Work Text:
After a while, Neville excused himself and stood up. He ignored the chorus of disappointed voices behind him and looked around the crowd until he spotted a familiar fair head.
Neville strode over, limping slightly, and stopped in front of Draco. “Hey. Are you lost?” he said cheerfully, echoing Draco's first words to him from eight years ago.
His parents gave Neville a wary look, huddled close on either side of Draco, but Draco blinked and then huffed out a tired laugh.
Neville grinned brightly.
“So how about those drinks? I could really use one.”
Draco's father still eyed him with an exhausted, almost blank wariness, but his mother's grip on Draco eased - more questioning confusion.
Draco considered Neville without a word. For all that he used the truth to cut, he'd never quite been able to be honest.
“A drink does sound good,” he said, after a pause. He glanced at his father and mother, fond and vulnerable in a way he would never be with anyone else. “Do you mind?”
“No, of course not. But... this is...” His mother's voice trailed off, inquisitive, her eyes on Neville.
Draco looked up at Neville, slightly guarded. Neville looked at Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy. He thought of his own parents - and what his gran would say. Then he extended his hand and said, “Hi. I'm Neville Longbottom.”
Mrs Malfoy hesitated briefly, then grasped Neville's hand, a tired but graceful smile on her face. Neville realised suddenly that - for all that most people thought Draco took after his father - he really was more like his mother.
“Yes. Narcissa Malfoy. It's a pleasure.”
Then Neville offered his hand to Lucius Malfoy, too, who stared at him exhaustedly for a moment before shaking it, his grip weak.
Draco was smiling. It was small, almost imperceptible, but genuine. He spoke in a clear, sure voice.
“He's a friend.”