OUT OF THE BAG
"Don't forget, Longbottom, there is still time for me to go to Filch, too."
Neville stared at Malfoy in disgust, but there was nothing he could say.
"I would think you wouldn't want the whole school to know about you. You do recall, don't you, your friends' reaction--"
"All right!" Neville said, clenching his fists. "All right. I'll do it."
Malfoy smiled widely, as if he'd known all along Neville would cave.
He probably had. Just as he'd known Neville would do nothing to curb the steadily increasing frequency of their meetings in the dungeon broom closet, even when they morphed from a monthly occurrence their sixth year into a daily ritual in their seventh. Now it seemed oral sex wasn't enough.
Not even for a moment did Neville consider allowing Malfoy to expose his secret. Malfoy had been correct in assuming Neville remembered all too well the torment he'd endured after Seamus bragged about their one-time encounter in the showers.
And the death of Mrs. Norris, though accidental, could still get him expelled.
Malfoy waved a small bottle in front of Neville's nose. "I came prepared," he smirked.
By the time he stumbled out into the corridor and shut the closet door behind him, Neville's only thought was to crawl into bed.
By the month's end he felt at the end of his rope. Malfoy was starting to make him physically ill. Every morning Neville threw up just thinking about Malfoy and the expected signal to meet him in the dungeons after classes.
After a time, there came the thought that his illness may be something else. He stubbornly suppressed it.
There was nothing he could do, however, when he awoke in the infirmary.
"You collapsed in class," Pomfrey announced grimly. "Were you aware--"
"Yes," Neville cut her off.
She said no more.
McGonagall came, and in a voice as grim as Pomfrey's told him she didn't think he'd be able to complete his classes in his condition.
"That's all right," Neville said wearily. "I'm leaving."
She stood over him for another minute, nodded, and left without another word.
"I'm leaving," Neville repeated in a whisper.
He turned to face the wall.
Now that the fatal decision had been made, he felt a strange calm descend upon him. Somehow, he'd never expected to complete all seven years of Hogwarts, and though he'd expected his grades would be his downfall, it came as no surprise to find himself poised to leave school in disgrace.
He didn't blame Malfoy.
No, Malfoy, bastard that he was, could be blamed for many things, but this pregnancy could not be counted among them.
Neville felt the first tears prick his eyes, but swiped roughly at them with his fist.
If only he had kept his sexual preference as much a secret as his deformity, as his Gran had always called it.
He didn't sleep at all that night.
Come morning, he found his trunk in the entrance hall. He left before any of his schoolmates awoke.
The station was empty and cold, enveloped in a damp mist. Off in the distance he could hear the train whistle blow, but couldn't yet see the train. He sat down to wait.
"Longbottom?"
Neville closed his eyes. He hoped he had only imagined the voice.
Maybe he had; there was nothing but silence behind him.
He opened his eyes.
Malfoy was standing in front of him, shivering as the wind ripped at his robes.
"What do you want, Malfoy?"
Malfoy shifted his weight from one leg to another, crossing his arms over his chest.
"It's freezing."
"You came all the way out here without a cloak just to tell me that?" Neville sniffed sarcastically. "Or was there something else you wanted?"
"I can't believe you're pregnant."
Neville sniffed again.
"I mean..." Malfoy stared at the ground. "I don't know."
The train pulled up, steam billowing from under the wheels. Neville stood up.
"It's my baby too!" Malfoy exclaimed suddenly.
Neville turned on him.
"No, Malfoy, it isn't. I don't want you anywhere near me, or my baby."
A familiar look passed over Malfoy's face.
"No," Neville cut him off. "There isn't anything left you can blackmail me with, Malfoy."
Malfoy muttered something that sounded like "my father."
"Your father the Death Eater?" Neville said cruelly.
Spots of red appeared on Malfoy's pale cheeks.
The train whistle shrieked. Neville took hold of his trunk.
"Wait."
Neville paused, but didn't look up.
"I'm sorry, all right?"
"No," Neville said. No, it wasn't all right. Did Malfoy think two little words could fix everything?
"Can't I..."
Another whistle cut into his words. Neville began to tug his trunk toward the train.
"Just wait, will you!" Malfoy ran around Neville to block his path.
Reluctantly, Neville allowed the heavy trunk to drop. He waited.
"I want to help. With the baby."
Neville almost laughed in his face. Malfoy wanted to help? Since when did Malfoy want to help anyone?
"I have money."
Neville bit his lip. He didn't. And he'd need it, too.
"You'll need someone to take you places."
True. Neville wouldn't have his Apparition license, and with his status as an untrained wizard he would run into trouble wherever he went.
"I checked. There's debt on your house. They'll kick you out. You and the baby. Where will you be then?"
Neville drew a deep breath. He couldn't believe what he was doing, but those were his own hands opening his trunk and pulling out a quill and a scrap of parchment.
"This is my address," he said, scratching it out hastily. He offered it to Malfoy, who took it wordlessly.
A porter grabbed his trunk and Neville hurried after it, searching his pockets for his ticket.
He was barely on board before the train began to move.
Glancing out the window, he saw Malfoy still standing on the platform, staring after the train with his arms wrapped tightly around himself and windblown hair falling messily around his face.
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