Title: Playing House
Part: 4/?
Author: Tainted Pink
Email: taintedpink@hotmail.com
Website: http://www.livejournal.com/users/taintedwicked
Pairing: Neville/Draco
Rating for Part 4: PG
Warnings: Slash, MPreg (male pregnancy)
Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP
Summary: Neville Longbottom agrees to take Draco Malfoy into his home.
Author's Notes: The main mpreg in this fic is not the result of a relationship between Neville and Draco. That is, Neville is not the natural father of Draco's baby. The other relationship is not important to the plot and will be mentioned in passing only.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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The next morning Neville woke up with a new sense of purpose. He got through his morning chores at lightning speed, fixed breakfast of ham and eggs, then retreated to the garden with the morning paper.

He had to find a job.

He had been putting it off, thought he had half-heartedly sent off a few applications. There was the war, of course, but Neville had to admit that it looked like it might drag on for a while yet. And the fact that his place of employment could turn out to be a Death Eater hideout -- Neville recalled with a shudder that he had applied for a job in the tea room of the Blue Raven, the club Hermione told him was now under surveillance -- had also given him reason to put it off.

But he would just have to take that chance. He needed the money, and he needed something to occupy his time. Draco would drive him mad on short order if he didn't find a way to get out of the house at least once in a while.

He sighed, flipping the morning paper to the job ads. It was mostly money. He could stand Draco Malfoy, somehow, but he couldn't see how he would make his meager savings stretch, even with the money McGonagall had given him. The Order couldn't afford to support another household. Neville was able-bodied and had adequate skills. He wouldn't allow himself to become a burden.

Of course, he would have to check with the Order before he applied for any position. Neville lowered the paper, frowning. Maybe he should check to see if the Order needed him for anything. Sometimes they forgot that he was ready to help out.

Making up his mind to ask Hermione to forward a message, Neville put on his gloves and headed deeper into the garden.

It was the perfect morning to work, bright despite the clouds hanging low over the horizon. Soon he was completely absorbed by the task at hand.

"Hey!"

Neville looked up, startled, and peered cautiously around a scraggly bush.

Draco was standing on the porch, hands on his hips. "Hey!"

Neville stood up slowly. "I have a name."

Draco rolled his eyes, snorting impatiently. "Whatever. Do you know it's an hour past lunch? I'm starving."

"Couldn't you find anything in the cupboards?"

Draco only scowled.

Pulling off his gloves, Neville began to trudge back to the house. "Fine. I'll see what I can find."

Draco said nothing as Neville passed him.

There was plenty of food, if one just took the initiative of looking for it. Neville couldn't believe Draco couldn't even fry an egg and chop a few carrots for a salad.

As he was flipping eggs and bacon on the frying pan, he saw Draco come in and sit down at the kitchen table.

Waiting to be served, no doubt. What a pity Gran's silver serving trays were gone.

Neville smirked to himself, turning his face away so Draco wouldn't see.

"I would have done it, you know," Draco said sullenly from behind him. "I know what you're thinking."

"Then why didn't you?" Neville asked. Then, because his tone sounded sarcastic even to himself, he added, "I wasn't thinking anything. I'm the one who said you should think yourself a guest while you're here."

"You didn't seem very happy with my cooking the last time."

"What's that supposed to mean? I said it was nice."

"Yes, and you waited until I took the first bite! Probably thought anything I made would poison you!"

Neville turned to face him, blinking in amazement. "No I didn't. That's crazy."

Draco narrowed his eyes and scowled. "Yes you did."

"No, I... oh, forget it, Draco. I'm not getting into this kind of childish argument with you." Neville turned back to the stove resolutely. "In the future, you're welcome to cook anything you please. You are also welcome to redecorate your bedroom. I noticed you're still living out of your suitcase."

"It will save me the trouble of packing again," Draco muttered darkly.

Neville sighed in exasperation. "What are you going on about now?"

"I know why you went to see Granger."

"And why is that?"

"You don't want me here."

Neville laughed. He didn't mean to, but the very idea of anyone wanting Draco Malfoy to live with them seemed absurd. "Listen, Draco, you're here and I'm willing to let you stay as long as you need to. That's all I have to say about it."

Draco only scowled in response.

The food was done, but Neville was not hungry. He filled a plate and set it down on the table. "There you go. I'll be in the garden if you need anything else."

He got as far as the door before Draco stopped him. "Do you have another shirt I can borrow? This one needs washing."

"Sure," Neville said. "Take whatever you want from my wardrobe. You know where my room is."

It wasn't like he had anything of value.

He didn't expect thanks, and was not surprised when he didn't hear any.

He spent several more hours in the garden, but a drizzling rain drove him back into the house prematurely.

Draco was nowhere to be seen, but as his bedroom door was shut, Neville assumed he was there.

He fixed himself a late lunch, noting that Draco had added his dirty dishes to the pile in the sink. Not that he expected anything else.

He cleaned up the kitchen and then took his box of seeds into his room, figuring if he couldn't work in the garden then he could at least plan what he would do when the weather was nicer.

He couldn't help it. As soon as he had closed and locked the door, he went over to the wardrobe and opened it.

Draco had helped himself with a free hand, he saw. Neville wondered at the audacity of taking the best and newest-looking clothing out of someone's wardrobe. All his silk shirts were gone. Of course, they were too small for him, and he never wore silk because even a bit of sweat ruined the fabric. But still.

One of his favorite argyle jumpers was also gone.

He saw it again as he was preparing dinner. Draco came into the kitchen, sniffing the air expectantly.

The jumper was too big on him, and had slipped off one shoulder, making him appear waif-like.

"Are we having that again?" he asked, wrinkling his nose when he saw the sausages Neville was piling onto a tray.

"Yes."

Draco sat down at the table.

Any other person, Neville thought as he set down the food and went to get the dishes and silverware, would have at least asked if he could help set the table.

Draco didn't speak, and Neville was content to eat in silence.

"Pass the salt."

Neville pushed the salt shaker toward him.

For the first time, he got a good look at Draco's face.

He didn't look very good. His hair was limp, there were dark spots under his eyes...

The last thing he needed was for Draco to get ill while under his care.

"Are you feeling all right?"

Draco sighed exaggeratedly. "Yes. Fine."

Neville nodded and returned to his food. He wasn't one to bother people if they didn't want to tell him what was wrong.

"I'm terribly bored," Draco continued, apparently not caring whether Neville had asked or not.

"I'm sorry there isn't more to do here."

Draco sighed again.

Neville tried to ignore him, but somehow he had the feeling this wasn't the end of it.

"I thought I would be doing something. Not hiding like a coward."

"Doing what?"

"I don't know. Something important."

Neville choked down a snort and gulped his tea. "Really?" he said as soon as he thought he could manage it.

"Well, I didn't risk my life to be tossed aside like this!"

Neville thought that was pretty ungrateful. As far as he knew, a lot of people -- him included -- had bent over backwards to accommodate Draco's need to be kept safe.

But he didn't say so.

"I am sorry you're bored. Have you finished your book?"

"No."

"There you go, then. You have something to do until you have finished it, at least."

Draco threw him a disgusted look, and lapsed into sullen silence, which lasted almost until the end of the meal and made Neville highly uncomfortable.

"Aren't you even curious?"

Neville froze with his fork half-way to his mouth. "Curious about what?"

"How I got here."

Neville thought he knew where this was leading, but he pretended he didn't. He wished Draco wouldn't bring it up. "On the train, remember?"

"Don't play stupid."

Sighing, Neville pushed aside his plate and leaned back, resigned to hearing the sordid details of why Draco Malfoy, the son of one of the most prominent Death Eaters, needed to be protected by the likes of Neville Longbottom. "All right. Tell me. I'm dying of curiosity."

Draco scowled at him.

"Honestly?" Neville said, shrugging. "I'm not sure I want to know."

"For your information," Draco ground out through clenched teeth, "I gave away key Death Eater positions! If it wasn't for me, half your stupid Gryffindor friends would be dead right now!"

"Oh," Neville said, not particularly impressed and not managing to sound otherwise. Draco's exaggerations had never made much of an impact on him. "That was good of you."

"You bet your arse that was good of me!"

Neville looked at Draco's flushed, angry face, and wondered just what Draco expected him to say.

He was curious, actually, but he had been truthful when he'd said he didn't want to know. If he had a Death Eater living in his house, even a reformed one, he wasn't sure he would sleep any better having heard the entire story.

"If you are so set on telling me," he said, "then go ahead, if it will make you feel better."

"I don't have anything to feel badly about!" Draco yelled, banging his fist on the table and causing the dishes to jump and rattle.

"Weren't you a Death Eater, then?" Neville blurted out in spite of himself.

Draco's chair skidded across the floor as he stood up, tearing the left sleeve of his shirt as he yanked it up to his elbow. "Does it LOOK like I was?"

There was no Dark Mark, Neville saw. Still...

"It isn't my fault everyone assumed you'd joined. You left school half-way through the year. Your friends Crabbe and Goyle were caught setting fire to Muggle homes, and they were with You-Know-Who for sure."

"So what?" Draco demanded. "Father pulled me out of school when Snape was revealed as a spy. He thought Snape was trying to get too close to me. And I DON'T see what those two buffoons have to do with me!"

"You seemed to be the leader of them from Year One," Neville pointed out. "Of course we all assumed you'd joined You-Know-Who together."

"Of course!" Draco spat. "Because I'm a Slytherin, and not a do-gooder Gryffindor! Of course you would expect me to get in with Voldemort!"

Turning on his heel, Draco stomped out of the room. A few seconds later, his bedroom door slammed thunderously, rattling the windows and all the dishes on the drying rack.

Neville slowly let out a long breath.

He supposed he had no choice but to believe that Draco had not been a Death Eater, but he still wished they had never had this conversation.

He cleaned up the kitchen.

Maybe he would turn in early. Suddenly, he was exhausted.

There was no sound from Draco's room when he paused by the door on his way to his own bedroom.

Maybe he should...

No. He wasn't up for another argument, and one was sure to happen if he tried speaking to Draco now.

He curled up with a Herbology book and read for the next hour, every once in a while raising his head to listen for any sign that Draco was up and about, but Draco's door remained shut.

Turning out his light, Neville lay in the darkness for a long time, thinking.

Sleep wouldn't come, and finally he got out of bed again, found a piece of parchment and a quill, and penned a short note to Hermione, asking her to see if there were any jobs suitable for his skill level available in the very near future.

His old owl came at his call, and he watched her fly off with the letter until she was just a speck in the evening sky.

Well. That was done, anyway. If Hermione came through for him, he would have a job, and Draco's bad moods would not grate on his nerves so.

Feeling slightly better, he climbed back in bed and was soon asleep.