Part One
The gaunt figure entering the shop was drawn and pale, grey eyes sunken into shadowed circles, blond hair already thinning though it had only been five years since he'd left school. Those years had obviously not been good to him: he looked as strung out as a pixie on pumpkin juice.
He shuffled into the shop, his gaze darting around the shop nervous and unfocused, until they rested on the man behind the counter.
"Do you actually work here, Longbottom?" he asked, his voice low and muffled and very annoyed. He obviously didn't want to be seen, but he was also in some sort of physical distress that Neville could hardly ignore.
"I do," Neville nodded, raising an eyebrow at the disgruntled greeting. "Do you need help with something, Malfoy?"
"Do I look like I need help?" Draco snapped, raising thin fingers to his hair and anxiously messing it up even more than it had been when he'd stepped in. Closer up, Neville noticed that the other man's robes were wrinkled and worn, and he had a slight growth of stubble, marred by an ugly scar across his cheek.
"Actually, you do," Neville replied with a shrug. "And since I happen to be working nights, I have to help you. So what do you want?"
"Some discretion, for one," Draco said, still sounding annoyed. "And then something for…this." He motioned at himself, as if that would explain everything. Neville frowned.
"Are you ill?" he asked. "Because you'd be better off seeing a Healer if that's the case."
"I'm…recovering," Draco said, sounding evasive.
"From what?" Neville continued, though he was starting to put it together: the shaking, the irritability, the worn clothing. He'd wager five Galleons that Draco Malfoy was trying to kick some sort of drug habit; it also explained his desire for discretion.
"It's none of your damn business, Longbottom," Draco snapped again. "Look, I just need some kind of potion or tincture that will…you know, calm my nerves."
"Nerves?" Neville asked skeptically, moving toward the shelves. "Well, you were good at potions, Malfoy, so you should know a simple Calming Draught would help with that." He held out a cordial; Draco refused.
"I've obviously tried that. I need something stronger." Surprisingly enough, he met Neville's eyes, as if trying to tell him more with an unspoken plea; usually someone in his situation would glance away.
"Then tell me what you're trying to quit," Neville said, holding Malfoy's gaze without flinching for possibly the first time in his life. "Or I can't help you."
"I'm not trying to--" he started, but Neville cut him off.
"Look, Mr. Malfoy," Neville put a sarcastic inflection on the address, given that they were former enemies now in a very awkward position, "I am not a Healer, but I have some experience with these things. You're not the first person to walk in here looking for a fix--or way to get off one. So tell me what it is and hopefully I can get you the right draught."
Draco glared at him, as if offended by the tone of his voice. If Malfoy was more worried about his name than his withdrawal symptoms, then he was probably beyond help. Neville shrugged again and walked away.
"No, wait," Draco said, taking a step forward. His body dragged as if reaching out to Neville Longbottom was one of the hardest steps he'd ever taken. "I've been taking Patientia. I'm trying to stop, though, and it's…rough, to say the least."
"Patientia?" Neville frowned. "Why would you take that? It's dangerous. The main ingredient is the basis for all sorts of Muggle street drugs."
Draco looked away. "I know. I've tried most of them. Look, just give me something to help me off it, all right?"
Neville stared at him while he thought. He'd never been good at potions, but he knew plants. The Patientia potion was primarily a tincture of poppy and devil's claw, stabilized with mallow root and one drop of Lethe Water. It was only used in the most desperate of medical cases because it was highly addictive. And because of its addictive properties, it was only available through St. Mungo's…or if you knew the right people. It was fairly obvious Draco Malfoy knew the right people and had got himself in too far.
Taking the basic Calming Draught he had offered earlier, Neville crossed the shop to the ingredients shelves and began to gather a few other plants whose medicinal qualities helped with withdrawal: passionflower, valerian, and a bit of ginger root.
"Do you have any of the Patientia potion left?" he asked as he poured the Calming Draught into a small cauldron. He began to steep it with the other ingredients, stirring counterclockwise as he had learned.
"I told you I'm trying to quit it, Longbottom," Malfoy muttered, beginning to pace. "Why do you ask so many damn questions?"
"Because I need some," Neville replied evenly, although he was starting to grow both nervous and exasperated. He was not scared of Malfoy anymore, not exactly; neither was he entirely comfortable, however, even if the Slytherin bully was practically begging for his help now. He wasn't sure it would work, although from personal experience he was fairly certain it should, but if it didn't…it was only Malfoy, right? Neville just wanted to get him out of the shop so he could return to what he had been doing, which was calm and quiet study that didn't dredge up old memories of the past.
"Why do you need it? You just told me what's in it." Draco paused, stopping in front of the cauldron. "Wait a minute. You were bollocks in Potions at school. Why the hell am I even talking to you?" He turned to leave, and Neville couldn't help but smirk as he called out to him.
"Because I know plants," Neville replied, keeping his voice even as possible. "And I know addictions."
Draco stopped, and for the briefest moment his shoulders slumped, before he turned and put on the sneer that Neville remembered too well from school. "You, Longbottom? What does a Gryffindor hero know about pain and suffering and needing something you know you shouldn't, but just can't stop taking anyway?"
Neville shrugged again. "I know pain and suffering, Malfoy. I don't know much about drugs, but I've been through it with a friend. To get him clean, he took this potion, only with fewer and fewer drops of his fix mixed it. Then he weaned off it, and now he's clean." Mostly, he added. If Seamus still liked a few too many Muggle spirits now and then, it was better than the devastating effects of some of the other magical substances he had tried and got hooked on. Harry and Neville's intervention two years ago had been one of the most difficult things he'd ever done for someone. He dreaded going through it again with anyone, particularly Draco Malfoy.
Shaking his head of the ridiculous thought, Neville continued the potion. After Seamus had been released from St. Mungo's, the Healers had showed him and Harry how to brew the withdrawal potion at home, with strict instructions to include less and less of Seamus's fix each day. Then they pulled back on the withdrawal potion itself until he took barely a cordial, then half, then a sip. Finally he was free of his demons. Dean's death still haunted him, but he'd started seeing someone to deal with the guilt in a healthy way, not a destructive one.
Thinking back on all this, Neville wondered once again how Draco had got himself addicted to Patientia. It must have been an injury, since as far as he knew the potent painkilling potion was only used at St. Mungo's in the most serious of cases and under strict supervision. How long had Draco been on it? How had he got hold of more?
"So how long is this going to take?" Malfoy said, but his voice was less gruff now, almost desperate sounding. Neville glanced up to see Malfoy's face was free of the sneer, lined only with pain instead. His hands were still shaking.
"About an hour," Neville replied, looking away. "You should go get something to eat, you look like you could use it."
Draco glanced down at himself and smiled bitterly. "Not hungry. I'll wait."
"Suit yourself." Neville let the cauldron simmer, silently willing it finish quicker, because he did not want to be stuck with Draco Malfoy for any length of time.
"So how did you end up here then?" Malfoy finally asked as the silence stretched into uncomfortable minutes. "I thought you were licking Potter's boots at the Ministry."
Neville gave him the most withering look he could and was surprised when Draco actually glanced away. "Sorry," he muttered. "He's your mate and all, I know."
"It doesn't bother me anymore," Neville replied, and it was true. He'd been trapped in Harry's shadow for a long time, but leaving the Ministry had been the best thing he had ever done to get out from it. Yes, he'd enjoyed his time there and done good work, but ultimately it was not his calling, not like it was for Harry. Ron had left as well, for Harry would always be the real hero, and they had other things to do.
"So why did you leave?" asked Draco.
"Why did you start Patientia?" Neville shot back, still curious.
Draco laughed, but it sounded completely defeated. It was an odd sound, because in his mind Neville still heard the arrogant bastard Malfoy had been in school. He gave the broken man before him a bland look. "Fine. It's your business. I don't care."
"No one does," Draco murmured, and Neville glanced up in surprise at the rare and very vulnerable admission. "But if you must know, I was injured, and the Healers at St. Mungo's deemed it worth the risk to use the potion."
"It must have been serious," Neville remarked. Now he was definitely curious, as he hadn't heard anything, and he and his friends still tended to follow what was going on with their former classmates--even the ones they had loathed.
Draco narrowed his eyes at him. "Never try to cut a Dark Mark out of your skin, Longbottom," he said softly, his gaze retreating inward. "It was not put there to be cut out. It was put there forever."
Neville didn't know what to say. Draco Malfoy had tried to cut the Dark Mark from his arm? Neville could only imagine that the physical act alone must have been unbearable. Knowing Voldemort's use of Dark magic, the magical repercussions must have been even worse, if the Healers had deemed it necessary to give him such a powerful narcotic.
An awkward silence stretched between them as Neville stirred the potion, adding some skullcap, burdock seed, and lavender. He found himself flustered at Malfoy's admission: he didn't want to be, but he actually felt sorry for the prat.
"So yes," Draco finally coughed. "That's how I ended up hooked on it. My Healer doled it out in smaller and smaller doses, trying to wean me off and thinking I was doing okay, when really I managed to find it quite easily in Knockturn Alley."
"So you seemed like you were doing better only because you kept taking more and more," Neville finished. Draco nodded numbly. "Why?"
"I don't think I need to go into that with you, Longbottom," he replied, but his defensive retorts were gone, and there was nothing but a sad, regretful tone to his voice. "I just need that potion. I can't do this anymore."
Neville realized he had been staring and turned back to the cauldron. To his relief, the deep green liquid matched the color he remembered from Seamus's intervention exactly. He Summoned several vials, breaking only one as he set them down next to the cauldron and began to fill them with the withdrawal potion.
"Remember, I'm not a Healer," he said again, suddenly nervous that something could go wrong and the might of the Malfoy family would fall on him and the small shop he was simply trying to learn from. "But like I said, I know plants, and this is what we did for Seamus--" Damn, he'd slipped.
Draco snorted. "Should have figured you were talking about Finnegan. Couldn't have been pretty-boy Potter, after all."
Neville continued, ignoring the caustic remarks about two of his closest friends. "I added a few things for your own case. All you have to do is add the Patientia to each vial, tapering off bit by bit until you don't need it anymore."
Draco stared at the vials, lined up on the counter. His hand started shaking again. "I can't."
"Then get someone to help you."
"There is no one."
Neville just stared at him. This was Draco Malfoy: he'd had a gang of Slytherins following him and doing his bidding for his entire Hogwarts career. Five years out should see him successful in both his personal, private, and professional lives. Apparently that was not the case, and Neville struggled with the conflicting feelings of satisfaction and pity before finally saying the last thing he wanted to say.
"Fine. I'll do it."
* * *
He went to the shop every night at closing; the first week was the worst. Neville literally had to Apparate him home when he could barely hold himself upright. After a fortnight, he started to walk out on his own. After a month, he actually felt like eating again, and even spontaneously invited Neville to join him for dinner; Neville turned him down. Apparently he did not want to get involved more than he already was, which was both a relief and a disappointment.
After two months he relapsed and bought a new vial in Knockturn Alley, but he at least had the sense to recognize it and hand it over to Longbottom after the first crash. Neville tried to talk him into going to St. Mungo's, but he wouldn't hear it. As he saw things, it was the hospital that had given him the potion in the first place, and he wanted nothing more to do with them. Never mind that he didn't want anyone to know, least of all his family; he would do it himself.
After several more weeks of tapering off first the Patientia, then the withdrawal potion, Draco began to feel like a different person. He gained weight and cleaned up his appearance, his hands stopped shaking, and he talked without mumbling. He even found his attitude again and began to throw it at Longbottom, only the other man had changed so much he was well able to handle it--and even toss it right back.
Then one day he stopped going to the shop, determined to be done with it and move on. He imagined Longbottom checking the Daily Prophet every day, expecting to read an obituary, and felt bad for not even saying goodbye to the one person who had helped him. He had almost started liking him, the stupid git. Draco had literally gone through hell and come out a different person, and Neville Longbottom of all people had been the one to stand by him. Yet it was time to put the past behind them; what was done, was done, and Longbottom was likely glad to be rid of him.
But the guilt weighed on his growing conscience: he at least owed Neville an explanation, an update--a thank you. And truth be told, he missed the one person he could almost call a friend. So one afternoon, almost a month later, Draco went to the shop, feeling fit and wearing new robes, determined to make amends. Neville frowned suspiciously when he entered.
"I thought for sure you were in a gutter somewhere, you know," he said, his voice dripping sarcasm. He continued with his work, and Draco grinned. So the git had been worried about him.
"As you can see, I'm not." Draco gestured at his robes.
"Obviously. Did you fall off the wagon or just come to gloat on how well you are?" Longbottom sounded genuinely annoyed, and Draco sighed, because he actually felt bad.
"Look, I'm sorry I haven't been around. I've been good, though. I've been busy."
Neville cocked an eyebrow as he stacked some sort of dried plant on the shelves. "High society keeping you on your toes, then?"
Draco snorted. "I'm not a part of that anymore--not like I used to be." The war had changed more than his family's fortunes: it had changed their name, their reputation. Lucius Malfoy might have escaped prison by virtue of his wife's actions and the word of Harry Potter, but the Malfoy name was no longer feared or respected. Rather, it was just another family among many who had picked the wrong side and lost. Slowly but surely the upper crust of wizarding society was rebuilding itself, but it would still take quite a while before the memory of the war was behind them.
"I've actually been looking for a job," said Draco, causing Longbottom to turn and gape at him in amazement. He didn't know whether to be pleased or annoyed, so he just continued. "And I found one, too."
"I don't know what to say," Longbottom murmured. "I'm shocked." He nodded and finally smiled. "Good for you, Malfoy. Nice to see you join the ranks of the weary. So what are you doing?"
"Something I'm good at: working in the Department of Magical Games and Sports." He coughed as Neville gave him a slightly incredulous look. "Hey, I was good at Quidditch, and I know chess, and I can work the system. I'm starting low, but I'll move up fast."
For some reason, he wanted the other man's approval, even though Neville Longbottom, hero of the Battle of Hogwarts, had left the Ministry to work in a small apothecary on the outskirts of Diagon Alley.
Longbottom gave him another long look, but to Draco's relief, he finally held out his hand. "Congratulations, then. I'm glad to see you officially back on your feet."
Draco took the other man's hand and shook it, something he could have never imagined doing five or six years ago. "Thanks, Longbottom. Look, I owe you. How about getting something to eat? My treat."
Longbottom shook his head. "You don't owe me anything, Malfoy."
"No, really--I do, and I want to. Let's get a drink at the Leaky Cauldron. What do you say?"
Neville looked so puzzled that Draco almost wanted to laugh. "You'd actually want to be seen with me? In public?"
Draco pulled a face, trying to inject some much needed humor into an awkward situation. "If I must. You are a bit more famous than me now, after all. Maybe you can fill me in on the Ministry. You've only been out a year or two, right?"
Longbottom sighed. "Right. The Ministry. Fine. Let me get my things and lock up. I'll meet you there."
"I can wait," Draco said. Neville gave him another odd look, but Draco just pretended to look at various unusual ingredients around the shop.
Within a few minutes, Neville had closed up, and they made their way to the Leaky Cauldron. Draco was sure people were looking at them strangely and tried to shrug it off, but it bothered him. Maybe he was making a mistake. Maybe he shouldn't have asked Longbottom for a drink. If he wanted to move up in the Ministry and rebuild his name, he could be dining with far more influential people.
Then again, Longbottom did know people at the Ministry, and more importantly: Neville Longbottom had saved his life. He would never admit it, but it was true, and for some reason, he felt a kinship with the man now. He wasn't really that bad, for a Gryffindor.
They entered the Leaky Cauldron, and Longbottom waved to a girl moving around the tables. She had long blonde hair and was fairly pretty, as girls went. She gave him a broad smile and hurried over for a hug. Malfoy tried to place her: a Hufflepuff, maybe? She frowned at him, and he suddenly remembered.
"Hi, Hannah," he said, and he tried not to mumble, tried not to feel intimidated or inferior. Yes, he had done terrible things, but that was behind him now, and he wanted a start fresh. He needed it, even if that meant being nice to people he had probably tortured at school. Longbottom had turned out all right; maybe Hufflepuffs weren't so bad, either.
"Malfoy," she said, before turning back to Longbottom. "Didn't know you two were friends." She led them to a table at the back, and Draco thought Longbottom might actually be blushing.
"Draco's starting at the Ministry and thought I could fill him in on things." He sat down and smiled with a shrug. Hannah actually laughed.
"Because the Ministry was such a good fit for both of us," she said, rolling her eyes. "Good luck, Malfoy. You'll need it. What can I get you?"
"My usual," said Longbottom, and Hannah nodded. Draco glanced between them.
"What's your usual?" he asked.
"Gillywater with a slice of orange," said Longbottom. Draco almost snorted, but he noticed the complete lack of defensiveness he might have expected from Longbottom and was reluctantly impressed at how much the man had changed since school.
"Sounds vile, but I'll try it. Thank you."
He didn't miss the surprised look Hannah shot Longbottom as she hurried away. He supposed he'd better get used to it; he had quite a reputation to shake, after all.
"So Abbot was at the Ministry too?" he asked curiously.
"She was in the Department of Magical Transportation for about two years--Portkeys, I think. She hated it. When her uncle bought the Leaky she jumped at the chance to help out and has been here ever since."
Draco watched Hannah float around the room, trying to remember what she had been like in school and failing. He had rarely given any thought to anyone outside his own house. Yet she seemed personable and happy, like she enjoyed what she was doing even if she was serving others and cleaning tables. He hoped that his own experience at the Ministry turned out better.
"So why did you leave?" Draco asked. "It can't be that bad, can it?"
Neville studied him closely before answering. "No, no it's not. It just wasn't the right place for me."
"And a dodgy old apothecary is?" Draco asked skeptically. "If you like plants so much, why not a greenhouse somewhere?"
Longbottom was unruffled, but at that moment Hannah returned with their drinks and took their order. Taking a long sip of his Gillywater, Draco was surprised to find it wasn't half bad: sweet but with a clean citrus taste, and without the burn of the Firewhisky he was far more used to. It was a casual drink, not something hard, and he was surprised to find he appreciated that now that he didn't need to drink to drown his pain.
"I did do that," Neville finally replied. "I was at Brighstone in the greenhouses down on the Isle of Wight for a year, did six months studying magical creatures in Cork, then came to London to study for six months with Mr. Betony. I'm doing my T.O.A.D.s in Herbology."
Draco stared at him. "Are you serious? You're not only a former Auror, but you're getting an advanced degree?" Neville nodded, a satisfied smile on his mouth, no doubt owing to Draco's shock that the pudgy boy he remembered bullying from school had turned out so well. "What are you going to do next then?"
"He's going to take the job at Hogwarts, of course," Hannah said, coming over with their food. "Because he'd be brilliant at it."
"Professor Sprout hasn't even retired yet," Longbottom laughed. "Stop getting my hopes up."
"She will," Hannah replied. "And she'll owl you the moment she does. You were her best student in years and you know it."
"You'd actually go back to Hogwarts and teach?" Draco asked, even more incredulous. He thanked Hannah once more and tucked into his food. He had no idea Neville Longbottom had so much potential; it suddenly seemed rather pathetic that he'd only just secured his first job five years out of school.
"Absolutely," Longbottom replied. "It's perfect. Hannah's right, I'd be good at it." He laughed. "Not to sound cocky or anything."
"Not at all," Draco murmured, still amazed. "Good for you. I don't want to keep running into you every time I need something from the shop."
Longbottom grinned. "And I'll be glad to stop seeing your ugly face every time as well."
And just like that, they were friends.
* * *
Uncommon Friends by Gmariam
Story Notes:
This story was written for an illustration by ToBeOrNotToBeaGryffindor. It was a simple picture of a tombstone that read:
Here Lies Draco Malfoy
Devoted husband, beloved father, loyal son, uncommon friend
June 5th, 1980 - November 24th, 2020
Chapter Endnotes: Thank you very much to Jaime/acacia carter for helping me with potions and plants here. If I've messed something up, it's all my fault and not hers; if it sounded good, it's all thanks to her.