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Draco thought he'd been more than patient about the whole thing.
Longbottom wanted to kick him to the kerb like some used rag, without so much as a warning or explanation? Fine. It wasn't like Draco had a habit of clinging to people who hated him anyway. He was mature beyond his years like that - even if he might've bullied Longbottom a bit when they'd met again at Hogwarts, but really, it was the least he'd earned for being unceremoniously humiliated.
Longbottom wanted to use him as an outlet for his grievances with his housemates? Fine. It wasn't like Draco had a habit of turning down good gossip he could re-enact in the common room later. If it weren't for Longbottom, he might've never heard that Potter fainted on the train in third year, and his impression of it might've been deprived from the world.
Longbottom wanted to do it all in secret so he could keep pretending that he had friends in Gryffindor? Fine. It wasn't like Draco wanted anyone to know he associated with Longbottom anyway. Draco had a reputation to keep up - never mind standards - and it wasn't like he cared if Longbottom wanted to grovel for scraps from those pretentious, insufferable gits.
He'd seen how they treated Longbottom - how they'd ostracised him in their first year over house points, dismissed him, laughed in his face and behind his back. Draco's housemates would have never done that. But if Longbottom wanted to think his precious Gryffindors were so much better than nasty old Draco Malfoy -
Anyway, he was digressing.
It was fine.
Fine, fine, fine.
But as the O.W.L.s drew nearer, Draco was starting to have the dark suspicion that lately Longbottom was severely misunderstanding their relationship. Instead of gossiping about the Gryffindors, he was going around panicking and whinging about the exams. One time, he even dared to ask Draco for help studying.
"No," said Draco coldly. "What is this, the free labour market?"
"I could help you with Herbology," Longbottom offered in a tentative voice, and Draco considered it for all of three seconds.
But no. His Herbology grades were quite good even without Longbottom's help.
Obviously something had to be done. Longbottom needed an intervention before he started having filthy thoughts like imagining they were friends now or some such. That broom had sailed when they were ten, and Draco would never forget nor forgive! His justified resentment was as vast and unalterable as the ocean!
That was why he made sure Longbottom was within earshot when they were waiting outside the Potions classroom the next day, loudly proclaimed, "Of course, it's not what you know. It's who you know," and made sure to mention Griselda Marchbanks' name.
Everyone knew Longbottom was hopeless at school. He was always getting extra homework and yet couldn't remember a single thing from lessons; he'd gone through more cauldrons than a smelter, not to mention he was constantly tripping over his own feet and hitting things ten feet off target.
Draco, frankly, didn't see why Longbottom didn't do the obvious and use his connections to pass. Gryffindors were completely hopeless at these things, and the ones who weren't - like the Weasleys - were utterly hypocritical about it. Draco had heard of the things the Weasley Patriarch got up to in his office, and yet he was always pretending to be better than Draco's father simply because he used favours instead of money.
Besides, it was quite funny how the other students started giving each other panicked looks at his words.
"I thought Griselda Marchbanks supported Dumbledore?" Morag asked, bewildered.
Draco gave her a level stare. "Hush, you," he said indulgently. She'd always been too quick for her own good.
His attempts at making Longbottom take the hint didn't seem too successful, though. The next time they met in the greenhouses, he was still poking at the asphodels listlessly, his disconsolate expression making Draco all sorts of irritable. It wasn't like he enjoyed these clandestine meetings either, but Longbottom could at least have the decency to look less dreary.
"Don't call them clandestine, Malfoy," Longbottom muttered, and Draco sneered.
"And what else would you call this?" he said, indicating the empty greenhouse, dark with the long shadows of twilight.
"Er... Two schoolmates hanging in the same place accidentally?"
Draco levelled him with a cold stare; Longbottom fidgeted uneasily and pretended to be busy trimming some of the white twigs.
"Fine. Secret trysts, then," he said, just to see him splutter and go red like a screaming mandrake. Even after six years, he was still so easy to mess with.
"Well, I just don't think it will make a difference," Longbottom went on miserably after a while. "Gran's always telling Professor Marchbanks I'm not as good as my... my dad," he said, stumbling over the word for some reason.
Privately, Draco thought that Longbottom's grandmother was a bit of a hag, and the reason why he was such a fumbling disaster - but he politely kept this to himself. It wasn't like he didn't understand. His father was always nagging at him about his grades, and didn't seem to get that Draco would've been the top student if the teachers didn't keep giving Granger extra points. It was hardly Draco's fault they favoured their pet mudblood.
He left earlier that evening, bored with Longbottom's moping. Let his precious Gryffindors make him feel better, since evidently he could confide in them, and they were so much better than Draco.