the air with a rich aroma, a smoky, woodsy scent, like a fine cigar or fresh cut cedar, but with exotic, spicy undertones.

Behind me, there's a rustling of leaves, and I turn quickly as a figure tries to duck back the way it came. "Hold it!" I say sharply, and he freezes. Draco Malfoy - the last person I'd expect to find lurking in a greenhouse. "You know, you're awfully close to that Dahlonaga Georgiana." He skitters away from the plant, wide-eyed. I stiffle a smirk. The Dahlonaga is perfectly harmless. "What are you doing in here?"

Malfoy doesn't say anything. He looks trapped; and I feel a small glow of satisfaction that for once, he's going to know how it feels. His bully boys aren't with him; they're not at Hogwarts this year. His eyes are pink and puffy from crying, and his usually immaculate hair is in disarray. Thinking about it, I realize that the 6th year Slytherins and Ravenclaw would've been the last group in here before lunch - he probably hid behind something and stayed behind when the rest left. Good job that didn't happen in Greenhouse #4 - likely all we'd've found there would be the clasps from his cloak.

Okay, the hottest guy at Hogwarts? Him, no question. Which goes to show that looks aren't everything, because he can be the nastiest little snake you've ever seen without half trying. I really don't like him - and yet he still manages to be downright tasty. "Answer me, Malfoy. I've got permission to be here because I've got Independant Study in Herbology. What's your excuse?"

"It's quiet. I didn't think anyone else would be here." His voice is so low I can hardly hear him, and he doesn't meet my eyes. This is so different from the arrogant little snot that I'm used to, I wonder if he's been charmed or something. I stopper the beaker of Indigoneous sap and carefully stow it away in my backpack.

Alone in a greenhouse with Draco Malfoy...the stuff my wildest dreams are made of. Taking a step closer to him, I savor the advantage of having gotten several inches taller over the summer. Now he's nearly a head shorter than I am, and I outweigh him by at least thirty pounds. I've spent years trembling around him and his entourage - but he's not so full of himself anymore. I could pound him into the floor, but revenge isn't what I'd like most from him. Not even close.

He's the one who's trembling now. "Please, don't hurt me," he begs, and I stand there thinking about what poetic justice it would be if I did repay him for some of the hell he's put me through. "I'll do anything!"

"Anything?" I repeat thoughtfully. "Anything at all?" His eyes meet mine for the first time, wide and panic-stricken. I've just been handed the perfect opportunity. Anything. "Are you sure?"

"Please don't hurt me." This time, it's barely a whisper, and he's not looking right at me. The tone he's using - soft-spoken and pleading - is downright seductive. Anything. Thinking I ought to be ashamed of myself, I get right next to him, looming over him, consciously trying to be as intimidating as I possibly can. I can hear his breath coming in shallow gasps. He's scared. Of me. I can see how a guy could get to enjoy being a bully...the sense of power is intoxicating. Under my robes, I'm reacting to him and the thought of it, of Draco doing anything...let's see if he really means that.

"Anything?" I ask him. Reaching out, I stroke his platinum hair, ignoring the little flinch he makes as my hand approaches. He wears it a bit long; as I sweep it back from his jaw, I notice a yellowing bruise on his ivory skin. "What's this? Someone been thumping on you?"

"Everyone," he murmurs, looking down at the stones of the greenhouse floor. "Even the other Slytherins." Yeah, he's not the golden boy anymore - since his dad got locked up for conspiracy with You-Know-Who, apparently Draco doesn't even have any Slytherin friends these days. After all, isn't the Slytherin motto "Don't get caught."?

His hair is fine cornsilk. "Take off your robe," I order him. Fata Morgana, I want to know if he's that blonde all over! "No one can see us from here" I tell him as he hesitates. "The door is closed, and there's a sealing charm on the outside. Do it!" And Draco does it.

Underneath the voluminous black silk is a body that could model for a Greek statue. Instead of a fig leaf, are a pair of dark green silk boxers. "Them too, Malfoy." Yes, he really is that blonde all over. I grin and feast my eyes. He may be blushing, but obviously, not all the blood is going to his head! Slowly, I circle him, viewing his nakedness from all angles. Beautiful. "Do you want me to take care of that for you?" I taunt him.

"Would you?" He's wide-eyed.

"In your dreams, Malfoy," I say, giving him what I imagine is something like the look he's given me all these years. "But you want me to, don't you?"

"Yes," he whispers, looking away again. Longing for it.

"You don't really think I'd satisfy the likes of you, Malfoy?" Looking at him gives my imagination a lot to work with. I've had thoughts about him late at night, when the dorm is in darkness and bed curtains are drawn for privacy. Now I've got even more material for fantasy...

"I'll do anything, Neville, anything..."

At this rate, he will be in trouble. No one is scheduled to be in here for the rest of the afternoon - and I know for a fact that Professor Sprout has gone into Hogsmeade for tea with Nurse Pomfrey. I have enough time and seclusion do all kinds of wicked things to him if I were so inclined...it's a good thing for him that I have some scruples. "Don't you ever learn?" I ask him, almost affectionately. "Anything?"

Draco gazes into my eyes for the first time this afternoon, not glancing away. "Anything for you..." He hesitates. "...Neville." Fata Morgana. The way he says my name, the way he's blinking at me - I've seen girls flirt that way with guys they like. I'm dreaming this, it can't be real. I try to keep up the callous fas├žade. "You know, Malfoy, I look at you, and I wonder if there's a veela in the woodpile somewhere." He blushes. "Is there?" He nods, looking...shy? "Tell me."

"My great-great grandmother on my father's side," he whispers.

"That explains a lot," I mutter. No wonder he's so sexy, even though he's such a bastard. Lacing my fingers into his silky hair, I pull his head back and apply my mouth to his. To my considerable surprise, Draco doesn't protest. He's kissing me back, which I certainly didn't expect. He doesn't try to squirm free as my arm goes around his waist and pulls him closer. In fact, his eyes are closed and he rubs himself against me like a cat. Isn't that interesting...?

"Anything!" he gasps as our lips part. "Please!" He's clinging to me like Devil's Snare.

"Slytherin slut," I respond, but without consciously intending to, I give his shoulders a squeeze.

"My Gryffindor," he murmurs, his head resting against my shoulder.

How the hell did this happen? This is Draco Malfoy? The terror of Hogwarts? Lovey-dovey with me, of all people? I'm either the luckiest guy alive, or I'm hallucinating from the Indigoneous fumes. "And you'll do anything for me?"

"Uh-huh..." There's a dreamy expression on his face. I've got to research the effects of Indigoneous pollen; this can't be happening, can it?

"Okay then. You can get us time in the Potions lab. I've got a project I need to work on, and you're going to help me."

He blinks. "Huh?"

"Well, you're good at Potions, and you did say you'd do anything..."

This was difficult to write at a level that would keep it suitable for a wide audience. I suspect I'll revisit this couple sooner or later. Might as well consider these stories AU, since the vague ideas I have for an eventual plot are completely non-canon. Oh, and I'm not envisioning the movieverse, either. My mental images of the individuals involved are just that: mine.